Emma Finucan
Bio
Fledgling writer - looking for meaning in the mundane.
Stories (3/0)
Eleven Eleven
Eleven as a number has never held any meaning to me, I couldn’t care less about it after I learnt to count. If anyone asked me to recite facts on the number eleven before today, I honestly wouldn’t have known a single thing about it. What I can tell you is that in the last few hours I have learnt more about the number eleven than I ever cared to know. It is the smallest two-digit prime number, it’s the number of players on each side of soccer, cricket, and football, it is the number of sides on a Canadian dollar coin, it is the tenth most popular lucky number in the world, World War I ended on the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour – funnily enough so did my life.
By Emma Finucan2 years ago in Fiction
I went for a walk
I have taken to walking, each morning and each evening. It has become part of my routine, fitting seamlessly into my life – it has come to be something I cannot live without. I walk alone, sometimes, it makes me feel small and scared, but I know I am alive.
By Emma Finucan4 years ago in Psyche
I am a writer?
I am a writer? I quit my job. I quit my job to pursue a creative career, to become a writer. It was an administrative job, one in which I had been stuck for six years. I quit my job and precisely one week later the whole world shut down in the midst of a global pandemic. Three months have passed since then, three months of drifting and some days this all feels like a sort of cosmic joke or as if I finally could not escape whatever bad karma I had been accumulating. I am writer. I repeat, more for myself than those who ask me what I do. I am a writer? The question hovering in my voice, the apprehension I feel saying the word aloud clear to anyone who listens. Unpublished, unemployed – I am writer.
By Emma Finucan4 years ago in Journal