What does the story say to you when you are blind to all else but the words?
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Let those whispers and embers turn into the ancient dance around the blazing fire. Let it be chaotic. Let it breathe life and fire and words and music, pounding away at the life pumping through your veins.
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Not a moment after she had finished speaking she vanished.
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Dear reader, With all the madness going on lately I have decided that, despite my best efforts, my writerly aspirations for this year were a tad bit ambitious. Whilst I do still wish to write every week, I am no longer going to put a label on what I am going to write. Instead of a micro fiction every week and a…
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What I did do, however, was stumble across this brief idea I'd had around about draft 6 of Extinguish, when I'd planned to rewrite the entire first half with a completely different setting (well, I did that anyway, but not in this particular direction).
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‘Look, when your friends are sad, it don’t matter if you get in trouble, you have to go make ‘em feel better. That’s your job.’
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Thankfully, whatever Muse keeps me company has also kept me in good quantity of Big Magic and ideas are never too far away when I reach for them.
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Recently it has come to my attention that some of my writing habbits could be misconstrued as "rude".
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Suspect Frederick Hart blinked back at him from his restraints. A tough one, eh. Well, Detective Holt would just have to up his game.
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‘No shoes,’ I grinned, wriggling my toes as wonder swept through my chest, filling it with light, delicious air.