I Haven't Done Much In The Past Few Days Apart From Staying In My Room And Reading, I Re-read The Secret

I had my second creative writing workshop today. I didn’t write to you guys about the first because it was just an introduction, and not much happened. Today was good, though.

The class is from four to seven p.m. and pretty dense in terms of what we are taught, I enjoy it a lot. I submitted my first short story (I will publish it on Substack once my teacher corrects it).

I also went to uni today, although I’d dropped out, I went to meet with some friends and stayed for a class. I loved seeing everyone and catching up, I laughed a lot.

The air is not so chilly anymore and it starts to smell sweeter, like cherry blossoms. I like when I can feel spring clawing its way through. Anytime spring comes slowly I always think of Hades and Persephone bidding their goodbyes in the underworld.

Also, crazy thing happening lately on my tumblr!! I’ve been getting asks of people genuinely insulting my appearance, and others asking me if I had foetal abnormalities. First of all, I do not. I am not disabled and I’m very lucky. Second of all, I do not tolerate these kind of attitudes so I’ve blocked those accounts.

I know I’m not the prettiest girl in the wolrd, but that doesn’t make me worth any less. Plus, I am pretty, and happy, and loved. I’m good.

All yours,

Anna 🫶🏻

P.S. I’m dyeing my hair tomorrow! (only fixing the roots, might post a pic of it! ☺️)

real

July vibe check 🫶🏻

not all pics are mine, if you know who took them give creds 🫶🏻

I just finished the second week of uni. It went by really quickly, it's been good. I don't have much work yet so I've been getting back into substack lately.

I made an instagram account specifically for my writing, it's @thatswhytheycallmeanitaa, i hope you follow it. I also hope you follow my substack, you won't regret it.

I'm currently reading Antigone, for uni; it always makes me tear up. I'm writing a lot, in fact I will post an essay on substack tomorrow (hopefully).

Substack is a strange place, just as tumblr or letterboxd are, it's hard to find a community there, plus nobody I know in real life ever uses any of these apps. Most of my Substack followers and subscribers are people I know irl who decided to subscribe to do me a favor, but they never read, like or comment on my posts; it's discouraging.

For all my life I've thought the only possible job I could ever have was to be a writer or artist, now, already in university, I fear people might not want to consume my art; I fear being invisible.

Maybe this is weird, but I'm scared. I've only ever wanted to write, and to have people consume my writing.

Anyways, I'm going crazy but I still love all of you,

Xx, lots of love,

Anna

messy academia

may this love find me 🤧

1 February, 1937 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov

I watched as Jacques' car pulled out of the garage and onto the road. I rested my elbow on the counter and my chin on my hand. With my mouth open and my tongue, pink and slimy, hanging out, saliva dribbled down my chin, seeping between my fingers. My eyes were squinted, red and dry. I hadn't slept well since we moved in, the howls of coyotes and mountain lions in the hills kept me awake at night and echoed in my head during the day. I wasn't used to living next to the forest.

I dried my mouth with the back of my hand and shook the shiny, wet saliva on my apron. I took a deep breath, stretched my arms toward the ceiling and got to work. I went upstairs, where the bedroom I shared with Jaques and his office was located. I entered the bedroom and made the bed, punched and shaped the cushions, scented the room with a sweet air freshener and turned around.

The office door was closed, rattling in the wind and banging on the frame arrhythmically. I knew I shouldn't open it, Jacques had warned me. His office was his personal space, I had to respect it. If I didn't strictly respect his privacy I offended him, and then he would yell at me.

Excerpt of my latest short story Possession. It will be on Substack next week.