Dot Journal

I love doing these, the whole art, keeping track of everything and writing!

Dot journaling gets my creative flows going, I get all my inspiration from pinterest (as always).

Pinterest is one of those apps where you can put some music on and spend hours just scrolling and gain the influence to start that project, whether it be big such as renovating that one part of the house or small such as crafting a diy project.

This is how I lay my journal out

I always start my journal with a cover page (illustrating each month). I guess it’s pretty self explanatory why, so you know where you’re at in the year

I then draw out a calander (some times I write it on the cover page as well) .

I then like to keep a money tracker only because I’m terrible at saving money so I need to track how well I’m doing (then I spend a “little” to treat myself).

On the next couple of pages I keep track of my sleep, how much I exercise and how much water I drink. Only because I want to see my sleep patterns (since it’s all over the place at the moment), I don’t normally exercise because of breathing problems but I am trying to improve myself, I never drink water so keeping track of it gives me a visualisation of how much I’m drinking.

Another thing that’s good to keep track of is your moods. If you’re similar to me I mood can go from 100-0 within a day so it’s nice to give an overall thought about how good/bad your day actually was. Even an anxiety tracker would be beneficial.

After that you’re free to do anything, like step by step drawings

Maybe plan out your ideal daily routine

what about a dream log for the week? (even a month if you really want to if you’re like me and have dreams that you remeber every night).

Or even a self care page!

There’s so much to write/draw about endless opportunities to get those thoughts out of you’re head in a creative, more straightforward and pretty to cast out the messy darkness of it all.

I don’t know about you but this really helps me a lot, and I tend to find the days I don’t journal are the bad days. I strive iff perfectionism so if I do a simple mistake I can’t just use white out, or even rip the page out because then it rips half the pages out so instead I have to buy a new journal. I know it sounds bad, and I can see it’s bad because i have currently 5 half used journals all because I messed up one page.

In saying that it does release a lot of mmm anxiety, some people read, others meditate, I prefer to relax in a creative way.

Found the image on pinterest which lead to https://leithandgray.co.uk/products/a6-tan-journal website as they actually sell the product (this is not sponsored I just wanted the picture)

Question of the day is: What activities do you do to relax?

The Castles Unspoken Secrets 🏰

A story in the making, created by me. This chapter is called Carriage

I place myself in chair 24, almost identical to the rest on this train but mine was lose. It squeaks like a mouse caught in a trap. As i settle myself down I hear a man asking for help, I perk my head up and leaned over to see if he was ok. No one was helping, not even acknowledging his existence right infront of them.

I stopped what ever I was doing to create my comfort and got up to help the man. Due to my analysis of him he looks to be in his late 40’s early 50’s, he was tall with very broad shoulders, his hair softly spiked up, out of his face with a silver tint. His eyes were hazel, mainly a light brown but with specks of emerald green.

I approached this man kindly “would you like me to help you sir?” I reach my hand out for his ticked to see if I could find his seat. His eyes admired me, his smirk of thanks spoke with out moving his lips. The man hands me his ticked “oh seat 33 that’s two rows behind mine!”

The man places his bag down in his seat and turns to me and said “thank you,” I nodded and I walk back to my seat a voice so rich and jovial was no more. He grabbed my arm so tight his nails could’ve carved into my bone “I said thank you,” He pulls me back towards him his voice now inhumane, a hybrid of human and animal. His eyes were not longer admiring me, pupils so small he could’ve been looking directly into the sun, the colour had changed to copper gold. The mans smile was no longer there, his mouth half open, his teeth enlarged.

I started to panic, I tried to mask it so he wouldn’t notice, my heart pounding so fast it starts to ache, my hands and feet creating puddles within themselves. The man had a strong grip, ‘will he let me go?’ I question myself. Thoughts going faster than a bullet train one after the other. I yanked my arm and dashed into my seat.

Letting out my breaths into the cold train air I had to take a moment to rethink what had happened, if it happened!? I look at my arm. No markings but it hurt as if it did. I had to look back, what if i quickly took a nap and that was a dream. It definitely was not a dream. I peaked my head between the two chairs.

Those eyes sharpened, looking at me like I was his prey. He saw not a soul but an opportunity, and my question was ‘his opportunity for what?’ My head throbs, pulsing so strongly i start to feel my own blood flow throughout my body, his stare made me weak, made me anxious. I aggressively blink more than the average person should, my vision was blurry and circling. I could only just make out the drooling dripping from his lower lip, foam forming from his mouth, his teeth structure could almost be identical to a dogs.

I ended up passing out as the train jerked itself awake, it was all too much. I couldn’t comprehend what just happened but it wasn’t normal. My panic attack was so strong I collapsed in my chair.

