This year, I’ll be taking part in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)! This was a very last minute decision but I hope it will be worth it!



(Based off an image prompt.) Written by: ExpandingView (me!)

Escape. A word that I wanted to grasp yet I could not reach. The tunnel did not end yet I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. It took me years to find it. Years of loneliness. Years in the dark. Years of being shattered. Years of being enslaved.

Beaten, broken and pale, I took my first step into freedom.

The sound of one hundred dancing children filled my ears. Trees covered the skies, letting only shoots of light into our enclave. Flowers of all kinds painted the canvas on the fresh, fertile soil. Balloons floated in the air, welcoming me. The swing set creaked, a lone child swinging on it, no longer having to share what was his. Confetti and streamers fell from the sky, like snow on Christmas day. Dogs yipped happily, rushing to play with the children. A lake rushed past me and children on ships sailed with it, chanting about their freedom. Birds chirped and the sounds of their songs melted with the innocent voices of the adolescent. Swing sets, pirate ships, roller coasters, tree houses and all kinds of playthings hypnotized the children. However, a mighty machine towered them all and small figures hung from it.

Ah yes. This was where I always wished to be.

The Playground.

The place I longed to return to ever since I was born. A home. A safe place for all those who hadn’t had one.

“Go on,” said a warm voice.

I turned around. My eyes started to well up. A woman stood in front of me, beautiful and complete. A light blue dress flowed in the wind. Her black hair was short and a single flower was pinned onto it. A soft smile perfected her face with her brown eyes and full lips. Her light brown skin was radiant in the sun light. Her eyes appeared tired but happy nonetheless.

“I’m sorry,” I said. Clutching my chest, I ran into the field of children. I was engulfed by the sounds of laughter yet I did not laugh. Not yet.

I turned around for the last time. She was no longer there. A small tree had replaced her, surrounded by those just like it.

I smiled.

“Thank you, Mother.”

Just. Keep. Writing.

I found this rather inspirational so I wanted to reblog(plus it’s Victoria Schwab! Who doesn’t like Victoria Schwab?!) Keep on writing! 🙂

Victoria (V.E.) Schwab

Hey there, lovelies!

I know it’s been awhile since I posted. I’ve spent the last few months buried under deadlines and finishing up coursework–so far this year I’ve gone to grad school, and written and edited THREE books, all coming out next year–and getting ready to head back to Nashville.

But in the slivers of space between, I’ve been reflecting a lot–about writing, publishing, advice–and I wanted to talk about a piece of advice that I know seems trite, but is honestly the best I can give. I’ll try to explain why.

Five years into my publishing career, I finally feel like I have my feet under me, and because of that, I’m often asked for advice.

When writers–aspiring, debut, and established–ask for insight, I always say, “Just keep writing.”

And I know that sounds like a very Dory thing to say, but the fact of the matter is, if…

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Thoughts on the Canadian Election

Staying up late for the Canadian elections is kind of like a family tradition from me. Despite being 13 and only “seeing” few federal elections in my life time, I found it very intriguing this year. I am a fan of both the NDP and Liberal parties and it’s interesting to see one of these parties finally prevail over Steven Harper and the Conservatives.

Just like all the previous elections, my family gathered around the T.V., at 7:00, waiting for the votes from Atlantic Canada. We shared a cheer as the Liberal party’s seats rised. We shared a remorseful sigh as the NDP remained 3rd. And we shared a laugh as the Conservatives remained second, barely reaching 100 seats.

It felt kind of odd this year though. I felt more mature than last time around but it didn’t feel like I was quite “there”. Maybe it’s the fact I can’t take part in the voting. And guess what? Next time, I’ll still be unable to vote.

At least I got school elections to look forward to, right?

(Too bad I lost in this year’s Student Council election. High school anyone?)


(Based off a writing prompt)

Written by: Expanding View (me!)

“Doctor!” A squeaky voice shrieked, “I have some news for you!”

I moaned and raised my head from my desk. Drool drained from my lips, staining the papers I was resting on.

Ugh..I fell asleep again, I thought grudgingly.

Fixing my glasses, I checked the clock, which was set on a pile of research papers. It was 1 p.m., meaning I had slept through lunch.

The squeaky voice belonged to my secretary, Susan. I turned around in my swivel chair to find her already in my office, with a lopsided smile plastered on her face. In her hands, she held a single paper. I sighed and smoothed out my hair.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Susan?” I frowned, getting up and walking over to her, “Don’t barge into my office like that!”

