Mom, Wife, writer, self proclaimed funny girl, and publicly proclaimed "piece of work".
Lover and writer of fiction and non-fiction alike and hoping you enjoy my attempts at writing either. Yes, you. Reading this. I want you to like it.
Blaine wasn’t quite sure how to spend time on a stolen yacht run ashore on a random uninhabited island without a charged cell phone. Blaine had planned to scroll through dating apps where his biographies said things like, “I’m rich, what else matters?” And most of his profile pictures had at least two other blonde white men with sweaters tied around their shoulders in them so as to potentially attract more swipes intended for his much more attractive friends. However, given that his phone died mere minutes after arriving on the island, Blaine had been rummaging through the pristine yacht cabin in search of another method to calming his nerves before the big meeting with Seb. The “big meeting” of course, was what Blaine arbitrarily decided was going to be a conversation about him becoming business partners so that Blaine could enjoy the spoils of white collar crime. In reality, Seb planned to take the yacht as a nice freebie and hit Blaine with a “new phone, sorry... who’s this?” the next time that Blaine contacted him, but of course, he didn’t expect Blaine to carry out the theft without dangling a little fake incentive over him.
- Runner-Up in Dads Are No Joke Challenge
The Hannah TrailRunner-Up in Dads Are No Joke Challenge
I padded across the hall to the living room with my hands clasped behind my back. It wasn't often that my dad would turn down my request for a quad ride, but I figured it best to look as charming as possible for added effect. Dad was sitting on our beige velour couch, patterned with burnt orange florals and a rustic mill scene complete with waterwheel. I believe he was watching TV, though I don't remember much of what my dad used to watch on TV. Dad normally just indulged us in our request for endless cartoons, or in my case, the same cartoon played on an endless loop. I approached the arm of the couch in true six-year-old fashion: with a clear lack of acknowledgement of personal space.
Spring. Kina Village. Year 4046. There weren't always dragons in the valley; at least, not year round. The sprawling meadowed valley between Mount Aratus and the western peak of Duftin's range had only ever hosted the dragons for the duration of the spring nesting season for thousands of years. The dragons no longer remember those times, and with each day spent destroying the valley and all that surrounds it, they know not that they drain their own life force as well as ours. It will not just be the dragons driven to extinction by this madness, rather, the entire world will cease to exist if this madness overcomes them completely. The knowledge I posses and wish to share with you is sacred knowledge that only we the Kina people hold, but I know it must be share in order to save us. Though you do not understand the importance of preserving the lives of the dragons, I urge you to graciously accept my invitation to receive this knowledge, or to meet your certain doom, young warrior.
The Power of a Creative Break
Hello Vocal! If I were at all apologetic for taking care of myself, I suppose this is where I would inform you that my sincerest apology was yours for the taking due to my rather long absence from updating your feeds. Certainly a writer cannot make her way without readers, and certainly she cannot maintain readers without giving them something to read! Thus is the essence of the writers creed I’ve bound myself to in so many forms of ink and blood; “Ass in chair, words on page. Repeat.” These are some of my favourite words about writing, and this continues to be my mantra as a writer, however, I’ve learned that the execution of said mantra is the art of which I’ve still much to learn.
Answers at the Pear Tree
“The day the first pear falls from the tree unto the grassy ground below, you will know the answer.” Day 1 Desi was crouched at the end of her front walk, looping her shoelaces furiously around one another. She scanned the sidewalk and then slowly rose to standing. Not a soul stirred under the perfect blue sky for as far as Desi could see. Another quiet day in another beige suburbia. Is this a cliche start to our hero’s journey? Sure. I’d love for you to come up with something better, if you’re so smart. This isn’t even about you, anyway, it’s about Desi and the frickin pear tree, so just try to be a little less critical. It could be worse— it could be “a dark and stormy night….”.