Hello lovely writers and readers,
Welcome to the land of sleepy little toadstools, bemused fairies, and not enough coffee to keep me awake. While my cat works to steal every one of my hair ties and my pen burrows into the blankets on my bed to avoid being used, I am once again working to catch up on my writing goals.
I have a little story about a doomed city brewing somewhere in the back of my mind, so that may be something that appears out of nowhere soon. I am not quite sure what form it wants to take yet, but I have the first few paragraphs written down, so we shall see!
My Weekly Reflection
Sometimes I have absolutely no idea what to write in this section. I sit here, staring at the blank cursor, and wonder what I can conjure up from my brain this week.
I make an effort to always share something meaningful, often something new, but unlike the limitless story ideas that float around in my mind, reflections pinned down into concrete words are not my strong suit.
So this week, I will simply say this: I am constantly filled with a wonder that bubbles and bobs at the sight of something beautiful, different, or strange. Like the teacup above.
I could stare at that picture for hours, tracing over the folds of the flowers, the ring of gold around the plate’s rim. In my mind’s eye, there is a lavish feast to accompany such finery, complete with stories shared behind laced gloves and embroidered fans that communicate more in a flick than any word could. Somewhere beyond the table, there is an aunt scolding her nephew, a mouse wearing a button-down coat, and a banister that talks every time a person alights upon the stairs.
One small image unlocks an entirely new world, and with it, the serene sense of otherness.
A Favorite Post
Heather brings some of the softest, most reminiscent pieces into the world, one at a time. The feeling of home is a near-universal one, often captured between the pages of time, a place you once knew and are still trying to find your way back to. Some never left. Others can only imagine.
The longing for such a home, a place you know and that knows you, is instilled from the earliest ages, and in this poem, that longing is given a voice.
Fog and rain always remind me of home.
Not this one.
Not the house with warm bulbs and modern hum,
but another,
tucked somewhere behind the folds of time,
behind a veil of steam rising from tea,
behind the soft patter
of a thousand remembered mornings.
A Prompt For A World Already Gone
The world has been reduced to shadows.
But the shadows do more than tell stories.
They stretch and grow, change with the seasons, drip underneath the absence of heat.
It all started with a flower.
A Question
What was your biggest fear before you first hit publish, and what is it now?
A Challenge
Write a story beginning with the words, It all started when the koi began to walk.
Until Next Week…
Rather late than never! Although today is most definitely not Sunday, I hope you enjoy this week’s edition nonetheless!
- KC
My biggest fear before hitting publish was that it was terrible and everyone was going to hate it and the few people who said it was good were lying.
This has not changed.
Hope that helps!
My biggest fear when I ot started is that my work wouldn't resonate/find it's people, or that people would think it sucks. While it's slow going, I have had some lovely responses to my work. Now I'm more afraid that people won't stick around, but I hope they do. It's funny because I can totally see that us writers have a lot of the same fears.