Don’t be that guy

You know that one guy who wouldn’t write his first blog post because he’s waiting for that perfect topic that’s going to make him famous?

Or that guy who never shows you his amazing movie scripts because they’re not ready yet?

Or that one girl who won’t stop complaining to you about how un-perfect she looks?

Or that girl who wouldn’t go up to make her pitch because it’s not the right time yet?

Or that one guy who wouldn’t take a damn risk because the conditions are not right?
Or the market isn’t ready?
Or he’s waiting for a better opportunity?
Or he’s just unlucky?
Or bad things always happen to him?
Or he can’t take another rejection?

Yes. Don’t be those people.
Please.

Because there’s never any perfect, ready, right time, right conditions, right market, better opportunity, luck, or anything like that.

Especially, luck.

Just a few moments

I wanted to
spend some time
with the universe,
the stars and
moonlight.

hear their stories
and animate those
words to
every soul I lay
my eyes upon.

but there was
this fear of
moving in that direction
for I may lose
what I have now
and not find anything
except loneliness.

I took
that forbidden path anyway
and realized, all
I wanted
is to drag the time
out for
a few moments.

J.K. Rowling

“Fat’ is usually the first insult a girl throws at another girl when she wants to hurt her.I mean, is ‘fat’ really the worst thing a human being can be? Is ‘fat’ worse than ‘vindictive’, ‘jealous’, ‘shallow’, ‘vain’, ‘boring’ or ‘cruel’? Not to me; but then, you might retort, what do I know about the pressure to be skinny? I’m not in the business of being judged on my looks, what with being a writer and earning my living by using my brain…

I went to the British Book Awards that evening. After the award ceremony I bumped into a woman I hadn’t seen for nearly three years. The first thing she said to me? ‘You’ve lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw you!’Well,’ I said, slightly nonplussed, ‘the last time you saw me I’d just had a baby.What I felt like saying was, ‘I’ve produced my third child and my sixth novel since I last saw you. Aren’t either of those things more important, more interesting, than my size?’ But no – my waist looked smaller! Forget the kid and the book: finally, something to celebrate.

I’ve got two daughters who will have to make their way in this skinny-obsessed world, and it worries me, because I don’t want them to be empty-headed, self-obsessed, emaciated clones; I’d rather they were independent, interesting, idealistic, kind, opinionated, original, funny – a thousand things, before ‘thin’. And frankly, I’d rather they didn’t give a gust of stinking chihuahua flatulence whether the woman standing next to them has fleshier knees than they do. Let my girls be Hermiones, rather than Pansy Parkinsons.”