Life

Is Travel Good For The Soul?
Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones Deck prompts — Where have you traveled? It can be to Timbuktu or the 7-Eleven on the corner. Don't limit yourself to distant travel. The park on the corner has vast possibilities. Go, write - begin with ten minutes.
By Denise E Lindquistabout a year ago in Writers
Why I Keep Writing Even When No One’s Reading (Yet)
“Sometimes it feels like I’m writing into a void — but I keep showing up anyway.” I’ll admit it… there are days when hitting “publish” feels like shouting into the void. I stare at the screen, re-reading a piece I poured my soul into, only for it to get… three views (at most) and a polite thumbs-up from my best friend (sometimes). And while I tell myself it’s not about the numbers (because it’s not), that little voice still pipes up: Is anyone even out there?
By Georgiaabout a year ago in Writers
Snack and neulla
Here'wow to see sample story Nature has ordained that large, venomous snakes and mongooses often inhabit the same territory. This coexistence has led to a fascinating dynamic between the two species. Snakes prey on mongoose pups, and mongooses, to protect their young, retaliate by eating snakes. This cycle of predator and prey has been ongoing for centuries, with each side adapting to the other's tactics.
By New stAr writer about a year ago in Writers
It was a beautiful summer
Here's a 800-word love story in English: *The Unexpected Encounter* It was a beautiful summer evening, and the sun was setting over the horizon. The sky was painted with hues of orange, pink, and purple, a breathtaking sight to behold. Amidst this serene backdrop, two strangers, Emily and Jack, crossed paths in a quaint little café.
By New stAr writer about a year ago in Writers
A Sudan man has written an article.
*The Art of Facing Fears: Lessons from the Mongoose* In the scorching savannas and grasslands of Africa, a fascinating dynamic unfolds between two unlikely adversaries: the mongoose and the venomous snake. This ancient rivalry has been playing out for centuries, with each side adapting to the other's tactics in a never-ending game of survival. The mongoose, despite its small size, has evolved to become a formidable opponent, capable of taking down snakes that would be deadly to most other animals.
By New stAr writer about a year ago in Writers
The people incomplete information
Here is the story expanded to 800 words: As the woman approached the man on the street, he couldn't help but notice the determined look on her face. She was clearly on a mission to gather data for her survey, and he decided to play along. "Excuse me, sir," she said with a polite smile. "I'm conducting a small survey. May I ask you a few questions?"
By New stAr writer about a year ago in Writers
"A Mysterious Death in the Cold ".
It was the cold and silent night of November 27, 2019, when I was present at the Police Chowki Gulrez, Thana Chaklala. It was around 3 am, and I had just lain down on my bed, with the blanket barely starting to warm me up, when the clerk knocked on the door. "Sir, there's a call from Safari Hospital, a 7-year-old girl's body has been brought in, and it's being reported as a natural death. We're supposed to just hand over the body to the family members."
By New stAr writer about a year ago in Writers
Bride of one night
Here's the Ramlah was ready to go to university and came out of the hostel. Her car was parked in front of the gate, and Hamdan was leaning against it. As Ramlah approached, Hamdan walked towards her and said, "Assalamu alaikum. Here are your car keys. You go to university, and I'll join you later." Ramlah replied, "Wa alaikum salam. Thanks, but what was the emergency? You could have fixed the car in the morning." Hamdan smiled and said, "I'll have breakfast and then join you at university. Let's talk later." Ramlah smiled and drove off.
By New stAr writer about a year ago in Writers
Raise crows, and they’ll peck out your eyes (No good deed goes unpunished.)
They say if you raise crows, they’ll peck out your eyes. This makes sense to those who don’t understand giving, only the habit of receiving.
By Liora Vogel about a year ago in Writers
The Optometrist: Chapter 1. Content Warning.
Chapter zero; The chair was cold. Icy on her skin, and yet she couldn’t move. She didn’t even know if she had the intention of getting away or if every will that was once present in her body had disintegrated in the air. She looked through the hole. She looked through the lenses like she was directed to,
By Jewel Youmansabout a year ago in Writers
Black Lake
My head is cocked and craned at an uncomfortable angle I can and will pretend does not hurt, puts no strain on my neck. It will look natural from a bird’s eye view, is what I tell myself, even when no one is watching from the skies above, or upon the mountains below.
By angela hepworthabout a year ago in Writers
**"Love’s Honest Deception"**
You asked for softness, but love arrives with teeth— a hunger that gnaws at your ribs like a trapped thing pawing at its cage. It starts as a hum beneath your skin, a whispered *"you’re safe here"* as hands map your spine like territory to claim. You mistake possession for prayer, the press of lips for salvation. (You always confuse hunger for holiness.) Then the unraveling: Midnight silences thick with unsaid words, the slow rot of promises in the space between pillows. You learn their absence has weight— it sits on your chest like a stone, while their ghost traces the bruises they left and calls it memory. Love’s truth? It’s not the burning. It’s the blisters left behind when the fire dies— the way you pick at the scabs, trying to bleed just enough to feel something. You’ll search their exits for meaning: *Was it the way I loved too much?* *Or not enough?* (As if love could be measured in wounds.) Here’s what no one warns you: The leaving never ends. Even gone, they live in your reflexes— the way you still reach for them in empty beds, the way your body braces for impact when the phone rings. But listen, survivor: One morning you’ll wake and their name won’t taste like rust. The mirror will show your scars, yes, but also the light that got in through the cracks they made. You’ll realize love wasn’t the knife. You were the o
By Freyaabout a year ago in Writers