Notes to Self (Should be actually noted and followed)

Today's post is brought to you by my strange aptitude for not being able to follow my own advice.

Some of you might remember that my first post on this collection of rambles and thoughts was a smallish piece from one of my notebooks on me attempting to gain inspiration for writing by going out side (See 'A Reason For Not Leaving the House').

Now today, struck with the good luck (Yet minor inconvenience, my calendar being empty as always) of being free from the bounds of school, I could stay at home and eat and read and generally do whatever I like, which is the ideal way for any teenage nerd to spend his life (And on days like this I really do). But today, I pushed myself to attempt to do something productive.

As you probably know (Seeing as I don't ever shut up about the damn thing) my book is being released in October, and seeing that I have to finish writing it, edit it, make a final edition and get it printed, I have quite a bit of work to get done. So, I thought, in order to get some writing done instead of writing a paragraph and getting distracted by fore-mentioned and dreaded funny cat videos I ventured forth from the house, portfolio folder in hand to venture off somewhere silent to get some writing done.

Oh, foolish young Lewis. You've made this mistake before lad.


I did consider going to the library, a place sort of intended to be, silent, easy to work in, full of good literature, and of course away from the internet, but I, being the lazy teenager that I am, couldn't be bothered to walk into town, and so made my way to a field.

Why?! What? Are you mental?!


And so I sat there, trying (And ultimately failing) to write, and in all of a couple minutes, I found myself covered in bugs, squinting massively at the white paper, and beginning to break out in a sweat under the sun.

So I went home.

And wrote this.

Don't be surprised if this book is late in coming.

- Lewis

I Ought To Be Sleeping

Its about ten past midnight on the 26th of May, and I should be asleep. Either that or burning the midnight oil, revising for one of the many upcoming exams that I seem to be facing with my relatively non-nonchalant nature. Now what was it that I said in my last post... I can't remember. (It was so far ago now, wasn't it...).

So why, you may ask, am I up at this absurd time in the morning? Ate too much? Nope. Badly timed programmes? Nope. Drinking away your problems? Nope (My mini-fridge is empty).

I am in fact, working.
Working?! (The audience gasp, gripped by their false thoughts of Lewis being that loaded type of rich bloke who has no need or inclination to work). How? WHY?

Don't fret. It's not actual work. I'm writing.

Writing? For what? An article in a magazine? A eulogy for the poet laureate? Nope, better! I'm writing a book! That's right! An actual book! One that you can buy and read and lick and use to prop up picture frames, a real book!

Basically, it's going to be called 'SICK.' and you'll be able to buy it online around September/October. Stay tuned, because I'll be posting an extract and possibly the cover very shortly!

Now off to bed...
-Lewis

How to Misjudge Life (In Two Easy Modules)

Now, as a very sociable person of many varied friendships, over the some might say small amount of years that I have spent on this fair planet I have accumulated a fair amount of off-the-wall relationships, with friends of all sorts of ages from all sorts of places, the majority of whom have never met, never talked, and probably never will, and if you asked me why this is the case, I could easily reply in two ways.

Firstly, I could reply with the answer that my pretentious, out-of-body ego would revel in, informing you that I've got such an exotic fruit-bowl of friends due to the fact that I'm an eccentric socialite who connects with people on a different level to most people, or that I choose my friends to spiritually enhance my lifestyle and meta-harmoniously expand my social horizons, or some such post-graduate bull$h!7.

Or, I could reply honestly, with the simple fact that I know so many different people because I'm a lucky sod who's been to a few too many social gatherings.

But the fact is, this blog has attracted people from all areas of my life to my writings, people who I never expected are reading every post and enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing them, and it's such a disproportionate matrimony of cross-Atlantic acquaintances, people whom I've bonded with in once of a lifetime trips or performances or simply people who I talk to everyday, that I thought I should dedicate this post to... a small and restricted scope of my audience.

