“The Story of a Book That Doesn’t Even Exist Yet… Kind Of”

“The Story of a Book That Doesn’t Exist… Kind Of”

Just playing around with ideas using Gemini AI designer, 

How can a story exist, other than in your mind, if it hasn't yet been written or in my case, exists entirely in my head? Yes, it's a bit of a screwed-up paradoxical question.   

I have an initial idea. Sure, it's been done before, but hey, what story hasn't been told these days? I mean, that is why there are so many reruns of old shows, and new films are just reinventions of previous ones. It's obvious we are all out of ideas. 

My story is going to be a fictional tale. Now wait for it, there is a lot to describe. It's going to be Dark, yet humorous.  The main protagonist is a Geordie, so he will speak as such, which might make the book difficult to read for some. There will be darkness, loss, growth, good versus evil, and many funny anecdotes and amusing stories, which I have somewhat in the back of my mind.     

Another AI-created idea

I am finding that as I write,  I am up to chapter 9 so far, with just over 20,000 words, that my creative juices flow as I am thinking and typing. As I mentioned earlier, I have no clear, solid story. I just get fleeting thoughts that pop into my head, mainly when I am struggling to sleep on a night.

And one more

It's weird, I wrote two different pieces for the book over the last couple of nights, thinking "Hey, you know what my main character, (who my dad, The Ern, says ", Aye, I can see he's based on you," ) decided he would write poetry and songs in the mental state he is currently in, which is a bit of turmoil, alongside melancholy, stress and sadness."

It's strange trying to imagine what someone is going through, even when it's a pretend character in a book, then trying to write how you think they may feel and. think.

Hopefully, I can make the story interesting and get another book on the shelves. At this point, it's not even about "Ooh, I wonder how many I can sell," it's more just about me enjoying the process and seeing where this takes me. I cannot imagine becoming a world-renowned author; this is more a bit of fun, keeps me occupied and helps me relax.

Obviously, if I ever finish it and receive some good feedback,  that would be a bonus.

Anyhoo, I don't want to give too much away. At the moment, you will just have to wait. I don't want anyone nicking my ideas LoL

I will leave you with a poem and a song that I intend to add to my book, so please note that the copyright belongs to Glenn Johnstone. They may not make complete sense, as obviously, you don't know the whole backstory of the characters involved. "Oh, and poetry doesn't have to rhyme."

Horology’s Parallel

From father to son, time passed on,
a friendly face, and a special place
within your hand, within your heart;
each memory held within a protective case,
that will one day cease—
as silence falls.

Each mark and scratch make you unique, perfect, imperfections.
As you carry on with the time you keep.
Until that day you’re wound no more, and your movement slows, and you stop.

Discovered truth — and now it all makes sense:
Why your cogs and wheels struggle with the time you keep.

That old voice you once knew begins to fade,
its whispers growing silent,
drifting beyond the shadows—far, far away.

Your movements are slowing —
your hands, fitful, like a heart struggling to beat.
You feel old and weary;
you just want to find sleep.

Memories of happier times slip away —
moments slowly lost, day by day;
you struggle to keep,
as the lid that once protected you is forever shut.

Where once you shone — polished, all shiny and bright —
now you are dulled, living beneath a dark cloud;
there is no light.

A thick fog of despair shrouds your view;
and those who care about you understand —
it’s too late: someone has decided this is your fate.

Your mind — those numbers — feel as if they’re slipping away,
tumbling and falling, unable to hold on.
You’re filled with confusion and sadness;
even time becomes disarrayed.

Where once there was rhythm in each gentle sound,
now you move slowly —
a denial of the inevitable —
knowing the end comes, and you are lost and bound.

You ask: Is there no one to help?
Can you not be wound and opened, fixed or repaired?

You just need someone to breathe new life into you,
and remind you of the life you once knew.

The song is in the style of an old Pitt village community, well, how I see it, or like a sea shanty rhythm, but obviously sad.    

A Geordie’s Heart (It’ll Never Die)

Well, a’ve been told that me time is up,
A divvn't have lang, an’ a’ve gotta gan.
A’m not quite ready, but what can a dee?
It’s nee good argyin’ wi’ yer destiny.

