My Writer’s Journey so far… (aka Hello!)

For the last two years, I’ve been on what I could only describe as a personal journey. Almost like a Hero’s Journey (or a Writer’s Journey 😉 ).

The beauty of the Hero’s Journey model is that it not only describes a pattern in myths and fairy tales, but it’s also an accurate map of the territory one must travel to become a writer or, for that matter, a human being.

Christopher Vogler, The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers 3rd ed

I needed a reason to write and thought, why not take part in a coffee share? So, welcome visitors and HELLO to everyone still reading (I love you <3 ).

What happened?

Long story short: I wanted to know what independence felt like, so I struck out on my own. I randomly visited parts of California and took a train ride through southern USA. Now, I’m both married to an amazing man and pregnant with our son. Life couldn’t be better!

It’s so easy to get distracted with life especially when it’s coming at you fast. You know: this bill and then the next; this latest hardship to the next; this house to the next; this job to the next.

Being an adult is crazy! I wouldn’t have noticed that I stopped writing if my husband hadn’t pointed it out.

So, here I am, full circle and trying to reconnect with my creativity. I’ll practically use anything as a reason to write these days and I’ve returned to the joys of reading (The Secret Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab has my attention as of late).

Anyway that’s it for now. I’ll see you around the blog 😀


Written for Weekend Coffee Share hosted by Natalie the Explorer. Read other’s responses or join the fun via the main share page.

A Treasure of Nightmares

There is nothing more torturous than an agitated mind.

It’s like a treasure chest of unspoken riches

Selfishly guarded, every jewel meticulously analyzed

Accumulating over a short time–

Epiphanies, suspicions, fears, schemes–

Until it overflows

And the tortured realizes too late

That it was easier to open than shut.


Written in response to Patrick Jenning’s Pic and a Word Challenge: Experience ~ Pic and a World Challenge #313

The Death Sentence

The year is 3020 and time travel is an execution method.

A few years back, it was a hopeful science experiment. “Humanity’s next great breakthrough,” said World Union’s propagandists. It earned them a few willing volunteers. A couple hundred if I remember right, but after humanity’s next great breakthrough turned its volunteers into charred corpses, WU couldn’t find a soul patriotic enough to step into a pod.

So these bastards used it to kill “criminals” or, better said, revolutionaries like me.

I wish I kept quiet. If I hadn’t written those papers. If I’d just stayed an obedient citizen

My feet felt heavy as my handlers led me to my pod. My heart beat rattled my body and I couldn’t find the strength to walk anymore. Hands yanked me from the ground and tossed me into my pod. They strapped my arms to my seat and, when I was secured, pressed a button that lowered the pod’s door. It made a hiss as it sealed me in.

A priest stood outside and prayed for me, but I couldn’t hear him. Not over my loud breathing. Not over my heartbeat, now thundering in my ears.

The machine whirled to life when he disappeared from view. I felt it attack my body first, pulling me apart atom by atom, then it went for my mind and crushed it.

***

The year is 1985; I live in London with my wife, and I’m the first human to survive a time jump.

Credits
Photo: Clock by Splitshire via Pixabay.

Our Escape

I want to be alone… with someone who wants to be alone.

Dimitri Zaik

We rented a motel room in a city far away from our respective lives. The moment we entered, we killed our phones then sequestered them in the old drawer – charging be damned – officially going off grid.

Two chocolates and a courtesy “Hope You Enjoy Your Stay” note sat in the center of the bed. We pushed them onto the floor and stowed away under the cold covers, embracing each other for warmth and, at some primal level, a need to belong.

But when our embrace didn’t scare away the loneliness that festered within us, we resorted to kissing it away.

Our respective decomposing worlds faded into a fog, leaving us alone.

Under satin sheets
Your soft snoring in my ears
Sheltered in your warmth

Credits
Photo: Morning Blankets by Cottonbro via Pexels.
Prompt: Solitude ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #257 by Patrick Jennings via Pix to Words.
Quote: Dimitri Zaik

Every Bit of Me

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming ebook, Musings from Rock Bottom. Details are below!

Every bit of me
Wants to believe we
Are real, that in
Our silences, a chord,
Silvery, binds us together.
Unseen but felt, reminding
Us that we are
Kindred souls in love
Fated to be by
God or whatever force
That put us here.

Every bit of me
Wants to believe this.
But the wounds from
Past chords prevent me.
Chords I believed were
Like ours—precious loves—
Until brutishly snatched away
Like ripping an embedded
Hangnail from a finger.

In my eyes
My wounds prove
“Love” is foolish.

Yet,

Every bit of me
Wants you to
Prove me wrong.

Credits
Photo: Three Heart Balloons by Kristina Paukshtite via Pexels.
Continue reading “Every Bit of Me”

Leftovers

There was nothing like it. Their first kiss. The way they’d fallen in love. The loneliness that existed before and the salvation he brought. She could see a life with him: a house, a little dog, and maybe a child.

She dragged her knife against rigid metal, grating its edge to a sharp point. Well, she thought, turning to her victim subdued in the kitchen chair. His new girlfriend is welcomed to my leftovers.

Credit
Photo:Knife Kitchen Block by Congerdesign via Pixabay.
Continue reading “Leftovers”

A Lucid Dream

I can feel her beside me when I close my eyes. If I focus hard enough, I can almost smell her shampoo each time our rotary fan turns its gaze her way.

I try my best not to disturb my lucid dream of her.

She doesn’t need to leave on that commute again…the one from two months ago when her car flipped and she—the real she—was taken from me.

If I stay silent, she’ll always be asleep beside me.

Credits
Photo: Sunlight inside bed by Becca Schultz via Unsplash.
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