I'm doing my GCSE's at the moment, an educational toil that my star-spangled readers may or may not be familiar with, and to be quite frank, should probably be quite thankful for that. Although this isn't for them, I know that quite a few of my readers are approaching their exams at the moment, and are all (Or at least a few) are working their absolute socks off in lieu of the ever-increasing threat of unemployment, poverty and eventual death by previous points.

Fact is, I am not wise. I am young, stupid, not a mystic, genius, or particularly talented or clever in any useful region, so before you accuse me of over-speaking myself that is, but this is my blog, so I'm going to say what I'm thinking. These exams aren't the be all and end all. A million and one people have done averagely on their GCSE's and not done horribly out of them, and from my experience, if you can get a decent job at our age (Believe me, me and quite a few others have) then you can surely survive with C's?

Don't fail your exams, that might suck emotionally, but for the same reasons, don't over-stress yourself. Wouldn't you rather chill and get a B than over revise and cram yourself and go mental when you only get a B+? Is it really worth it for a piece of paper that will swiftly become irrelevant when fate comes to put you in the most obscure job possible?

If you have a 25% chance of being homeless, and 25% of being a millionaire, wouldn't you much rather be in with the happy 50%? I don't know, it kind of depends on your outlook.

Just don't die, you're not even 18.

- Lewis

People Should Smile More

It’s back!

After much deliberation, writers block and hangovers, Stuff What I Wrote has returned. And as for my disappearance in the first place, it’s not that I didn’t love you (As I did and still do, very much), just that I didn’t want to spout utter rubbish on here. I do love the accomplishment of publishing a very meaningful and well written piece of writing, and wouldn’t have liked my little corner of the internets to be spoilt by un-thoughtful trash.

And so, I return.

Now today, I’m… elsewhere. For the past half week (It’s Wednesday, and I’m here till Friday) I’ve taken a week’s holiday in the rather pleasant Devon countryside, to visit my Uncle Matt’s farm (Well, I say it’s his but it’s still owned by his wife’s parents, but I digress). It’s all very lovely and he has pigs (Which taste lush by the way) and chickens, cows, sheep, a dog, and a family of very intrusive ducks, who seem to think they’re human.

But much as I’d like to sing his praises, I come to you with a bit of a message, as the past day or two seems to have had a bit of a theme, from my perspective anyway.

First of all, an article in a skateboarding magazine which I read yesterday seemed to focus on a matter which I know annoys quite a lot of kids of my age, and that is of course, being stereotyped. Now due to the beyond necessary efforts of the Guardian newspapers, closet racists and bespectacled corner-shop owners, the youth of our country seem to have been blanketed in negative media, forcing the population to generally be quite scared, or even sometimes quite aggressive towards people of our age. I know I’m hardly the most friendly figure to see on the street, at six foot something and dressed in a hoodie, but I find it rather frustrating when I look up to smile customarily at someone who is crossing my path and they are crossing the road to get away from me. It kind of makes me want to wear a big neon sign saying ‘I’M NOT GOING TO MURDER, RAPE OR ROB YOU’.

Now another thing that occurred today seems to relate to the overall topic of this article. As I woke up this morning and went into the front room for breakfast, I noticed someone blabbering, as they do, on the morning news. The topic was happiness, and the subject seemed to be represented by a certain ‘Student of Happiness’. Now, being the person that I am in the mornings (Incredibly groggy) I wasn’t quite sure whether they were actually holding a degree in the subject of eating chocolate, or whether they were a member of some bizarre new cult, but the idea to me seemed rather silly – have people forgotten how to be happy?

So what do I have to say about it? Well I could write lists, pages of advice on how to make the world a better place and generally improve the image of our generation but instead, I will leave you with a song, one that has a clear message, clear instruction, and one that pops up on my shuffle a lot. It’s by a man called Newton Faulkner, and shares the title of this article. Listen to it.

Thank me later Mr. Faulkner.

- Lewis