Mai

Hi! My name’s Mai. I’ve been on Writeblr for a WHILE now, but I’ve never been confident enough to share any of my work. But now, I have two WIPs that I really like and I’m kinda passionate about sooooooo... This is gonna be my first proper foray into Writeblr.

My name’s Mai, She/Her pronouns, I’m seventeen and from England

I’m a Pisces, enneagram type four, and an INFP-T

My favourite books are Flowers in the Attic by Virginia Andrews, Ada or Ardor by Vladimir Nabokov, and A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

I also write poetry. It’s not good, but it’s a thing that exists

I’m studying Media, Film Studies, and English Literature at A Level

Uhhh I really enjoy eating raw mushrooms, but idk if that’s weird or not because no one really talks about it

I dress exclusively in lilac and black

Everything in my room is either lilac or black

My goal in life is to write professionally and it always has been. When I was seven, I wrote a mystery story in class about a woman dismembering a baby because she was in love with the baby’s father. My teachers were concerned, but that was the moment I knew

I have run out of things to say. 

And now I shall ramble aimlessly about my WIPS.

The Hazelwood Journals

Current word count: 35,000 approx.

This one’s my baby. This is a mystery/fantasy/coming of age anthology novel about three friends who go exploring Esterbelle, land of everything magical and strange, for ghosts, ghouls and mystery. Jordan Murphy, along with his twin sister Maeve and friend Jax O’Mara, encounter a coven of magically wayward girls, a fiendish underground cult of schoolchildren, a suspiciously accurate fortune-telling machine, and so much more. As an aspiring journalist, Jordan documents their adventures, but is it all fun and games? Or have they accidentally uncovered a greater conspiracy lurking beneath the surface?

Nowhere At All 

Current word count: 52,000 approx.

A Y/A romance/LitFic/poetry novel that explores mental health’s impact on our personalities and relationships. Written half in fantasy and half in reality, half in verse and half in prose, Dakota Reagan, an aspiring writer with a way with written words instead of verbal ones, writes a tell-all letter to her therapist, including entries from her dream journal for context. In this letter, she recounts her turbulent relationship with the late Landon Grey, how their downward spirals coincided, putting into words the guilt she cannot verbalise. 

Welcome to Scintillia High

Current word count: 9,000 words approx.

I’VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS ONE FOR YEARS NOW BUT I DELETED IT BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS SELF INDULGENT AND I WENT THROUGH A PHASE OF BEING A ‘REAL’ WRITER. Anyway, I’ve come up with a way to make it less self indulgent but still self indulgent by making it an allegory/synecdoche type thing for Soviet/Russian emigre literature and nepotism. I’ve described this before as ‘Tolstoy meets Victorious’ and I’m gonna leave it at that- but I have a ton of stuff really far back on this blog about this WIP, and I’m really excited that I’m breathing it back to life.

R.E.M

Ahh... verse, my favourite. This is a collection of poems I started during the first lockdown (around March/April 2020) when I relapsed into my eating disorder, which was really fun (I hope you can all sense my sarcasm). I wrote something incredibly pretentious in my diary that describes this collection that is horrible and makes little to no sense, but the general gist is that this collection revolves around dreams, reality, illusion, nostalgia, mental health, the moon, metaphysical stuff, truth, memory, glass (?). I’m not happy with most of the poems, and it’s definitely not finished, but I’m getting round to posting the less bad ones I promise.

Pressing Violets

Yet another collection of poetry, this time one that I started around March 2019 (My birthday always manages to make me depresso) when I first began reading and writing poetry. This time, we’re focusing on nature and sublime, because I was reading quite a lot of Romantic poetry, as well as mental health, beauty and vanity, mental and physical collapse, optimism borne of the inability for things to get worse and (another excerpt from my terrible diary) ‘silently accepting life’s ebb-and-flow, knowing that things will get better so long as you’re still here to see them).