I am a firm believer in The Secret. It changed my life. Even though I am artistically successful up until 2014, I don’t know whether I am coming or going. I feel venomous about the arts business. My heart is broken. I have therapy for the first time in my life.  2014. Hayley at number 1 gives me The Secret. It is so profound, the idea that you can have what you want, you just have to stop thinking negatively, you have to manifest, visualise, do what you love.

Because of The Secret I manifest the Reno memoirs, excavate it, exhibit our finds in the Whitworth. Make myself the mistress of my dad’s plantation in Factory International. Successfully pitch drawing 64 ft square 8-station mind-maps on HOME’s Wall’s. A forest. In which we will exorcise half-caste ghosts. But until I wake up on the 16.03.25 knowing I have to end a work relationship I do not fully understand doing what I love.

For a good few months, I have been feeling anxious, and disrespected, but thinking I will have to see it through. No. Fuck him. The bastard. Until I think this ... Then tell him nicely. As I write this, I am realising there have been loads of moments since making myself a mistress that I have discontinued relationships. I don’t have to people please anymore. I am an equal. I have status and worth. I’m listening to Oprah’s What Happened to You.

Until I say fuck off in a polite way on 16.03.25, which also isn’t me ... I usually stab the person to death. Or burn the house down. And feel great and revolutionary for a few hours. Then shit and barbaric for weeks. Maybe that is why I feel like a different person too. But getting to the point. Because of that Monday morning, when I end that relationship, I set myself free to write my book. Each step after that moment has been blind. One step in front of the other. So, this is my Slinky Dog moment when I pull my backside up to my frontside and make my body fit together cos if I don’t, I’m in danger of ripping in half and becoming unmendable. Or having a big ugly scar that I’ll never get over.

1.    21.03.25

I end a working relationship in a calm manner.

2.    23.03.25. Angel

I decide I am going to write my book 12-words, to teach others how to use 12-words. My technique that generated TWELVE WORDS. Published by Bluemoose. I begin my manifestation by searching Pinterest for book cover ideas. And realise I will use 12-words to write chapters of my life. It becomes a how-to/memoir.

3.    06.04.25. A Pilgrimage to the Oracle of You.

 While applying for a get-away-from-it-all Finnish residency, Saari, I realise my book is made up of 3 techniques I have devised. 4-dimensions, 8-stations, and 12-words.

The aesthetics of a beautiful life. Áillohaš,’ Traditional Sámi life was holistic. Art was not a separate event, but part of the artist’s philosophy of life. Everyone was an artist and everything was art. The aesthetics of life – Eallit čábbát, to live beautifully – was a good life lived in reciprocity and balance with the world. Whatever we did, we did it beautifully.’

I want to live this philosophy.

4.    13.04.25. 4-dimensions 8-stations 12-words

 I have a go at a book proposal for HarperNorth’s tiny submission window. It’s not perfect but it has embryonic truths. I fluff over the business side. No time. Then buy Jane Friedman’s The Business of Writing.

5.    20.04.25. How to Build a Platform When You're a Closet Introvert

At first, I resist. Hate the idea of begging people to notice me. Then calm down. Realise I have loads of contacts and relationships on my genuine existing platform of 30 years. I can patirntly compile an email list.

6.    27.04.25. Things That Stop You Walking into Your Madness

By madness I mean your authentic artistic self. Number one culprit is a Poverty Mindset. I’m talking about this in a meeting with cultural and creative practitioners I meet while wearing my ball gown at my plantation table. They are mesmerised by the phrase walk into your madness. It becomes the title of 4-dimensions, 8-stations, 12-words. They recognise that avoiding, denying, their madness is keeping them in the closet, in the shadows.  

7.    04.05.25. Target Audience

Them and thousands like them are my target audience. Non-White Artists. Closet Artists. Shadow Artists. Poverty Crippled Artists (of any colour). Like Me. Even this has been shown to me through manifesting and experiencing my projects

8.    11.05.25. Practising How to Write My Biog

Overlaying my achievements onto professional biogs, I arrive at how impressive I really am.

Linda Brogan is an artist from Manchester UK. Self-taught. Studying the creation of the universe, mind-mapping and associative writing. Over 23 years, evolving into her 4-dimensions, 8-stations and 12-words techniques. She uses as microscopes to study the elements of the caste system legacy lacing her memoir. Generating award-winning plays, excavation, exhibition; immersive theatre; performance art. The lens polished in 2024 during a year’s collaboration with astrophysicist Soheb Mandhai.

Self-taught. Because I am uneducated, I am not institutionalised. My techniques are through trial and error. They are not handed down like stale holy-water. They are real.

When I ended that relationship on 16.03.25, I made room for this new journey. New mirror. New pond. New reflection. Doing what I love. Really doing what I love. Messing about with the patterns, techniques that enable great writing.

And now I’ve done Slinky Dog I’ll be able to be more targeted in future blogs.