Every day I’m chasing after that feeling…

78 - Every day Im chasing after that feeling
Do you know what it feels like? Let me tell you. It’s like opening your eyes each morning, but instead of lying in bed under a dusty blanket with your head on a worn-down pillow, you’re strapped into a seat surrounded by a control panel. Only there aren’t any buttons. Just a confusing jumble of …

The Writer and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Blank Page…

39 - The Writer and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Blank Page
Every writer dreams of being that prodigy who pours their heart and soul into a novel and, against all odds, it sweeps across the nation and becomes the next bestseller. Not only a bestseller; it’s a beautifully crafted piece of literature. A life-changing tome. You know, one of those titles that all good bookstores keep …

The storyteller who fell into her own web of lies…

29 - The storyteller who fell into her own web of lies

There’s no excuse for lying. Unless, of course, you happen to have a very good reason for it. I mean, if you had to lie in order to save a man’s life, who could possibly judge you for that? Or if your lie rescues an innocent person, it must be okay, right? You can lie …

Writing is not a race, but it sure can feel like one…

22 - Writing is not a race but it sure can feel like one

I scribble away on the pages of an overstuffed notebook, desperately trying to get my thoughts down onto paper before they scatter away in all directions like a disturbed ants’ nest. It holds me together. Writing, I mean. When the fibrous network keeping my mind in place starts to unravel, I quickly grab a pen …

A writer’s sentence can only be 25 to life…

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For many years I’ve had a fierce love for fiction and its ability to touch upon the very themes and ideas which haunt our lives and disturb our sleep. But despite my obsession with literature, the relationship between me and my writing has often been tumultuous, even somewhat abusive. It seems that no matter how …

Writing on tangents because I’ve run out of notebooks…

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I wrote a lot in my school books, but never on the subject which I was meant to be writing on. I remember my hand cramping from gripping my pen too tightly. It was an endless race to try and keep up with the workings of my imagination. The teachers only smiled. My friends shrugged …