Lindsay Rae
Bio
I'm a romance and comedy writer from BC, Canada. My debut novel (Not) Your Basic Love Story came out in August, 2022. Now represented by Claire Harris at PS. Literary!
I'm on Twitter, Instagram, and Tiktok
https://lindsaymaple.com
Achievements (1)
Stories (46/0)
seventeen weeks
The grass is green and covered with dew. Early morning spring, still hushed, broken only by trilling song of birds and the lazy roll of wind through undressed branches, tips brightening to green from winter grey. It is here I contemplate you-- what little of you there is, and all of you there will be.
By Lindsay Rae3 years ago in Families
Bunch of Posers
It's three fifteen and they're not here yet. They said they'd be here at three. I've been sitting on the step, staring at the front door, picking the lint off my sweater for the past thirty minutes. My feet are stuffed sweatily inside my boots, my hand-me-down skates lean against them.
By Lindsay Rae3 years ago in Fiction
A First Best Friend
The first flakes of snow danced through the cold autumn air as Cadence twirled through the streets in her Elsa costume, convinced she'd summoned them herself. It didn't bother her that most of her sparkly blue and silver dress was covered by her bright pink parka, or that her earmuffs didn't go with the long braid at her side, or that the tacky plastic pumpkin only held a fraction of the amount of candy a pillowcase could.
By Lindsay Rae3 years ago in Fiction
Uncaged
Most of my life I've been in a cage. A cage of disability. A cage of addiction. A cage of loneliness. As I cling to the bars of the cage, I can't help but feel claustrophobic. Steel on each side, above, and below. A trap, with me inside it. You'd think I'd be used to this feeling, of being confined with no way to escape. It's not new to me, although the cage I'd become accustomed to wasn't made of metal, didn't have a physical form.
By Lindsay Rae3 years ago in Fiction
How Yoga Saved Me
Yoga came into my life at a very important time. I was twenty years old, freshly moved out and living with my boyfriend, attending university full time, and working four shifts a week at a busy restaurant. It was normal for me to finish a closing shift, swing by McDonalds for a coffee at two in the morning on my way home to study for a few hours before grabbing a couple hours rest and then taking the hour-long c-train to class the following day.
By Lindsay Rae3 years ago in Longevity
#blessed
The kettle barely has a chance to whistle before she removes it from the burner. Water heated to precicely one hundred ninety degrees is poured into the gleaming cylinder of the french press, already prepared with coarse-ground, organic, freshly-roasted coffee beans from an ethically sourced farm in Columbia. A timer is set for four minutes. While she waits, she leans against the countertop and opens up her phone.
By Lindsay Rae3 years ago in Fiction
Eat it, too.
I've been going to Alycia's Bakery for weeks now, trying to figure out what she has that I don't. The bell above the door jingles melodiously as I enter the store, the windows decorated with painted-on cartoons filling the small space with cheerful natural light. A glass-encased counter dominates the room, overfilled with breads, pastries, doughnuts, and cakes. The smell, the glorious smell, surrounds me. I could close my eyes and walk down the street, guided by smell alone, to find this bakery. The smell clings to me after only being in here one minute; I'm sure it engulfs her entire being. She doesn't smell like shampoo, moisturizer, or perfume. She smells like ginger snaps, lemon tarts, and sourdough bread.
By Lindsay Rae3 years ago in Fiction
Well, A Prince...
Once upon a time... there were two princes who lived in a magical kingdom far, far away. The older brother, Logan, was brave and strong. He could climb to the very top of the playground, swim in the deep end of the pool, and jump from one couch to the other in a single leap.
By Lindsay Rae3 years ago in Families
5 Things That Made Me A Better Writer
I had been a closeted writer for years. Writing in secret, I pored over my Word document for months at a time, watching that word count steadily climb, and told no-one about it-- save my closest friends. The last thing I wanted was to tell someone I was writing a book and have nothing come of it; I'd be degected and ashamed of my unaccomplishment. If I waited until I had "something to show for it," surely that would be better.
By Lindsay Rae3 years ago in Motivation