I am currently editing a collection of coming out stories which is to be published at the later part of this year.
I need your stories. But it wouldn’t be fair for me to ask for yours without including mine.
I came out at the beginning of 2016 after struggling with accepting the fact that I am gay for 22 years. I came out to my parents via a letter which I mixed into the daily post before taking the dog for a walk. I got a call fro my parents during the dog walk and my life was changed for the better.
The collection will contain the real life letters, texts, emails, statements, dialogue anything you have be it either a positive or negative reaction to coming out to your most significant person.
Please be brave. Be open. Be honest.
I won’t edit your words. They’re part of your story. Part of your journey. If you ant to write about it in retrospect, that’s fine.
If you want to go back to that time and write through the eyes of you before coming out, that’s also great.
The mission for this collection is to open the eyes to people who actually don’t understand the internal strife people in the LGBT community.
If you are interested in being a part of this collection, please email me either on here with a brief overview and we can go from there.
Alternatively, feel free to email me at firstname.lastname@example.org
Together we can do some good for people that really need a bit of hope.
So, I’m going to be working with a few UK based charities curating a literary collection of poetry, prose, fiction and non-fiction based on individuals experiences with issues facing the mind, body and soul.
Within the collection, we want your stories about any of the following things:
. Mental health issues – Bipolar, Schizophrenia, Depression, Anxiety etc.
. Body issues – Eating Disorders, Body dysphoria etc.
. Soul issues – Coming out stories, Gender dysphoria etc.
We really want raw emotion. Please don’t filter yourself. The point of this project is to create a collection of work for people who are struggling with one or a multitude of issues.
If your contribution is selected, you will be notified and kept up to date with when the collection will be published. As this is a charity based project, we cannot offer any financial reward, however all proceeds are being donated to UK charities aiding in Mental health care.
All submissions to be emailed to email@example.com with your name (if confidentiality is an issue please use a pseudonym) and your location.
If you would like to be brave and share your story in one of the specified formats, or have any questions regarding the project please contact the aforementioned email address.
Please join us in creating what could possibly be a life saving body of work for somebody. Thank you.
My first book, Penny for Your Thoughts is officially available to buy now! I’ve been working with my editor for five months now on a debut collection of poetry that has been four years in the writing process.
I’m really, super proud of this, and never thought any of my work would see the light of day, so to get an editor from a recognised poetry publisher who aided me in the self publishing process to see something in it really means a lot.
Some of you will like it, some of you will read it and go what the hell is this?! But, any support would be greatly appreciated.
But yeah, the secret is out!!
Penny For Your Thoughts is available internationally in paperback form now and e-book pre-order at:
Keep your eyes peeled guys…
Is reading this.
Let it be known
That I understand
Abuse the word
Binge watching TV
Busy days at work
Scalding hot baths
Rainy, miserable days
Early dog walks
Not being able to sleep
Clocking out of work
Bad rosé wine
Singing when driving
The colour green
And Sprouts at Christmas.
I’m a lover
Of lots of things.
I love and love again.
I abuse the word love,
Throw it around
Like a boomerang
In the hope
That one day,
It will come back.
My eyes are cobwebs.
They catch the dust
And the morning dew.
For a few, they’re just fine.
Fine strands of fine green.
But your eyes. Damn.
Your eyes are dream catchers.
Every colour, every texture,
Every possibility radiates from them.
But dark beads are woven within.
Dark beads from broken nights
Of broken sleep, worrying
About your broken life with him.
Let me take your darkness
And thread it into my web.
I’d be honoured to carry your darkness,
Because he doesn’t deserve residence
In your eyes, heart or mind.
Your eyes are dream catchers, and I
Can only hope one night, to get caught.
The only reason
I let you
Lie on top of me
Was to see
On your skin
When you were
But, when you
Off of me;
Whenever I feel the familiar feeling
Of a panic attack
Grabbing its rope and pick-axe
To climb up my throat at night,
I know what to do.
I grab a pen and begin drawing
Small, unique smiley faces.
Usually on my thigh. Black ink.
I then give them all a
Name and occupation.
George the paper boy
Was late on his morning rounds.
Which made Mrs. Richards,
The one with a lavender rinse at number ninety-two
Have a mouth like an upside down crescent moon.
We have John and James, the local electricians
Beaming, capital D’s on their lunch break.
They both had the sausage and egg sandwiches.
Served by Stacy, who five hours into her shift
Had zzz’s trailing from her mouth.
Tanya and Charlie were introducing
Their new puppy Lola, a dachshund
To Tanya’s auntie Christine.
But none of them could find
Christine’s son Toby.
Toby was around the back of the knee.
Scared. Blue ink.
All of the faces, and stories, and rush
Affected Toby and his default speed
In a way he couldn’t verbalise. So he ran.
He ran somewhere quiet, out of sight.
And when he was behind the knee,
Toby took out a pen. Black ink.
And began to draw
Small, unique, smiley faces.
Your red wine lips
With every kiss.
Your blushes and depth
I swirled and savoured.
Sent me silly, dizzy.
I drank you dry.
A selfish binge
Sent you running.
It’s been four months
And I still long for
The touch of your favourite merlot.
I think I would
Still love you
Even if you
Burned my porridge
To put two sugars
In my morning coffee
Before a ten hour shift.