Introducing ‘To Himself.’

Blog, To Himself

I’ve always been inspired by the works of Marcus Aurelius and the great stoics of ancient times. Big thinkers with exceptional minds and ideas. I’ve read Marcus’s ‘Meditations‘ probably 30 times throughout my life, and I always come back to it when I start to feel a little lost.

For a long time now I’ve had the idea to journal in a similar way to what we see in Meditations, small passages scribbled down as reminders to myself. In the morning before going about my day, in the evening to reflect upon the happenings of the day, in the midst of crisis, during a period of love or immense joy. A growing collection of words inspired by and bought about by the very act of life itself.

This is what I’m going to do here. And I honestly can’t wait to dive right in and get started. I’ll admit this first entry for you is one I wrote back in the winter, when I first came up with the idea. That said, it was, and always will be, the natural birthing point of this ever-growing collection of self-talk. So without any further ado, I present you: To Himself.


A wintery photo of a frozen lake and snowy woodland
IG: @the_explorer_guy_uk

It would be easy to remain in the warm comfort of the sheets, allowing the mind to continue swirling in intricate visions of the imagination, and the soul to wander the outer-realms without a care, but of course with all journeys of transcendence and imagination, such as sleep, or meditation, there comes the moment where it must once again crash into the realities of the outside world. Such confrontation is only rendered more difficult in the autumns and winters, with the harsh coldness of the world outside—with it’s miserable weeping skies and it’s drab, low hanging greyness erasing all memory of the beautiful summer mornings we enjoyed a few sweet blinks before. 

To stay put atop that mattress while the radiators swell with heat and delay the responsibilities of the day just by another hour is the most alluring whisper. The seductive and powerful whisper of our shadow-selves. ‘Sleep through any notion of what must be done,’ he tells us, ‘It’ll wait a little longer.’ 

But that’s what it comes down to in the end. What must be done. Whichever time that alarm bell chimes is the time we’ve committed ourselves to waking the night before, and with it, all that would be done in those waking hours. To ignore that and roll over, to hit ‘snooze’ and groan your dismay at the hideous ringing, is to shun, and ignore, and hate on only yourself and the decisions you’ve made for your own wellbeing. It’s not the alarm that’s telling you to get up and meet the world head on, it’s you. The master of the device, the master of the decision, the master of the mind… You.

This is the moment of utmost importance in the day. The very first decision we get to make for ourselves. Will it be a success, or a failure? To set the day up atop a failure is to build a home out of sand in the midst of a rising tide, to tell ourselves that our decisions aren’t important, our desires aren’t concrete. We only serve to set up a pattern for the day. A pattern of failure and questions and shady distrust in ourselves. While yet to build the day atop a success is no less promising than the thick stone foundations of the ancient castles that still stand vast among our European landscapes, hundreds if not thousands of years later, each block laid finding comfort and security in the integrity of the blocks placed before it. 

We must trust ourselves. We must leave that warm bed and confront the cold outdoors. No matter how tired, no matter how comfortable. We must meet our responsibilities with an iron resolve and a laser-sharp focus, with an outsiders look at the overall picture of our lives. The more we commit to routine and ritual the less tough decisions need to be made along the way. The more we succeed in following through with our word, the stronger our resolve becomes. 

The shorter our journey becomes. 


There we have it, the first entry in many just like this. If you enjoyed this piece of writing be sure to hit that follow button so you’re notified every time there’s a new entry. I’ll be posting to the ‘To Himself’ project as often as possible. In the meantime, I write a ton of content for Vocal, which you can check out here. I’ve got fiction, lifestyle, writing tips, and pretty much everything in between.

Until next time… sleep well, arise better.

Three Pieces Of Fiction And Why They’re Important To Me

Blog, flash fiction

Since writing for Vocal+ I’ve written three pieces of flash fiction, each under 2000 words and inspired by separate word prompts. The process has ripped me out of writers block and put me back on the path of writing online again, and I’ve never had so much fun doing it. Instead of creating separate blog posts for each one and clogging your feeds with my ugly mug, I figured why not share with you the three stories all in one post, and give you a little excerpt and rundown of each one as I go! So here goes nothing.

Barnacle Clumpersnatch

This is by far my favourite piece of writing to date, telling the story of a man receiving a mysterious package. He is immediately whisked back into the memory of a time where he first met Danny, the son of the woman his father started dating. I leaned into this piece fully, with humour and characterisation, slowly revealing the difficulties of their history through dialogue and interaction. I’ve had nothing but amazing feedback on this one, and really hope you take the time to give it a read.

I examined the box before me in a trance, with the breath caught in my lungs. No return address. No label. No branding. Just a brown paper box with ‘BARNACLE CLUMPERSNATCH’ scrawled shakily in its center. My mouth dried up in the low hum of tense silence.

Those words… that name… The package could’ve only come from Danny. But why? And more to the point, how? I felt the colour drain from my skin.


Death By Chocolate

This piece was a response to Vocal’s ‘Death By Chocolate’ challenge, and had me feeling experimental. The story chronicles the morning of a rather depressed young insomniac being woken up on his birthday, and I really had a chance to play around with language techniques and humour. It’s a little Neil Gaiman in style, and I loved stepping outside of my norm in an attempt to emulate that. Where it truly crosses the boundary into experimentation is in its false endings. I don’t want to give too much away, but you’ll see when you get there. Some loved it, some didn’t, but the story itself was very much enjoyed and I had a blast writing it!

When Jonathan finally drifted off to sleep after hours of wrestling insomnia, the last thing he expected was to be awoken at 7am by his younger brother. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! Lurched him into a dizzy, semi-awake, consciousness, with panic and confusion dancing in his chest. In the exact same second the door swung open and the family burst into his room. “Get up! It’s your birthday!” They squealed in an imperfect unison. Or words to that effect… I’m paraphrasing, of course.


Cries Of The Barn Owl

This was the first piece of fiction I’d written in a long time, and it came in response to the Vocal prompt: Barn Owl. The piece is somber, reflective, and emotional, and I truly got to lean into the darker aspects of love and loss while stretching out my ‘descriptive muscles.’ Are those even a thing? I guess they are now.

Anyway… blowing the dust off my creative side felt good and got me right to where I am now, having already earned Top Story for Vocal and building a portfolio of over 10 pieces so far.

He watched as smoke twirled upward from the glowing tip of his cigarette, twisting and turning against the silhouette of tall chestnuts that lined the back of his garden. He filled his lungs with the rich, heavy warmth of tobacco and exhaled a large cloud, swallowing up the spiralling streams as they danced toward the night sky.

It was cold out. Ice had already claimed the decking beneath his feet, and the black felt-lining of the shed roof glistened in the blackness of night. Dense, entangled, branches glowed white against the fullness of the moon, and somewhere, shrouded in the shadows, the unmistakable call of a barn owl echoed out from beyond the tree line. 


Well there you have it! Of course I have written more than just fiction during my time on Vocal (which you can check out here) and am fully back in the world of content creation from here on out.

If you liked any or all of those stories above, let me know in the comments. Or, you know, if you hated them. You can tell me that too…

Now that that’s out the way, I solemnly swear to no longer inundate you with fresh posts after a year of radio-silence. I’ll update you on new posts as they become available, frequently update my on-site portfolio, and start building out my “To Himself” journal right here on WordPress. Damn it feels good to be back!

Now I’m gonna go make a cuppa, I’m exhausted…