I set up ‘gift’ ideas for each goal I accomplish, and one gift is to subscribe to #minxlit - but I saw this past box and had to have it. I was super excited when it came the other day! #amwriting#authorsofinstagram
The cattle drivers spent 12 hours on the saddle and slept around the campfire with only a blanket and their saddle. Small groups took turns singing ballads, reciting poems and improvising stories during the night. Their voices were meant to cover over any sudden noises which could trigger a stampede. Yecid didn’t tire listening to the ballads under the open skies mixed with the moans of the cattle. When it was his turn to sing, he did so knowing that he held the power of life and death. He had so much fun as a cowboy that he postponed university. Thoughts about university went out the window when he married Noorah, a Palestinian farm hand’s daughter, in a Catholic ceremony. His father was very disappointed with the turn of events. “Cattle, my son, is the oldest form of wealth,” Jacobo would tell Yecid proudly years later when he owned more than 200 heads of cattle in the rich grazing lands of the Sinú River valley. The workers respected their employer for his work ethic, fairness and concern about their well being. Noorah planted her own vegetables including onions and eggplants which the locals considered poisonous. Adriana was born first and Manuel followed four years later. The two children grew up on an isolated ranch. They went to school on horseback. Their mother never stopped warning them, especially Adriana, about the evil spirit, jinn. “Try hard not to be attractive,” she kept telling her. “Envy and evil work through the power of the human eye. Be careful of the penetrating gaze of people whose eyebrows are connected especially if their complexion is pale. They can cause a great deal of misfortune.” Adriana did not pay attention to the ancestral superstitions. She refused to wear the evil eye amulet and did not take seriously the passages from the Koran her mother often recited to garner her protection. She became increasingly distant from her family. Some nights, she did not come home and her mother worried to death standing by the window to wait for her. The day Adriana set foot at the University of Córdoba in Montería, she changed forever. She started to speak and dress differently and smoke cigarettes and marijuana.
Doesn't it seem like anxiety creeps up at the worst times?
I have so much to get done, a million changes are happening in my life, and all I want is a eager free mind to get me through it all.
I thought I would share a few things I did this morning to help with my anxiety. Feel free to share one or two things you do to help your anxious mind. I would love to here!
1. Meditated and took deep breaths for 10 minutes.
2. Made a, "to do" list to get more organized.
3. Wrote down what was making me anxious and why.
4. Played a playlist on Spotify called, "calming my anxiety."
I did it! The rough (rough) draft of Against Autumn's Wind, Book 3 in the Ashton Brides series is written!
Only 39000 words atm, but I'll be doing more research and filling in spots that are sparse.
This novel was (is!) a challenge: it's the first time I've written two extroverted, very active protagonists. I like my introspective introverts, they are easier for me.
Also, this novel has fox hunting, bird shooting, long-distance horse racing, and bare-knuckled fisticuffs. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.
I hope everyone enjoys it when I get it polished and published!
Captain Thomas Yarrow is no longer the foolish youth who asked his best friend’s older sister to marry him. But when the still captivating Lady Cassandra Ashton arrives at his house party with her brothers, her only object is to find buyers for her prized horses. She’s uninterested in the younger man who insultingly stole her first kiss. But Thomas is determined to catch her attention, and convince this determined spinster that he’s the man she’s been waiting for.
"My postings = a work in progress, just like me.
Es ist mein Leben. Es ist unfertig.
Das ist nichts, wofür man sich schämen sollte.." Auch wenn einem auf Instagram & Co immer was anderes erzählt wird: es ist hart, selbst für mich, dem etwas entgegenzusetzen, sich dagegen durchzusetzen...ja, sich selbst.
Nicht nur hinter den Bildern, sondern auch in ihnen. Nicht nur um meinen Account herum, sondern auch durch ihn.
Ich habe ein Leben, genau wie alle anderen... Und das ist sehr viel störanfälliger, als es kugelsicher arrangierte Instagram-Bilder mit 160 Zeichen erscheinen lassen..