Her smile faltered but she laughed. I hated her laugh. It made me wonder why I hired a seal for a secretary.

“This one’s really important, Kim,” She beamed and passed me the paper, “See for yourself.”

“It better be more important than that time you wondered whether sea sponges are used to make soap sponges or not,” I mumbled.

“I’ll go make you some coffee…” Susan said. I caught a hint of remorse in her voice.

I sat in my chair, once again, and spun in it for a few seconds before taking a look at the paper. It was a letter from Professor Jones from the “Psychology Organization of Hasburn”. I heard of no such organization from any of my research papers in my entire life although I had been a psychologist for almost 20 years. It was addressed to me Doctor Kim Hughes and it felt kind of odd to see my name in fine print. I started reading the letter just as Susan returned with a steaming hot cup of coffee.

Dear Doctor Kim Hughes,

The Psychology Organization of Hasburn has taken note of your excellent contribution to the department of psychology. We have read into your experiments and research papers and would like to make a proposal.

We are taking part in a long term experiment and I, the CEO of this organization, would like you to take charge of one of our most interesting subjects. This experiment can contribute greatly to your research articles. We would like an employee that has as much experience with trauma as possible and you are one of the few doctors that make the cut.

We are patiently waiting for your response, Doctor Hughes, and we are looking forward to it.

At the bottom of the page was the organization’s website and email along with the man’s signature. I studied the letter once more before taking off my glasses and taking a sip of the coffee. The beverage left a bittersweet taste in my mouth, just like the letter did. The letter was so vague and unrealistic.

“So…” Susan cleared her throat, “What do you think?”

Rubbing my temples, I bit my lips and thought for a moment. My laptop lay open in front of me and it took me only a moment to reach for it.

I researched for hours only pausing when Susan entered the room to bring me food or to tell me her shift was over. The organization’s website was vague just like the letter and had no details about its “most interesting subject”. Despite that, I longed to be part of the organization and take part in the experiment.

It was 9:07 pm when I finally closed Google. I took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose. The remnants of my afternoon coffee still lay on top of my research papers. I spun in my chair for a few minutes, too lazy to clean my desk or even wash out the cup.

I stuck out my leg, letting it bang against the leg of my table. The cup tumbled off the desk and smashed on the floor. Grumpily, I opened my Gmail and started to compose a message.

A building stretched in front of me. Fixing my empty messenger bag, I shifted on my feet feeling small. The building was so large that I didn’t notice the teeny man in front of me. The only hair he had was his mustache. The man wore a suit but he wore a lab coat over it for some reason.

“Hello, Dr. Hughes,” He said, “I assume you are the one I spoke with last night.”

“Yes,” I smiled, shaking his hand firmly, “I assume you’re Professor Jones.”

His face became stiff and serious, unlike his relaxed tone from before.

“Yes, yes,” He relaxed, “Let’s get right down to business.”

He lead me into the building, which looked like a regular hospital. A few men in lab coats were sprinting from room to room. A woman stood in centre of the hallway leaning against the elevator, sipping a red beverage from a bottle. Her red nails matched her red lips and red hair. She swallowed the beverage and nodded toward us before stepping out of the way.

Once we were inside the elevator, the man pressed the number 2. I took note that the building had 45 floors including a basement, just as my phone vibrated in my breast pocket. I ignored it and enjoyed the blessed silence.

This hallway wasn’t like any hospital. It was bustling with people in lab coats and flying papers. Professor Jones rubbed his temples.

“I apologize for this chaos,” He sighed, “Once you see your subject, you’ll understand.”

I grunted in response and followed him as he wove through the crowd. It became eerily quiet as the doctors noticed their employer.

We stopped at set of double door and he signaled me to open it. Grumpily, I swung open the door.

The first thing I noticed about the room was it was filled with broken chairs, tables and boards. The mess made me shiver (although it was just as messy as my desk). Crayons, papers, dolls and toy cars scattered the large room. I barely noticed the small figure crouching on the floor in the centre of the room.

Professor Jones stepped past me and walked toward the figure. The black-clad figure did not stand or show any sign of acknowledgement toward the CEO.

“Doctor,” Jones’ voice was filled with remorse, “This child is your subject. His name is F.”

