Sometimes It's Useful To Look At Your Dialogue And Ask Yourself, "would A Real Human Being Talk Like

Happy STS! Your story gets told from someone else's perspective. Whose is it?

If Cavity was to be told from someone else’s perspective, it would have to be her love interest. The woman who is caught in Delaney’s revenge scheme. Her narrative would be just as important as Delaney’s narrative, perhaps more honest.

Umduğunu bulamazsan bulduğunu um..

thank you

WINTER

The grey skies take over, fuzziness endures 

Staying by the fire could be helpful 

Just don’t mourn over the storm;

As you sit, gazing at the warm fire

You know you are still cold 

From the protection of  The lonely winter.

I’m finally working on a new project that I thought would be something small but turns out I like it too much.

I have a title for it but I don’t exactly like it… as i post about it hopefully I’ll get more inspiration for it. I’ll be tagging it under Dear Jane until I have a better idea for a title.

Briefly Write

N Judah St.

by Lu Knight. Issue 10 (March 2023).

Hey friends, I’m Lu and I’m a creative writer. I use she/her and they/them pronouns and I am 21.

I’ve been writing stories and poems since I learned how to write and before that I would doodle tales of purple dogs. I always knew that I wanted to be a published author so I could share my stories with everyone, I’ve always dreamt of seeing my novel on a shelf among the greats! My strengths in writing are: world-building, flowery details, and character building. My weaknesses are: grammar, dialogue and a bit of plot building.

Thanks to Briefly Write publishing my first micro story, I am one step closer to reaching my dream!

A little bit more about me: I am a student at Appalachian State University studying creative writing, just existing in the mountains. I love to read, take naps, go hiking, thrifting, listening to murder podcasts. I’m also a big foodie but I don’t know how to cook, hopefully in the future I’ll get better at it. My favorite animals are koalas and bunnies. I have a dog named Maggie, I’ve had her since I was in 5th grade. I have a bunny named Jeffery, he’s a rascal.

My WIPS are: The Hidden Odyssey and Colors of Emotions. I also have some short stories in the works.

I hope that you like what I create and I hope we can be friends!

(x)

Colonizers write about flowers. I tell you about children throwing rocks at Israeli tanks seconds before becoming daisies. I want to be like those poets who care about the moon. Palestinians don’t see the moon from jail cells and prisons. It’s so beautiful, the moon. They’re so beautiful, the flowers.

— Noor Hindi, from “Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People Are Dying,” DEAR GOD. DEAR BONES. DEAR YELLOW.

“The bottom line is this: You write in order to change the world, knowing perfectly well that you probably can’t, but also knowing that literature is indispensable to the world. The world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimeter, the way people look at reality, then you can change it…If there is no moral question, there is no reason to write. I’m an old-fashioned writer and, despite the odds, I want to change the world”

— James Baldwin

Untitled Rambles

I feel sick. Again. Not in control. Again.

Shaken, misplaced, irregular

I have all the words ready to spew out from my faucet,

But they won’t come out, not right now,

And not right. Just jumbled word vomit that smells like grief, aching, and anxiety.

My insides feel all torn up.

All messed up.

Just like my mind.

I’m currently trying to find out if I’m even alive.

This stupid ringing in my ear,

This stupid voice in my head,

This stupid way that I look at him.

Pushing my feelings aside. No longer shoving them down his throat, just my fingers that he loves to suck.

My body that he loves to touch.

My body that is hard for me to touch.

Looking around to see others wanting me but I’m not sure if I even want myself anymore.

Cause he used to want me in a way that made my heart fucking flutter. He used to want me in a way that proclaimed love was real.

I promised to put myself first.

I promised to love myself.

I used to put myself first.

I used to love myself more than I loved anyone else.

I met him and fell down a landslide.

Is it me wanting to get pleasure because it’s so easily accessible, or is it me wanting to get pleasure to erase those feelings, to take me to an out-of-body experience, to just make my brain empty and my body full? I want to be loved, and I want to be cared for. By him. But it’s not possible, not right now, perhaps not ever, just not in the way that I love and care for him. So I’m putting myself first. I will be organized, I will be on time, I will take my medication, I will make my bed and do yoga and see friends. I will have sex for pleasure and to fill that void. I believe that love just isn’t on the menu for me right now. Not right now. I know it will come, I vow it too. But I stop my beckoning. I hold off on the searching and the begging. I’m young. It’s about me.

[not my photo, creds to photographer&editor]

“You were supposed to love me, how do you screw up this badly. How did I screw up this badly.” - Delaney Hunt.

“simply remembering what it feels like to love creatures that aren’t human. A nameless sadness, the fading away of the birds. The fading away of the animals. How lonely it will be here, when it’s just us.”

— Charlotte McConaghy, Migrations