My brain is a busy and complex ideas factory. It can be rebellious. Meditation and being in flow help to tame it…sometimes. 

Neurodivergence has become a buzzword I can now employ with relief. It covers so much. It saves me from explaining my energy, my shift in attention, and random pop-up conversations. My loved ones will argue that an Acquired Brain Injury didn’t start that, it was always there. 

My conversations with loved ones are like a blender full of Skittles with the lid off. Often, this results in them being either bemused or baffled. Either way, small talk isn’t my strong point. It makes me cross-eyed. 

Do you ever struggle with writing prompts or ideas? Sometimes, people ask where my wild writing ideas come from.

They ask if I ever hit that dreaded writer’s block. Spoiler alert: Nope, it never happens! 

I have had stories and abstract ideas filling my mind for as long as I can remember. Using the written word to explore, explain, and create is all I have known. A psychologist will probably tell you this was my way of streamlining meaning. 

Dusty archive boxes are piled up in my back office. They hold journals and scrap paper. I think there might be a napkin or two with scribbles. There are many observations, the start of stories, and ideas. 

In 2012, I underwent my first brain surgery for an aneurysm. It was very intense, and the lingering threat of mortality has followed me to this day. A paradoxical gift of sorts, which I know sounds ironic and isn’t lost on me. That particular tale is long. 

But, to get back to the point of writing (I do go off on tangents. Sometimes, I even interrupt myself), how do I begin? Well, as an avid pen-to-paper addict, I will often get my feelings out of my head by writing them down. Or I may hear a story and reflect on it. But, when I am writing it down, I will think of the most unique or accurate way to explain the feeling. 

My imagination is an unruly creature, like a browser with too many tabs open. But as I get older and earn the small wrinkles around my eyes, I see that these traits are the mark of the creative writer. Or a few words will come to mind. I will play with them. This often happens when I write poetry. Two words collide and sound lyrical, and we’re off and away. 

This phase of my life birthed Vignettes of the Possibly Dying, my first published poems.

I always kept the most intimate and vulnerable experiences and writing to myself. Yet, it was from here that the most fulfilling poetry sprung. I would see certain sentences. They would jump out at me. I would reshape them into prose, poetry, and broader concepts, they became Vignettes of a bigger story. 

For me, writing is like painting, I suppose, or being a potter with words. You mix the colours, and you play with the clay. Your audience or reader may turn their heads this way and that with an “I don’t get it” look. Or their eyes may get misty, and they’ll tell you they felt that deep down to their toes. They may like the lumpy and weird clay pot they hold in their hand, or they may put it down with disinterest. 

The piece below captures an evening well over seven years ago. The memory remains sharply etched, and I can still smell the rain. One of the little characters in it has now passed, and as I edited it, my eyes leaked. Because sometimes dogs aren’t really dogs, right? 

Bittersweet nostalgia, existential awareness, love, and fear overwhelmed me. Faith underpinned this strange emotional mix. I also vividly remember as I was writing, what does this death threat feel like? If it was a fairy tale creature, it would be a vicious thing smashing through to steal my children’s mother. 

I hope you find something to hold in your hand. Either way, thanks for reading! 

xx KB