Und ich schreibe und veröffentliche eben nicht nur dann, wenn ich mit einem Gedankenprozess bereits durch bin, wenn ich ihn fertig mit einer Schleife drum als Lektion mit benefit(neudeutsch für: Mehrwert) für alle anderen präsentieren kann, wie auf dem Silbertablett... Ich bin keine Maschine. Ich produziere nichts. Ich gebe aber auch nicht vor, irgendwelche Wahrheiten verbreiten zu wollen.
Wenn es etwas gäbe, was ich vermitteln wollte, dann das es gut und sinnerfüllend ist selbst zu denken. Macht euch eure eigenen Gedanken. Geht nicht rum und sammelt nur fremde ein, wie eine Zitatdatenbank. Seid mutig und habt keine Angst, euer eigenes Gedankenleben zu leben, es all den anderen Gedanken in dieser Welt hinzuzufügen. ✒
Fifi untied the dog. The animal wagged its sickle-shaped tail believing it was being called to work or play. It had relished the company of his master and done everything in its power to protect him, and make him happy and laugh. Hours earlier, Fifi had dreamt that he had taken his new friend home. His two younger brothers had rushed to the dog with big smiles and hugged it. The dog had jumped on his mother and licked her hands. “We’ll take her for vaccinations,” his mother had said. “We’ll give her all the care and our love. She must have belonged to a rich family and now she is a street dog.” The dog abruptly stopped and pulled away with its tail between the legs. The dog’s sixth sense had detected fluctuations in energy. Fifi didn’t know what had gotten into it. The subspecies of the wolf had been interacting with humans for such a long time that it could interpret human moods, faces and most importantly, energy. Its ears stood ready to perceive the smallest sound and voice inflection. Its pupils dilated fully and nose widened to pick up the scent of the smallest particle. It howled like its ancestors from thousands of years ago to communicate with the other dogs. The pack realized that the affective bond with the human masters had been broken for they saw the Angel of Death. They growled and raucously howled and barked louder and louder to ward off death.
The captain handed Fifi a cook’s knife and told him in a normal tone of voice to kill the animal and remove the heart. Fifi was confused. He stood still and stared at the knife in his hand. “Now!” shouted one of the assistants and landed a hard punch on the side of Fifi’s head. The shepherd-husky barked furiously and pulled away more violently.
YOUR WAKE UP CALL I|I
The mirror is made out of the thought you have for yourself and of yourself. Hurt feelings, unused potential, unrequited love.
You should step closer and interpret the reflection! What is it trying to tell me about myself. Act accordingly to it.
Give your reflexion what it wants and you will get back what you want.
If the reflexion needs recognition; applaud it.
If the reflexion needs love; kiss it.
If the reflexion needs release; cry.
Every time you do that you also release a part of yourself from the cabinet of mirrors.
YOU BREAK FREE.
You will notice that the mirror is actually a little bit different than a normal one.
It’s more complex.
It’s one thing counteracting the other. Moments that lead to other moments;
You are the one that life’s in the moment.
You are the one who triggers them.
You are the one who creates them.
You are god.
ring, ring ...that’s is;
YOUR WAKE UP CALL.
I've got a #drawing and a #poem titled "Chiquita" up at #TheAcentosReview today, alongside some very cool work by #Latinx writers I admire. So excited to be included! Check it out here:
Back when I agreed to house and Cat sit for my parents while they went to Michigan, my older son wasn’t planning going back to school. Ordinarily, I would have never planned to be out of town during the first week. I also wouldn’t have planned any sort of creative retreat in the first part of the week, if at all. 🐈
Then, he decided to go back. I did some planning and came out here anyway. Alongside this event is my immersion into Deep Work and the incredible impact it’s having on my creative job at Brave Writer, my writing, homeschooling, and even my relationships and free time. 🍁
My son is a senior and quite able to get his year off on the right foot without my hovering. My village is helping with my younger son and his hockey commitments this week. My husband demonstrated that I could have let him help with the school paperwork and endless forms all along! He did them on his own! 🐶
Without any housework, homeschooling, or peopling to do, I found myself bursting with creative drive and hours to express it. I Deep dove in and made something that did actually strengthen my skills but it was mostly just for fun. 🤗
So here it is, the first week of school. Everyone was fine without me. I found rest and creative replenishment in a time and place I would have never guessed. (See my story highlights for more on why.) Letting go is often anxiety producing and open— what will happen? What will I do? What will they do? What if something goes wrong? But I think I’m learning that letting go isn’t loss. Perhaps it’s more of an exchange.