The figure sat up at the sound of their name. His skin was almost black and his eyes were large and beady. Long black hair reached his shoulders and long nails grew from his fingers. “He” was biting on a pencil with his sharp teeth.

His eyes were only on Jones and they were filled with hatred.

Growling and dropping the pencil, the child lunged at Prof. Jones and bit at his arms. However, despite his short stature, Jones grabbed F and set him down on one of the broken tables. Jones shoved the pencil back into his mouth and he continued chewing.

In shock, I walked over to the “child”. He did not look at me and a low purr omitted from his chest. Jones fixed his lab coat and sighed.

“Tarzan syndrome,” He said, patting the child’s head, “My employees like to call it that. We’ve never seen anything like this and no one can help this poor child. I hired psychologists from all over the world but none of them know what or who he is.”

“How’d you find him?” I ask, digging my hands into my pockets, “Who made this mess?”

“A driver found him in the country side. Poor kid was ditched on the side of the road. The driver decided to kick him to see if he was alive. Poor man died a few days later in the hospital I worked at. It’s been 13 years since then and the kid is the same size as when he got here. The behavioural issues you saw just now aren’t the only problems. His physical attributes just aren’t the same as any human’s. And the mess? All done by him. There is no limit to his strength and he never listens to us.”

I stared at the kid intently. I tapped him on the shoulder but he didn’t turn and look at me.

“Say his name,” Jones said, knowingly.

I sighed and I grunted, “F…”

The kid’s head swiveled and his purring stopped, his eyes wide and attentive. His chewing stopped and he let go of the pencil. He made eye contact with me and I felt although he was looking into my soul. I narrowed my eyes, feeling annoyed, but I could not look away.

A low growling was heard and his eyes narrowed. His hand turned into a fist.

All of a sudden, the door swung open with a BANG.

“KIM!” I heard a squeaky voice shout.

I turned around to see Susan panting with a lunch bag in her hand.

“Your lunch…!” She squeaked, running over to me and placing it into my arms. I noticed the red-headed woman standing in the doorway before she turned away.

“Who is this woman?!” Jones exclaimed.

“Sus-” I started.

Susan stopped panting and looked at F, who was now standing in between me and her, chewing on his pencil. Susan’s expression softened and child locked eyes with her.

“Come,” She said softly, her arms outstretched. F jumped right into them.

There he was. Jones’ most interesting subject resting on the bosom of a stupid secretary.

I smiled.

My stupid secretary.

The Enbodiement of Nature

(Based of an image prompt)

Written by: Expanding View (me!)

I’ve been here my whole life. If you could call it a life…standing here out in the middle of nowhere, my arm outstretched to the skies, calling out to the Gods (if they even still exist).

I remember the civilization that lived here. The small ones played in the others’ arms so sweet and innocent as the big ones murdered. They were basically naked, those animals, and they grew in their numbers from an unknown source. I was small then, naive. I welcomed them although I was barely noticeable under their feet. After all, they were my brothers and sisters. Another one of Mother Nature’s creations.

I grew to be as tall as their small kind, when I finally caught a glimpse of the world I had not seen. The smell of maple sap filled the air. There in front of me was the biggest of their kind. In his large hand, he held the log of a young tree, barely 100 years old. A smile was plastered on his face as he walked right past me. I was still young and fear shook me as I heard her cries. I could not help her. No one could.

The females were much kinder and more gentle. When I was 10, a small one sat at my feet and sang. The birds rested in my arms just to hear the Sister’s song. Red seeped from her cheeks and tears flowed from her eyes. Mother Nature had cursed their kind along with us, for many years.

By the time I was 11, grey delight filled the air. It was a gift from the kind that had harmed us or maybe it was a warning of what was to come. I basked in it for awhile, trying to ignore the nightmares that filled my dreams.

I was 15 when it happened. The big ones ran along the fields in the horizon, carrying the limbs of the our dead and using them to kill their own. Sap covered the ground that day but they walked around with pride. The civilization took no note of the deaths they had been causing.

Day by day, more of my kind were destroyed and the civilization continued to grow. But the civilization did not know what was coming. They had committed many sins and angered the Gods.

That wretched day brought the death of Mother Nature. The skies were filled with red hot burning anger and I lay on the ground, watching the Cursed Kind fall and hearing their wonderful screams.

It’s been years now and the skies have turned grey, the colour they had gifted me with. I wish I were dead. But maybe I am and I just don’t know it. After all, Mother has cursed us from the start.