Stream of Consciousness
Winning the Literature Time Award – Malaika Nawaz’s Journey of Words. AI-Generated.
At just 18 years old, I, Malaika Nawaz, have been honored with the Literature Time Award – a recognition that feels like both a dream and a deep responsibility. Writing has always been more than words for me. It’s been my way of making sense of silence, of capturing what others overlook, and of speaking up without shouting. Over the years, I’ve written 10 books, each carrying a piece of my heart and the stories I wish to give to the world. From poetry to reflections on peace and inner stillness, I’ve tried to carve a space for quiet voices to be heard. This award is not just a win for me – it’s a win for every young writer who doubts if their words matter. It reminds me why I began, and why I will continue. To everyone who has read my work, supported my journey, or simply believed in the power of stories – thank you. And to the young people still writing in secret notebooks or on glowing screens: your words can move mountains. Keep going.
By Malaika Nawazabout a year ago in Writers
I Was Interviewed on the #1 U.S. Radio Show – The Senior Zone. AI-Generated.
I recently had the honor of being interviewed on The Senior Zone, the #1 radio show in the United States dedicated to uplifting voices across generations. As an 18-year-old author of 10 books, I shared my journey of writing, my inspirations, and the message behind my latest book, The Silence of Everything. We discussed literature, youth empowerment, and how silence and creativity can become a form of resistance, healing, and hope. Thank you to host Shawn Perry for such a thoughtful conversation and for giving space to young authors like me. It was a proud moment to represent Pakistan and youth writers on such a respected platform.
By Malaika Nawazabout a year ago in Writers
Fiction Prompts
Anne Bernays and Pamela Painter — What If? Writing Exercises for Fiction Writers prompts — William Kittredge asked to begin a story with a given first line. Prompt: Begin the next half of the book you are writing with this line— Where were you last night?
By Denise E Lindquistabout a year ago in Writers
Palatability for the Corpse in My Poetry
I swear limerence is my default setting. I want. I want. I want. I want. Always to the side. I never know. You know? I hope so. I imagine. You in a crewneck. You rolling the sleeves of your button up. You in blue jeans. Or black jeans. Brushing the hair off my cheek. The colour of your car (I hope you have a car). Our kitchen.
By Dorothea Blytheabout a year ago in Writers
A Glimpse of Grace
Mara always knew her son Eli was different. While other children laughed and ran around the courtyard playground, Eli often stood apart—lost in his own quiet world. The other kids didn’t understand him. They teased him, called him "four eyes" for the thick glasses strapped tightly around his head. Some mocked the hearing aids in both his ears, but Eli never seemed to notice—or care. His light brown hair curled at the edges, and his soft eyes rarely reflected hurt. He was only five, but Mara often thought he carried the weight of someone much older.
By Enric Millyabout a year ago in Writers
Where was I?
I am writing this because, in case no one noticed, I’ve been away for some days. Yes, darlings, I finally disconnected and I feel no guilt about it. It was necessary. And since I don’t have to ask anyone for permission, I simply did what I should have done long ago.
By Susan Fourtané about a year ago in Writers
rooftop thinking
Atop my roof, I can see the world from a bird’s eye view. I can see the colors of all the cars, hear the blaring sirens, feel the wind in my hair. I can think my thoughts all to myself. I can contort my face into any expression. I can jump and smile and skip and scream. I can dance and sing and swing around the chimney. I can cry with my head in my hands. I can cackle like a supervillain, or hold my head high and grin like a superhero.
By angela hepworthabout a year ago in Writers
Top Five Priorities
I was flipping through some books I have in my collection and this book appeared — F*CK I’M IN MY TWENTIES, A GUIDED JOURNAL — I thought I may give this entry a try, using it as a prompt. I remembered that I am temporarily out of prompts. So here it is…
By Denise E Lindquistabout a year ago in Writers
Growing Up, or Something Resembling It. Content Warning.
The late-night air of a Seattle summer filled my lungs in between drags of a cigarette, as airplanes flew overhead and the night sky was burdened by city lights. We sat on the swings of an empty schoolyard gently lulling to and fro, staring at each other through quick glances in between quiet conversation. We sat like this for hours, learning the complexities of each other through intimate conversations and telling stories about our childhood, talking about all of the things that make meeting new people when you're twenty years old exciting.
By Lilah Looperabout a year ago in Writers
