Cadence Rage

“Who goes there?” The Gatekeeper squints into the darkness.

An icy breeze whispers in answer, carrying the near-imperceptible squeak of a book nerd in the air.

“Bah, another starry-eyed traveller. Come for more book recommendations, have you?”

You nod uncertainly, trying not to gawk at the pen-shaped rapier at his waist.

“Look at you!” The Gatekeeper surveys you with a critical eye.…

What does it mean to love a ghost?

To replace indifferent shrugs with the warmth of forgotten laughter. To veil pale contours of a touch with echoes of tenderness. To stretch violet skin, curved up to appease; To puncture vermillion screams with grey defeat. 

What does it mean to replace reality with memory?

To turn it over in the empty halls of your mind: to play its dusty melody on repeat and…

Personal Update: Embracing the Pantser Within through Camp NaNoWriMo

I’ve been writing stories ever since I could string words into a coherent sentence.

When I was younger — before writing turned into a full-time profession — I used to get so absorbed in my stories that I’d end up in an almost trance-like state, my pen flying across paper for a good half hour or so. When I’d return to the “real world”, my eyes no longer glazed over and my writing hand still firmly…

I have been rescuing animals for about six years now, and in that time, I’ve come to find that nothing beats the moment — that precious, incomparable instant — when realisation dawns upon the face of a formerly battered animal, and they finally sense that they are home to stay… forever.

I wrote a 50-word story in honour of this moment, and it has just been published by the wonderful team at Fifty…

On finding light in the darkness... my #Covid19 scare, turbulent flight, and resolve to keep writing. If you're having a slow #QuarantineWriting day or just need a laugh to brighten your day, here's a post that hopes to do just that!

HELLO, INTERNET.

I know, I know. I can practically hear you screaming at me from across the seas, demanding to know where in hell’s bells I’ve been.

To cut a long story short in the most cliche way possible: life happened. Of course, that’s a crude oversimplification of a series of borderline-hilarious events that have made me question my sanity on several occasions, but I don’t want to bore you…

My rollercoaster journey from 0 to 52,000 words in 2 weeks. #NaNoWriMo #Writer #Goals #HellYes

On November 1st, I warmed up my arms, stretched my neck, rubbed my hands together with glee, and opened my trial version of Scrivener. I regretted having signed up for NaNoWriMo almost instantly. Scrivener was horribly confusing, and even with the tutorial and videos, it took me days to find my bearings. By the time I finally figured out that there was NO REAL DIFFERENCE between files and folders…

How I overcome writer's block, plus updates on my NaNoWriMo prep and progress.

Hello, lovely readers! It’s that time of year again — only three days to go before writers all over the world mysteriously seal their office/bedroom doors and launch into a semi-caffeinated, perpetually frazzled state. I, for one, am both excited and terrified to jump aboard the NaNo bandwagon this year. My manuscript has suffered debilitating bouts of writer’s block over the years, but I am…

This is a story about a girl

And her world.

Clear eyes once sparkled

The reflection of a starry night.

Her youth, untarnished

By the throes of an adventurous life.

She was ordinary, yet, oh, she thrived

Through grey mundanity; the sweet stillness of simplicity.

But Ma’s feet grew cracked and aching

And Pa’s hands, withered and shaking.

With the turn of the moon, the Suit arrived.

Ice winds and rain upon his heels like thieves

In the night, he descended upon her life

Coveting her mind, so ripe: her light, so bright.

Forked tongue concealed, true words enshrouded.

Through his mouth, veiled price burst forth and touted

Promising a girl the world of a queen: red, gold and green

Extinguish greys and blues, her woes in exchange for youth.

With both feet planted, her mind was made

For rich colours could never compare to hearth and home.

Yet Pa’s lips were sealed, his head hung low; Ma’s words:

They stung, dull blades twisting into her heart.

And with a simple transaction,

A life was uprooted: her voice, forever muted.

It was something out of a dream:

Royalty at seventeen!

She skipped, she twirled

For another’s fortune and lust.

Sought laurels and love,

Yet her fingers grasped only dust.

The hordes were like moths to a flame

While she became a slave to her name.

Yet none thought to look past that screen

Until one day, it was far too late.

Electricity crackled. Winged creatures plummeted.

The abattoir loomed. Sheathed shackles snapped shut.

She screamed, defied. ‘No more!’ she cried.

But the moths had descended,

And the machine must be tended.

As brand hissed against skin

Across the universe, the angels roared.

With the dying of the light

And the receding of waves

Her heart: once full, now dimmed and scarred.

And now, she twirls

Six feet beneath the earth.

This night, she smiles

Through ash and mirth.

For it was something out of a dream:

She was only seventeen.

When they made her their machine

And served her up to the guillotine.

This is a story about the world

And what it did to this girl.

She was ordinary. 

She was legendary.

But she was temporary.