Me heed’s been sore noo for a while,
N’ an’knare, it’s not from the broon.
It’s not feelin’ like it’s even me awn,
A canna mek sense o’ what’s gannin’ on —

[Chorus]
An’ a won’t be standin’ on the banks o’ the Tyne,
’Cos the boatman’s waitin’ te tek us ower the Styx.
A’ll pay me way, an’ a’ll give ’im me coin,
Then he’ll push off, an’ we’ll sail away.

N’ a’m feelin’ lost… an’ a’m all a’lan.
Nee lass to kiss, nee hand to hold.
A thought a had all the time in the world,
But noo a’ve fond out me life’s unfurled.

So divvn't wait, ’cos a’m not comin’ yem,
A’m gone for good — a’ve served me time.
Mebbe it’s for the best, as me life’s been rough,
A tried me best — a hope it was enough.

An’ a’m thinkin’ te mesel’, was it all just a test?
When a lived me life, an’ a tried me best.
A’ve lost me love — it’s been stole away,
Nee mair chances, nee mair days.

[Final Verse]
So all a’ll ask yer te think on me,
As ye raise yer glass an’ sing oot loud.
For this bonny lad’s not gone te hell,
’Cos a Geordie’s heart — it’ll never die.

(Whispered Outro)
So a’ll be off on the River Styx…
Te meet the devil an’ avoid his tricks…
An’ noo, a’ve gotta gan, like

I have posted a few images, so perhaps they will give you a little room for thought.

Ok toodle pip for now...

Be aware of when to act F.A.S.T - A Poem about Stroke "I'm sorry to inform you that you've had a stroke."

    Bloody hell, I've been up all night with my foot, it's proper hurting. I don't want to go Googling, though, and get stupid thoughts in my head as to what is up with it. Like I mentioned yesterday, I have already taken ChatGPT's advice and soaked it in apple cider vinegar. 

   This morning, I hobbled around with wor Nec, just up the back lane, turned and came back the same way, avoiding the "murder spot" as is my norm. I hate that area; it brings back so many bad memories, even after thirty years. Yeah, that is right, thirty.

   So last night I hardly got any sleep. I had been messing around with writing my book, but my little piggies, yep, my toes were throbbing and on fire. So I went and lay on my bed, trying to drift off. No joy, so I reached for my phone and thought about writing something.

F.A.S.T. - the signs and what to do

   Strangely enough, I decided to write about a stroke, no, not me having one, silly. It was more about my experience working on a Hyper-Acute Stroke Unit. The things I have seen, the people I have met, the awful diagnosis and symptoms, that sort of thing.

   Anyhoo, I finished off the let's call it a poem this morning, showed it to The Ern, who I always like to get an opinion from, and he said "Aye, it's canny good like." 

   So, I have decided to post it here for anyone who fancies a read, and hopefully, as I have asked so many times now, without success, I hasten to add—please leave a comment. It's easy to do; simply check the area labelled "No Comments" at the bottom of the page and add your comment. I mean, my PayPal address is the same as my email address, if you feel that way inclined, just saying, Lol

Here you go **Revised - I made mistakes in my previous version **

I’m Sorry to Inform You — You’ve Had a Stroke

Onset

Just sat there, it's an ordinary day,
just like the last,
then you feel a sensation that you can't quite explain.

Something has happened inside your head
that’s affected your brain.
Maybe a blockage or perhaps a bleed, it's difficult to say.

Maybe you feel pain, perhaps you don’t;
maybe you’ll get a headache — or perhaps you won’t.
“Oh-oh, not feeling good — I’m going to…”

You try not to worry
but don't feel quite right,
whatever is going on
it's given you a terrible fright.

You think to yourself,
"Ah I'll just give it some time,"
but you really should know the importance of that golden window,
that 4 hours in time.

A window to act,
to put out a fire.
Quick, it’s spreading F.A.S.T, and could be dire.

You're thinking,
I don't want to draw attention,
I'm sure it will pass.

No — be sensible, do the right thing,
no time for a stiff upper lip,
don't be silly,
and go back to bed or things could turn out grim.

In that moment, maybe you know, maybe you don't,
but you'll soon discover your world’s been turned upside down.

