As a freelance content writer, fantasy author, and reluctant minion of darkness, I spend my days devouring words and teaching my cats boundaries (which is relentless, unforgiving work...)
Escapism is life. Find me on Insta: @j.l.nicholls 😊
The ancient woodland
Come, listen closely You’ll hear the bluebells tolling Roused by spring’s warm breath Fun fact: Bluebells are one of the last flowers to bloom before the forest canopy closes due to new leaves on the surrounding decidous trees. Their preference for undisturbed, ancient forests is also why they're the subject of fairy folklore. It's said that when bluebells toll, the fae are being summoned to a gathering; however, if a human hears the sound, it's their death knell. Catch the carpet of blue around April and listen while the wind rings their bells (if you dare).
Why storms don’t last
Only rain knows how clouds dance in apology and give way to blue Storms have always fascinated me. I feel their charge like a whisper along my skin. If I'm not asleep by the time the rain stops falling, I love looking for the cracks in the grey and seeing the blue break through. It's always felt like the clouds fall away to reveal a renewed sky, their dance a dramatic introduction.
Rinse, reset, repeat
I looked towards the darkening sky, the wolf-grey clouds heavy with rain. Their dimensions shifted with every billow and gust, faces and shapes formed and undone within a breath. The vapours grew thick and impatient in mother nature’s grasp, and my stomach turned in warning.
I’m a plane riddled with bullets, and so are most survivors
***Trigger warning: I talk about abuse and trauma in this blog.*** There’s a type of rage only people who’ve been abused understand. It’s both dissociative and full of ancestral fury; silent but always present. Sometimes it lays dormant like winter in our veins, and sometimes it rips through us like a match struck against our scars.
The Secret Chronicles
Thank you for reading! I started writing this fantasy series when I was sixteen, and it's a story I've nurtured for years. So, to honour my teenage self, I'm going to release a chapter every week for you to enjoy. If you like what you read, please follow me for the latest updates!
How anger both protects and poisons you
It’s 3 am and a nightmare has jolted me awake. White-hot rage stabs at my chest as the injustices of someone I called a friend roil in my belly. Their face is smug and self-satisfied as they bully me into submission, standing over me as I try to form words that die in my throat. There’s no use trying; I gave them everything they needed to hurt me. I trusted them with my greatest fears, my trauma, and my truth. But I didn’t know then how friends made the worst enemies. I didn’t know how vindictive some people were capable of being.