Amanda Wilson
Bio
Mother, artist, spiritually aware, and a little weird...
Writing is my passion, my art, and my career. Through writing I share my experiences, lessons I've learned, and stories I create.
Stories (7/0)
The Beauty Who Chose the Beast
Aimory paced about his room, alternating between raking his fingers through his hair and gnawing at a callus on his thumb. He was 30 years old today. He awoke to the breakfast bells, but always thought he’d be awakened on his 30th name day by the shouts of his young children as they burst into his bed-chamber, racing to see who could wish him a happy name-day first. He always thought he’d go to his name day breakfast with his wife, who has become a trusted partner, a beloved companion, and his closest friend. But those dreams are just that: Dreams. All because his father decided to be the first king in almost 1,000 years to refuse to carry out the Passing of Power process.
By Amanda Wilsonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Paradox of Postpartum Depression
I feel like I’m drowning. Some days are better than others. There are days when I can make it to the surface so I can take a deep, exasperated breath before I sink back into the depths. Where it’s cold. Where it’s dark. Where all hope and joy and self-love are pulled from your soul- it’s like a nightmarish hand pushes through your ribcage and pulls out your still-beating heart.
By Amanda Wilsonabout a year ago in Psyche
The Vase of Ice Holding Flowers, Frozen Forever Fresh
Prince Llewellyn stopped to wipe the sweat glistening off his brow and tug at his normally silky jet black hair clinging to his neck and cheeks. His life-long best friend, betrothed, and beloved, Zoe, twisted around when she realized he was no longer in step behind her. Seeing his ruddy cheeks and disheveled tunic, she let out a little giggle.
By Amanda Wilsonabout a year ago in Fiction
300 Seconds
Jared glanced at his watch and smiled to himself. He knew that it was pointless to time the bellhop, but old habits and all that. Considering this quirk was all that was left of his once debilitating OCD, Jared embraced it. Keeping track of those seconds kept him from needing to count stairs, kept him from having to go down to the first step again if he missed one or lost count, kept him from tapping the railing five times if there was an odd number of stairs, kept the compulsion to look at the ceiling every fourth step he took at bay.
By Amanda Wilsonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Birth of my Beloved Bug
12:30 AM I sit up in bed and turn the bedside lamp on. I couldn't rest any longer. The contractions were coming regularly, and getting more painful with each wave. My partner is half-asleep, but I have to tell him what's going on.
By Amanda Wilsonabout a year ago in Families
The Shape-Shifting Swimmer
Stormy's long, lean, body bulleted through the water, her strong legs propelling her beyond the bay and into the open ocean. She knew her gift had to do with the sea- her grandmother always told her she was more salt than sugar and she had a feeling this wasn't just a jab at her temper. As the ocean floor dropped, Stormy slowed her pace. She looked toward her home, the island key of Sol, allowing herself a moment of contemplation before taking the plunge. Her dream last night told her what to do, but did she trust her magic well enough to take the dream seriously?
By Amanda Wilson2 years ago in Fiction
The Explosive Truth
As the dust settled, a few people coughed. Chunks of concrete tumbled to a stop, some landing at the feet of an off-duty police officer standing in a daze in the devastated food court. Not much was clear other than the fact the mall had been the target of a bomb.
By Amanda Wilson2 years ago in Fiction