The Turning Point

You've developed strange symptoms, in fact there's a lot.
Oh my God — you’ve lost your balance,
the ground’s coming up quick.
How could you be so clumsy?
Now you feel like a dick.

You're asking yourself,
why do you feel like you're on the deck of a ship,
leaning at strange angles,
and all dizzy,
wait — you’re now sat over on one hip.

Your head is swimming all over,
you're going to be sick,
"Oh no, pass me that bowl over and make it quick.”

Nystagmus — N’whatmus?
Your eyes can’t keep still.
You’re asked to track a target,
but your eyes bounce off at will.
You ask yourself worriedly,
"Will I ever regain this skill?"

Tests and Diagnosis

Which area of your brain has been affected,
the doctors will tell.
Then, with joint team efforts,
we will all help you get well.

Various deficits mapped to areas of your brain,
we will work on neuroplasticity and sensation
to try and get things working again.

You start asking funny questions like,
"Hold on a minute, why can't I feel my arm, leg, or hand?"

Why are my arms and legs heavy?
They feel like they weigh a tonne.
It can be right or left,
and you may not even realise you've developed neglect.

Visual and Speech Difficulties

Now, for some strange reason,
your whole world belongs to one side.
When you attempt to read words,
they disappear from a page and fall right off the side.

Oh no, you just discovered you can no longer speak,
all of your words just come out wrong,
and your voice is weak.

Ooh now you've discovered automatic speech —
Oh, what a joy,
with a word that sounds a bit like truck,
and you use it in each reply.

Your frustration with words is evident,
as you're getting really worked up and mad.
Watch out duck!
There goes another cup,
along with that automatic F...

Tests and Treatments

Lain on a trolley, you're taken for a scan,
it could be a CT or a M.R.I,
all very noisy — you're not a fan.

Sometimes people don't realise just how fortunate they are,
the miracle of modern science,
and how it's come so far.

Depending on their diagnosis,
you may be offered a drug with clot-busting properties —
it’s really very good.
You may also be offered a procedure called a thrombectomy,
which can work wonders,
but there’s no guarantee.

Mood and Cognition

You're like an old broken record,
you're just stuck in a groove.
Every question's response is a yes,
and it's seriously affecting your mood.

Speaking of moods, they can go up or down.
You may also feel real tired.
It's important not to blame yourself
and go on to try and be inspired.

Oh no, not more silly questions —
What do you have to prove?
That damn O.T. has turned up again,
putting you in a foul mood.

This thing called a M.O.C.A…
You’re asked, “Can we give it a go?”
The O.T.’s manner is so warm and bright,
You decide, “Yes, we can,”
and just go along with the flow.

Physical Challenges

You're now having problems
where you feel you’re struggling to drink,
your mouth feels like an old dirty rug,
and it's starting to stink.

"Oh look," who said that?
Nothing to see.
Then you get all annoyed as someone sneaks up on you and gives you a fright.

You’re adamant there’s nothing wrong with you —
So you go for a walk,
bumping into everything;
You’re not concentrating —
all you do is just talk.

You’re given simple puzzles, tasks, and various games —
to help work on coordination, sensation, vision,
and other things.

Sometimes you feel like you're being treated just like a child,
but it's all good intentions
as we have to practice what feels like stupid things,
we don’t mean to get you all riled.

You're lying in bed, uncomfortable, unable to move,
struggling with communication,
and your hands are all gloved.
You have a tube up your nose, which is making you sneeze,
and a chest that is painful and making you wheeze.

You look such a sorry sight,
hopefully things will improve.
We'll never give up on you,
and try to visit each day.
Even if therapy is just time spent to show you we are there,
to hold a hand,
and that we really do care.

Dignity and Care

This part here,
I’ve put near the end —
And I’ll say it in a whisper.

Don’t worry, it’s what comes naturally.
We all have to go.

I know it’s embarrassing
when you’re struggling,
but we are here to help —
And there are things we can do
to help feel better
and relieve that wee or poo.

Conclusion

And so, in ending —
How do we explain
This terrible thing
You’ve been unfortunate enough to have?

