In our time
a fluorescent warmth;
everything seems in shadow
when your presence
does not glow.
Always remember to forget,
the things that made you sad.
But never forget
the things that made you glad.
the troubles that have passed away,
but never forget
the blessings that come each day.
I have recently signed up with GOODREADS. I saw the website appearing on every book review I looked at. I finally caved in and made an account.
I have added my list to the side, if you’re on a computer, or below, if you’re a phone or tablet.
I have reviewed about a third of the books I have actually read. As you can see the list is short. One day, I will be up-to-date but for now you can just see the books I have reviewed so far.
If you have any recommendations, based on what I have read. Please comment, or if you want to discuss books, please do not hesitate to comment 🙂
Hello online world.
Here is the third installment for my online fantasy novel. If this is your first viewing please read the 1st and 2nd, and it should make a lot more sense.
Burimen Brothers – Part II
Thank you and enjoy.
I held onto her hand, trying not to get lost. I could hear the echoing stomps of the enormous creature, rocks crumbling down from its claws squeezing through the narrow tunnels.
My legs were tired from the constant running and my throat was burning from smoke. I dragged Santhara down like an anchor on a capsizing boat. I spun around to see the rider sitting on the Dragons jagged spine. I saw he had no legs; his torso was merged to the creature.
Most of my posts have been creative writing pieces. A friend asked me the other day, ‘don’t you get writer’s block?’
Writer’s block. The daunting term that can make or break writers. I have been fortunate enough to experience it a lot less than others tend to portray, nevertheless I still have.
There are alot of theories, techniques, tips and suggestions that float around the internet. But these are the ones I tend to fall back on to prevent my writers block. They are:
- Leave a post note for your future writing session.
I love this idea. At the end of each writing session, leave a post note of what you want to accomplish next session. It starts your creative spark and it gives you a sense of direction. Always leave a sticky on your notepad, side of your laptop or in your notes app.
Laugh all you want, but WordPress helps. If I am suffering from mental stimulation I read blogs. If you read enough it might re-spark the dismal creative flame. For instance, the other day I wanted to continue with my online novel (second installment Burimen Brothers – Part II ) but I felt stuck until I found an article about Dragon Riders in Fantasy novels. I loved it and it inspired me to go back to my story, and change it around. Here is the article Grady P Brown.
Hopefully this article has the same affect.
3.Read a book
The same reasons as above but if you struggle to get online inspiration, reading a book can have the same outcome.
4. Allocate time
Yes, make time to write. It sounds like an obvious one but it works. I set a timer for 30mins each writing session. Deadlines and time pressure forces writers to have the words on paper or screen. After 30mins I reset the clock and go again. At first I only did 15mins and over time I increased it. Hopefully I will able to do longer time slots. Start small, adjust your mental focus to the small time frame then increase. You will see your overall progress increase and your productivity.
These tips are subjective, they might work for me but they might hinder you even further.
What do you think?
I would love to hear what other writers do to prevent writer’s block.
Haunting blue eyes, absent mind staring
at the face in the mirror – staring back.
Furry brows resting above the eyes,
sharp-pointed nose, passed down by the one-night stand.
Cheeks, boney – forehead furrowed and wrinkled
too much for my age.
Long blonde wirehair,
teeth, chipped; lips, covered by hair – the problem.
Mouth, hungry; skin, leathered from overexposed sunlight.
I pause with the razor, hovering over my mouth.
the moustached man needs my attention.
But why? I ask him.
‘Food to feed the mouth,
cream to protect the skin,
cap to fill the tooth,’
The face in the mirror replies calm but stern.
‘But first your job interview.’
City life had always fascinated me. Crowds of people rushing for public transport to arrive at a destination. There were some moments I stood there and created back stories of random people; where they were going, what lifestyle they lived and if they had a family or lived alone.
It sparked creativity and train of thoughts for short stories, poems or a character
I would love to create, inside and out.
I can remember this lady I saw. Her eyes were emerald green and curved
like a tear drop on its side. She was one of my memorable characters I created whilst waiting for my train.
I named her Yalein. Her wavy red hair fell below her shoulders and bounced on her back as she paced through the train station. She had always been in a rush after work. Everyday she walked the same path for the same train; the long black draping coat, wavy red hair and tapping high-heels. Her husband, Trent, was an abusive alcoholic. Her escape was work. Worked as long hours as possible to come home, abused of sleeping around or meeting up with other men. Trent never trusted her; Yalien didn’t care, only for their unborn child.
A few months went by; Yaliens belly grew, bruised eyes faded, arm-slings were used and replaced but her make-up was always done perfectly.
Until one day, she didn’t turn up. No echoing taps down the tunnel nor bouncing hair.
(This is fictitious based on no real people or events I know.)
Click here to read Part I. Hopefully you enjoy Part II, until next time.
When I was young, Mother always told me to stay away from the mountain passage but she was no longer around. I made me way to the long, dark tunnel. There was nothing except for the triangular opening on the other side.
I stopped at the entrance and spun around to a screeching cry. I gazed at the deathly beauty of the creature. Crimson scales covered its body, large transparent membrane wings, spikes of irregular pattern followed its spine, four strong limbs with claws as sharp as ice stalactites; and its rider. I bolted into the dark passage.
What first made you study English?
A constant struggle for this position.
The idea of the mind; constructed and expressed through language.
This poet speaks of mankind, is he kind to man?
‘The Burimen Brothers’ is an on-going Fantasy story that I will be writing on my blog. It was going to be my first novel but I thought I would express it to my followers.
I hope you enjoy the first installment and follow the journey I will take you on. Each week I will release a segment. Enjoy!
I stood on the edge of the fiery lake. My village burned in the reflection, and underneath the dawn light. People screamed in agony and animals fled for higher ground. Mother urged me to leave before the chaos begun, she said the Wndith were after me.
Ashes drifted high above the fiery lake, smoke rose with it and I watched the villagers burn. On the opposite side of the lake, the morning dew moistened the short grass. It was a brisk morning but the villagers would disagree; they were underneath burning logs.
‘Hunter!’ a man yelled out, running towards me from the eastern side of the lake. I was ready to pounce. As he got closer I recognized him. It was the village Butcher, Clyd.
‘Leave now!’ He continued, ‘Go to Edenra over the mountains and find a young lady, Deanna.’
Before I had the chance to ask a question, an arrow flung through his neck. His body collapsed to the ground. I scanned the trees to find the bowman. I couldn’t see them and I didn’t want to hang around.
I fled for the cradling mountains. The mountain ridge kept our village secret for many years, hid me from the outside world but that time was up. I had been found.
I speak but noone can hear
I flap but noone lets me out.
I want to fly,
free into the big blue thing,
sometimes it changes to dark.
that’s okay. I’d rather be
up high, away from this black prison.
Big things moving,
Help let me out I squawk
but no help.
Do I stay here till I die?
all I want to do is fly.