The First Day
The First Day
For the past nine years, I've forgotten November first.
Seriously, the entire day. Something in my brain has allowed me to completely skip past the day for years, shown through every November writing project. November is National Novel Writing Month. Since 2013, I have participated in NaNoWriMo, a month dedicated to the completion, however roughly, of a piece of writing. Every year, I miss the first day of writing, which always sets me behind for the remainder of the month. Occasionally, I have even forgotten to write until halfway through the month, leaving me scrambling to come up with 30 thousand words in a couple weeks.
This year, I'm prepared.
On the second, of course. I forgot about yesterday.
This year my goal is 50 thousand words. As I start each day, I'd like to begin with a quick post depicting my process and process. And of course I wouldn't be an author if I didn't add: Look for the first volume in the Otherworld series, coming 2023.
Forever Writing,
quill rose
More Posts from Quillrosetellsstories and Others
People in Dark Academia.
The ones who stay up late at night to finish their favourite books, fingers tracing the lines as they whisper the words. The ones who strut the hallways with their head high as if the world was buring behind them. The ones who write in the dark, tears rolling down their cheeks because oh, they feel too much.
manifesting finding a hand written note in the next book you read 📚
i always send emails!
River Flows in You
Bare feet slip through mossy banks
On the other side of a bubbling creek, filled with watercress,
Is a deep path
Leading to a breathtaking waterfall.
“This way,” a teacher says,
Shoving a fistful of fresh-plucked watercress into his mouth.
Students and staff follow, in order of their eagerness
The sharp snap of the plant dances on every tongue.
Hidden and rocky though the path may be,
Treasures await the fresh-faced explorers
A waterfall spills into the creek, misting the group,
As they all file into a hidden cavern behind the rushing waters.
Teachers don’t lecture the students as they fill their cupped palms and stick their little feet in,
Most never having felt such overwhelming, refreshing freedom in their short lives
Staff watches as happiness spreads across usually bleak faces,
Knowing they’re creating core memories for themselves and their students.
When I mutter, “I wish I was a waterfall, strong and powerful and cool,”
It is Mr. A who turns to me to teach the most valuable of all lessons this day
He never lies, and with the intelligence of a middle-aged man from the middle-east, replies:
“But you are, that energy flows through you, too.”
Forever Writing,
quill rose
Do you ever wish to not exist?
Fed seagulls on the Cali beaches with my youngest sister.
Her Falling Star
Content Warning: self-inflicted violence
Estrella refused to look away from the sky, especially once she made her last wish on the star that shot across. She waited for another. Too late; her breath quickened. Starlight streamed down hollow cheeks. Estrella refused to take her eyes off the sky, even after the trigger was pulled.
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