That question is easily answered:
with care and compassion,
and for you to know
We will do our best.

I’m sorry to inform you —
that you’ve had a stroke.

.

A dream you convince yourself is going to happen...

It must be at least 10 years. I'm not able to hobble upstairs to check my dream boards, as I'm currently sitting on the couch writing this, while my good foot is soaking in a hot bowl of water with apple cider vinegar. 

I know, it just looks like a shed, right?

  

   My toes on my left foot are absolutely killing me, they are on fire, and my Achilles, which I thought was ok, I have discovered is playing up, like if I stand at the kitchen counter making a cuppa.

  So here I am, falling apart.

  I've just had a call from the IBD nurses and given my dates for the first three vedolizumab infusions, all dependent on not having any infections, to be discovered either in my foot when I visit my doctors or when I provide yet another pop sample. If shit were money, I'd be worth a whole fucking steaming pile of it. I've taken that many tests.

  Why the fuck couldn't I just go and get a less embarrassing illness, but no, it had to all revolve around my guts and access through my asshole.

  Good job, I no longer give a fuck. In fact, I am reading a book by a gentleman named Mark Manson, titled "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck." I highly recommend it, and I am only a few chapters in; it's so funny, and the author's take on things is bang on.

 So what have I been up to? I am seven chapters into a book I have decided to write, just over 17,000 words, and I am enjoying both the writing process and the creative side, as well as discovering how I think. I've actually read sections of my book aloud and thought to. I said, "Hey, this is canny good." Obviously, no,'ne' good has been the only critique of my own work, so I sent a rough draft over to me, courtesy of David. I'm sure he will give me an honest opinion, and I'll either start again or virtually rip up all my hard work and just say "Fuck it."

  Now then, I got sidetracked there, as I started with "It must be 10 years at least."

I can see it in my dreams

   What I was going to say is that for over ten years, I have been dreaming of somehow coming into money and buying my dream house up in Scotland.

    It would have enough land to start up my various business ideas, and basically, I would live happily ever after.

  On a night just as I am in that state of mind where you are between consciousness and that other subconsciousness, I can imagine, as if it were real, that I am walking through this house. I know it by heart. I imagine walking up to the door and opening it, making a drink or even a dram of whisky, sitting and relaxing, lying on a couch with my hand on the floor, listening to the house, with a peculiar sensation as if it speaks to me.  

Absolutely beautiful

      I checked to see if a particular house was still for sale, yet again today, I don't most days in truth. The house in question has been up for sale on three separate occasions. Something wrong...Or it’s waiting for me. Hopefully the Universe comes across my wee blog and decides I am not a bad fella, and gives me a helping hand. My business idea's actually involve giving back, just so you know I am not all greedy and possession oriented.

Hopefully, the Universe reads my blog, "Hey, just putting it out there."

   

  I'm going to have to sell a lot more Lost2bFound books. I've just checked, and I've only sold sixty-one. Come on, people, for fucks sake, it's only a couple of quid as an e-book, and a paperback is a tenner.

Lost2bFound "come on people grab a copy."

 

 I only make, on average, 70 p per book, so I have to sell, oh, I don't know, about a million. Only 999,949 to go, yeah, I'm staying positive.

    Bringing up an image of the house on my phone and pinning, I decided to write this, whatever you would like to call it, a poem, a musing or maybe nonsense or crap.

Glass House

As I look at the scene, it reminds me of a dream, where a red—roofed house, that's made of glass, lies beneath blue skies filled with clouds that gently drift and pass.

And upon cold days, weary bones can be warmed while siat before an inviting open fire, lifting spirits higher and higher.

A choice is presented—to listen to the beautiful surrounding nature or—put on a track and get lost in future journeys—each song a new adventure.

Surrounded by a land made up of green, grass—with wild flowers in nearby meadows—trees and hedges protecting the borders, right to their edges.

And upon those borders—lies a wee cabin overlooking a Lochan—whose views are so beautiful—you can find yourself lost in dreams again.

Dreams that are so special— and rest deep in the souls of us—bringing content smiles and warmth—preventing negative mental thoughts that can form like rust in us. 

    Well, that's about it,  time to dry my foot off and go and do something less boring instead.