Dear Friend Across The Border,
I looked down from the sky today - both our countries were merely a string of flickering lights. Borders were silhouttes, fences mere shapes, I couldn't guess. I remember the time you wanted to write me a letter but couldn't because of the 'situation'. Next time, just whisper the words and blow them away with the wind. The wind will tell the stars and constellations will relay the message to me. Meet me at an airport someday, we will board a flight to some place away from countries frozen in a time of rage. We will look down and see flickering lights and shadows and shapes, and not need constellations to whisper secrets. We will go over the times we stressed over our dreams, failures... we will laugh again at all the impossible crushes we had. Show me the sketches of the homes you wish to design for people, I will read out the poetry I have written for people who have lost theirs. We will take a picture and ask people to guess our nationalities, distinguish our religions. We will wink at the stars and hum our favourite melodies, you a Bollywood fan and I an ardent follower of Coke Studio. We will melt that time frozen in a time of rage, watch violence get defeated and borders turn to flickering lights. Soon, friend, soon.
~ Shruti Sonal (@shruti_writes)
#72ndindependenceday 🇮🇳 #IndependenceDay2018#HappyIndependenceDay#terriblytinytales#ttt#microfiction#wordporn#words#wordgasm#writer#author#poet#poem#writing#amwriting#writersofinstagram#writersofig#writerscommunity#writingcommunity#storytelling#stories#story
I’m writing about a town where time seems to have stood still for many years, the townspeople too afraid to change because there will be Consequences... ENTER THE SPACE-CLOCK OF DEATH! (Jk, jk - I accidentally caught my wall clock with the space filter and thought it looked cool.)
Fall is quickly gearing up. I have five author/public speaking/signing events during September and October taking place in Charlottetown, Halifax, Dartmouth, and Yarmouth. I will post about them as the dates approach. It will be my first time in Charlottetown and Yarmouth. I am very grateful for the support I have been shown from the wider community. #amwriting#authorsofinstagram#halifax#dartmouth#charlottetown#yarmouth#pottersfieldpress
// READ THE CAPTION //
I wrote this 2 years ago and faced a lot of criticism for writing this, that too on independence day.
But really, it’s still the same.
I’m not free to make my own decisions, not free to wear whatever the fuck I want, not free to go wherever the fuck I want go, not free to love, not free to live. I am certainly not FREE.
•Free, are you?• .
I am 7 and I don’t like the color pink. I love to play with toy cars like my brother but my uncle got me a barbie, can you think?
I am 15 and I love playing cricket with my guy friends. My mum asks me not to, but I think I could make a name someday in the end.
I’m 19 and I feel conscious to wear short skirts or ripped jeans. I’m told not to cause that will only cause me trouble by all means.
I’m 23 but I can’t be out partying late. “The world is not good my dear girl, stay inside and be safe” they said.
I’m 26 but I can’t marry the one I love. My family would kill me for their honour that I had shove.
I’m 35 and I have two kids growing up today. All I wanted to be was a musician, thought the aching soul crushing away her passion in dismay.
I’m 50 and all I want to do is take some rest, but my family has grown bigger now, I’ve to take care of them instead.
I’m 65 and all I want to do is tell my younger self to break all rules and boundaries by herself. I want her to fall in love, travel the world and explore all things old and new, and its okay if she doesn’t like the same things that her peers do. Its okay to be different but follow your passion far and true, people will judge you but who cares its your life and the one responsible for it should be just you.
Cont. in comments .