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There’s so many thoughts I cannot put into words. Sometimes the struggle is in finding an original way to express thoughts already spoken: the happiness of a bright sunflower in the summer, the melancholy of toy in the rain, the butterflies in the stomach and heart in your throat for nerves. We know what to
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In many ways, writing still feels like a need that’s intrinsic to my nature. But, external forces have been removed. Writing is no longer a forced activity rubrics and due dates, but a chosen form of expression.
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I am a romantic, demi-romantic. On the surface, that statement doesn’t make sense. But, the fact is: I love, love. I binge read romantic web comics and books, fawn over sweet animes, and consume rom-coms by the dozen. Far from being afraid or disgusted by romance, I am addicted to it. I just don’t experience
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As children Prince James and I played in the courtyard together. We were unlikely friends, the second born son of a king and the only son of the castle sorceress, but we spent every day together since we were scarcely out of the nursery. He, as a second son, had few royal responsibilities, and I
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I’m not ready to talk about some things. There are some parts of my life that I still can’t bring myself to talk about- at least, not in a serious way. It’s one thing to make a joke hinting at that hidden darkness, but it’s another thing to open the curtains and expose it to
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Inspired by the Pintrist prompt: “Write what he said about the coffee” “It’s cold.” He said it blandly, an observation rather than a complaint. It was a short sentence. A mere two words about a cup of coffee after a stony 16 hours of silence. “Should I warm it for you?” I asked, careful to
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I’ve been on a literary kick. For the last month I’ve been reading and writing more than I have since starting college. I haven’t turned on my television in over a week, and I haven’t gone a single day without picking up a book or a pen. I feel like I did when I was
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Middle Children have a harsh reputation we do not deserve. As middle children we are either ridiculed for our supposed “attention seeking” behavior, or pitied for being less-important than our older and younger siblings. Personally, I find this all ridiculous. I am the 4th of 6 children, meaning that I am a middle child of
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I am the writer who doesn’t write. In college I told myself I didn’t have the time, and the excuse seemed valid at the time. Between full time employment, full-time classes, homework, and commutes- I barely had time to breathe. My writing suffered, but I scribbled when I could and dreamed of graduation. I told
Bringing Mae Flowers 