Sometimes a poem writes itself, with words falling upon you like leaves from a gently swaying tree, this was one such time. I sat on the bank of the river Plym, in Shaugh Prior woods on Dartmoor, listened to the woodland whisper and wrote down this little ditty. I hope you enjoy this poem as much as I did dipping my toes while writing it.
Deep into a forest I did go, to be among life only the trees did know.
I sat on the bank of a gentle stream. Happy to let my mind wander and begin to dream.
As I listened to the birds sing and hoped the spirits would show, I became calm, at peace, and lost any sense of woe.
In no time my heart was lifted, as I lay back and my mind drifted.
Come with me said a voice from afar, for I see you have many a mental scar.
I let go and left the bounds of my physical limit, to gladly be led by the woodland spirit.
For a brief moment in time I had no earthly ties. Glad to leave far behind the rat-race and lies.
Sunbeams and diamond-dew guided my path, while mischievous creatures did cause me to laugh.
I know not the time I spent lazing that day, as my soul was happily drawn away.
My love for nature was growing, as I was consumed by this forest poem.
Daniel MacKillican is I, and this is my story so far
I’m a British writer, lucid dreamer, blogger, wine lover, and struggling yet optimistic indie author. I came into this world on the fifteenth day of September 1973, in Bathavon, Somerset, England. A few years passed, then the location for my story changed to Bristol, where I gained my lovely accent and hate of concrete.
Imagination is a wonderful and precious thing
In my early teens, I became a bit of a loner. Not for any deep, dark, psychological reason. I simply preferred the company of my own imagination to that of mixing with others. In fact, my reclusive nature is not much different now to what it was back then. But I digress, back to my delinquent younger self.
With the fearlessness of youth, I explored the old dilapidated industrial ruins of the big city. Times of long ago and times that never were would manifest in my mind’s eye. Crumbling warehouses became temples on some distant alien world, and rusty machinery became defeated robots from some fierce battle. My imagination travelled through the realm of make-believe, ideas exploding at every turn. Unfortunately, by days end, the script for those adventures usually dissolved into a forgotten void. Sometimes, however, the stories became childish scrawl upon a crumpled page. How I wish I still had some of those crumpled pages… Anyway…
I love making stuff up and writing it down
Many Moons have come and gone since my make-believe adventures amongst the industrial decay of Bristol. Over the years real life has also been quite an interesting experience, apart from the odd blip here and there. I’ve found that my grey matter is spun into motion by a wide variety of things. But my overriding passion is and has always been creative writing.
Inner demons and self-deprecation
Unfortunately, I shied away from letting anyone else read my stories or glance an eye over my penned musings. A silly fear of being told my work is utter crap held me back. I thought my writing was crap too because the voices in my head told me so. Kill that futile writing bug and focus on a real job, was what my inner demons used to say. Obviously, this is a bad frame of mind to have had. Beacons to this self-deprecation are the numerous writing pads that lay randomly scattered upon my bookshelves. Pads once scrawled upon with vigour, until the covers were slapped shut.
Overcoming my silly fears
The stories were thrown on a shelf between beautiful books written by literary greats. Other writers who took that next step and let their stories see the light of day. Now that I’ve reached that ‘funny age’ and started wondering what life’s all about, I’ve no idea why I let the fear of failure hold me back for so long. I’ve decided to just go for it and see what happens.
‘What the hell, and come what may, I will publish my work’.
— Me in 2016, when I stopped worrying about failure.
From paper to the digital page
I’ve written numerous short stories, usually in the horror or science fiction genre, although I do occasionally dabble in other areas too. I also write down my thoughts in the form of poems. The subject matter for my poetry is as eclectic as my tales, from happy musings to dark and twisted verse, and sometimes I just pen the lyrical nonsense that leaps from my brain.
I plan to find all my old neglected notepads, blow away the years of dust, and transfer the handwritten stories to the digital pages of my website. All the poems and stories I add will be accompanied by audio narration, usually read by yours truly, so you can delight in my dulcet tones. In fact, I’m actually planning to add audio narration to every page of this website. Well, I have a rather cool microphone, so it seems a shame not to make use of it.
Ama… Daniel MacKillican… A really real novel by me!
As well as trying to be creative in this reality, I also enjoy experiencing hypnagogic and hypnopompic hallucinations and trying to consciously explore my dreams. Sometimes, I manage to control my dreams with God-like powers (aka lucid dreams). I intend to keep a record of my dream-time adventures in the form of a dream journal on this website, which will make for some weird reads.
Waiting for my ship to come in
I currently live in Cornwall with my wife, Linda, and Raya, my German Shepherd. I still have a ‘normal job’ as a self-employed courier, while waiting for my ship to come in. It’s a tedious job, but the long hours on the road does give me time to think about my stories. Hopefully, that ship will dock soon, so I can say goodbye to the road for good. Then I can spend more time crafting the many stories I have rattling around my chaotic brain.
Bye for now
That should just about do it for my first post. Please feel free to leave a comment. And if you like fiction, simple poetry, and other random and potentially weird stuff, visit again soon. Bye for now.