An Untitled Creative Story
One of my goals this year is to pursue the things that make my heart sing. Challenge myself to try new things that I have always wanted to do, extend the skills I already have, and continue my lifelong theme of figuring out who I am.
Whether you know this or not, I love to write. I just enjoy putting words down on paper, seeing what comes out. The problem with my love of writing is that it feels so personal. I would be baring a piece of my soul and having it out there to be scrutinised by whoever came across this blog by chance. I want to share what I write, but the anxiety stops me every time. And I am not claiming to be a good writer at all, I want to say that right now. If I were to share my writing it will not be the same as reading Tolkien, or Maas. I've had no practice, no formal training outside of my year 13 English classes, I just simply have a love for it.
Being in this generation of the world is equal parts incredible, and equal parts absolutely terrifying. There is so much information at the tips of my fingertips, books and worlds I could only dream of. So much research, anything I can desire. But the internet is brutal, it is harsh, it has harmed so many people and shattered any self-efficacy they might have had. So where does one start, when they want to write for fun and share it, for fun?
I suppose its posting, and not caring what people might say. Consider this next part of this blog post as my starting line gunshot. I am posting and not caring any more. My blog has been empty and quiet because I have been scared. No more, this is for me. And I hope you enjoy what I write for fun when I have free time. Feel free to give me constructive feedback, tell me something you love, and something you dont. Tell me if you want to see more of a specific story. I believe in my heart of hearts I was born to tell stories. Perhaps in a past life I was a bard or a trouper? Imagine going back to find out what you were in a past life.
Anyway, without more rambling and filler, I want to share with you something very small I wrote a few months ago (dated 29 October 2023). It is not long, and it was going to be the start of a short story or a novella, but I didn't pursue it further because I was afraid. Who knows what it could have become, maybe I could revisit it again if it has some good feedback. Writing is full of possibility. Thanks for reading my words, they are a part of my soul and I feel honoured to share them with you.
Whether you know this or not, I love to write. I just enjoy putting words down on paper, seeing what comes out. The problem with my love of writing is that it feels so personal. I would be baring a piece of my soul and having it out there to be scrutinised by whoever came across this blog by chance. I want to share what I write, but the anxiety stops me every time. And I am not claiming to be a good writer at all, I want to say that right now. If I were to share my writing it will not be the same as reading Tolkien, or Maas. I've had no practice, no formal training outside of my year 13 English classes, I just simply have a love for it.
Being in this generation of the world is equal parts incredible, and equal parts absolutely terrifying. There is so much information at the tips of my fingertips, books and worlds I could only dream of. So much research, anything I can desire. But the internet is brutal, it is harsh, it has harmed so many people and shattered any self-efficacy they might have had. So where does one start, when they want to write for fun and share it, for fun?
I suppose its posting, and not caring what people might say. Consider this next part of this blog post as my starting line gunshot. I am posting and not caring any more. My blog has been empty and quiet because I have been scared. No more, this is for me. And I hope you enjoy what I write for fun when I have free time. Feel free to give me constructive feedback, tell me something you love, and something you dont. Tell me if you want to see more of a specific story. I believe in my heart of hearts I was born to tell stories. Perhaps in a past life I was a bard or a trouper? Imagine going back to find out what you were in a past life.
Anyway, without more rambling and filler, I want to share with you something very small I wrote a few months ago (dated 29 October 2023). It is not long, and it was going to be the start of a short story or a novella, but I didn't pursue it further because I was afraid. Who knows what it could have become, maybe I could revisit it again if it has some good feedback. Writing is full of possibility. Thanks for reading my words, they are a part of my soul and I feel honoured to share them with you.
P.S Have you ever wanted to pursue something creative but let fear hold you back? How did you overcome it?
Untitled
The long blades of grass caress our legs as we run, hand in hand in the late autumn sunshine. The heat of the sun still held in the dirt beneath our bare feet and hitched skirts. I can hear her, Bia, my strong beautiful sister, breathless with laughter, telling me to run faster, hold on tighter, look at the sunset, Lyssa! Could life this perfect last forever?
Her voice was a golden bell of hope, of light and all things good. The sound made my chest ache. Why? She was here with me; why did I feel grief?
She stopped suddenly near the edge of the cliff not far from our home and turned to face me over her left shoulder. Her caramel hair cascades down her back with the movement, so beautiful on her rich golden skin. She will be a goddess among men when she meets the Seer. Her beauty and kindness will be sure to get her coveted runes, though her intelligence will be the reason she will be revered. She will get three runes. I know it; everyone knows it. And I couldn't think of anyone more perfect to get them. She might be our family's salvation.
Her emerald green eyes meet mine, and I can't help the joy that flows from me as she smiles broadly towards me.
"Look, Lyssa", she whispers, "isn't the sun beautiful, as she lowers herself below the horizon"
I nod at her and look at the sun. It does warm my heart. Perhaps it is an omen for us. For her and I, Mum and Dad.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a Monarch flutter past; I watch the butterfly and think of how wonderful the freedom would be, the orange wings like fire being basked in the autumn sun's glow. I don't even feel Bia's hand leave mine. It is not until I hear Bia shout I realise how close to the cliff she has gone, walking toward the beckoning sunlight.
"Lyssa, she is singing to me, can you hear it?" she shouts.
She is still walking; she is getting too close. I reach my hand out, shaking my head.
"She says she wants me to touch her... I want to meet her Lyssa. The sun. She and I are one, she says it is my destiny..."
Before I can react, before I can yell, before I can reconcile how we went from watching the sun and a butterfly to this moment, she steps off the cliff.
I scream. My world goes black. I scream.
Her voice was a golden bell of hope, of light and all things good. The sound made my chest ache. Why? She was here with me; why did I feel grief?
She stopped suddenly near the edge of the cliff not far from our home and turned to face me over her left shoulder. Her caramel hair cascades down her back with the movement, so beautiful on her rich golden skin. She will be a goddess among men when she meets the Seer. Her beauty and kindness will be sure to get her coveted runes, though her intelligence will be the reason she will be revered. She will get three runes. I know it; everyone knows it. And I couldn't think of anyone more perfect to get them. She might be our family's salvation.
Her emerald green eyes meet mine, and I can't help the joy that flows from me as she smiles broadly towards me.
"Look, Lyssa", she whispers, "isn't the sun beautiful, as she lowers herself below the horizon"
I nod at her and look at the sun. It does warm my heart. Perhaps it is an omen for us. For her and I, Mum and Dad.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a Monarch flutter past; I watch the butterfly and think of how wonderful the freedom would be, the orange wings like fire being basked in the autumn sun's glow. I don't even feel Bia's hand leave mine. It is not until I hear Bia shout I realise how close to the cliff she has gone, walking toward the beckoning sunlight.
"Lyssa, she is singing to me, can you hear it?" she shouts.
She is still walking; she is getting too close. I reach my hand out, shaking my head.
"She says she wants me to touch her... I want to meet her Lyssa. The sun. She and I are one, she says it is my destiny..."
Before I can react, before I can yell, before I can reconcile how we went from watching the sun and a butterfly to this moment, she steps off the cliff.
I scream. My world goes black. I scream.
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