“We are all apprentices in a craft, where no one ever becomes a master.”
~ Ernest Hemingway
1,461 words (brings me to 3,442).
Thankfully, today was Sunday and I had a lot of time to write. I got 1, 981 words done on my novel (it’s called “Shimmer”)! It’s the most I’ve ever written in a day but it’s worth it. I shouldn’t rejoice too much, though; it was only the first day and I’ll probably have more trouble writing on schooldays.
See you guys, tomorrow!
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!
“Writing is easy. All you have to do is cross out the wrong words.”
(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 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.
“Thank you, Mother.”
I found this rather inspirational so I wanted to reblog(plus it’s Victoria Schwab! Who doesn’t like Victoria Schwab?!) Keep on writing! 🙂
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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