Story By Image

Yesterday I asked my boyfriend to pick out a picture out from my search on safari ‘Photo prompt for writing’. The Image shown above was the one he chose so here is what I wrote. I did no drafts or planning I just wrote the first thing that came in mind.

Comfort In The Storm

It is my time. The fog comforts me, hugging me like it knew. I hold myself as the famous Henry Purcell – Dido’s Lament plays in my head. The song takes control as I roll my head to each beat, my neck and shoulders support me.

The air is damp, cold. Today the clouds sit upon the earth, as if they decided that the heavens were down here instead. The trees are veiled in the lightest of mist, their trunks sombre brown with sable cracks that gnarl the bark. As my eye travels to the edge of the woodland the trees become silhouettes against a blanket of white, as if it is only daylight where I stand, as if I am encircled by twilight.

If I lived any place other than right here, I would pine for these evergreen hills, this forest that has become a vital part of my soul. The pine forest has a time-machine aroma, everyday of the year, it is the very ether of my memories. The pine forest is a home to so many souls of creation and I feel so blessed to hear my heart beat among theirs.

I never let myself see my own fear, for it was ever a disadvantage in the place that I was raised. To cry was to be beaten and scoled. If I cried I’d be “given something to cry about.” The act of crying for my own pain was literally beaten out of me. Suppressed completely. Now decades later, it still is, yet channelled into my creativity, a sort of unwitting energy booster. What I cannot suppress though are these shivers that say I am afraid.

In that shiver was a moment of truth, a story of these emotions that no mask could ever hide.

I’ve always loved the thunder storms. I’ve always loved storm-could-grey. To see them swirling one last time in the heavens, brings a kind of inner glee. I reached up, bringing down a handful of that cosmic swirl, if I could make a fabric from it that was ever-changing as the sky above is right now, I’d wear it forever.

As the infinity cloud swirl levitates from my hand over my head, I feel it. The heavens. The clouds were a kind of grey that would make any quarry rock proud, as if they were so pleased beneath my feet, hidden between the grass they echo the earth. All of the grey, all that swirling, my vision became a blur, but I trusted this storm to take me where I need to go. The condensation was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

Comment your thoughts 🙂

The Castles Unspoken Secrets 🏰

I have been on and off writing a story off of a dream I had, and since I have nothing interesting for yoy today, let me give you an insight about the year of the year 1997.

Parents gone, and Aunty isn’t able to keep young Ivory Shaw in London. An emotional journey, starting at new school, making new friends, a possible love interest, with lots of parties to go around and secrets to share. Ivory ends up at a Echo Boarding School where she is yet to find out more about the castle and people. From relations to mythical creatures Ivory learns that there is more unspoken secrets imprinted deep within the castle.

We arrive at the dinning hall, although it isn’t one anymore. The door frame hidden behind layers of golden fabrics of sheer and silk, drooping like a curtain. The marble floor polished so fine you could mistake it for a mirror, as your own reflection stares back. Chairs and tables decorated with white cloth, a centre piece of a golden plate with slight flower indents carved on the edges, a small cup vase sitting on top holding flowers, I’m not sure of what sort but the colours burst of white, pink, soft oranges and red. Heavy fabric hung half way up on the wall to the middle of the roof with a giant chandelier giving the room a mellow glow on the roof.

This whole room looks feels like a fairy tale, all the girls dressed in their best dresses, hair done up to complement the makeup that sat on their delicate faces. The boys in their finest tuxedos or formal uniform. The only thing that’s missing is a prince charming for me.

During the night we all dance to a waltz. Sam, Dawn, Ash and I are having fun as us girls being passed on from boy to boy all in a circle, not knowing who we have next. The music suddenly slows down everything around me followed the slowness almost like everything had stopped in that one moment. My face dropped my heart starting its greatest race as all my senses go stiff to the realisation of who I am standing in front of.

Archer.

A wave of anger and nervousness struck upon me. We stand right in front of each other. Both maintaining angry, cold eye contact. Everyone around us stops, turning their heads as we capture their full attention. whispers flying through the air of who they expect to walk away, we ignore due to the pure hatred we have for each other. All because I am someone who doesn’t belong here. We are both to stubborn to walk away from each other. So Archer takes my hand, the other around my waist, my left hand on his shoulder the right locked onto his unable to let go. We keep the hard cold eye contact as the music and movement speeds up and we danced gracefully. No one would ever thought Archer Lupo would be dancing with someone like me Ivory Shaw.

Our faces closer than ever, our breath combines as one. Our palms touching surely he could feel my pulse, and nervous sweat at this point. I stare into his gleaming gold-coloured eyes getting lost in the thought of falling for his light delicate touch. I wonder what he thinks at this point in time. Pulling me so close our bodies could touch but the inch of material separate us. Is he doing this on purpose? does he know that he has the power to make me feel so vulnerable, I have never in my life wanted to beg for someone to kiss me.