Lunch at the cafe, alone. At long last. My thoughts and I dine together. I’m Jill and I want lunch. The host wants me to sit in any one of the dingy corners and ignore the brighter, roomier booths in the centre. I make a wry face so he concedes…
I sailed the sea to the Greek islands and Turkey, promising myself I wouldn’t blog or stress or do any of my usual. Two days in, I reached for my pen.
1:25 a.m. is more Saturday night than Sunday morning, no matter what the calendar says. After a day of light drizzle or no rain, the clouds let themselves go again. For a few seconds all I can hear is the rain. Not the sound the ground makes as the water…
I started with a wish and turned it into a story. This is a revised version after Kavita Bhanot’s workshop on fiction writing.
This, she thought to herself, is uncomfortable. Bloody uncomfortable. Like being pregnant and not able to deliver. Or like being married to Prince Charming and not being able to make love to him. *Groan* Those lines might have been really good but sounded trashy. Only because…because…she gave up. I have…
Who is the Mona Lisa talking to?
I saw a tag floating around and decided to write my own memoirs in 6 words: I strove for individuality, then acceptance.
She may have watched Gone with the Wind too many times since she only dresses in black and white. A reflection of the way she thinks. And she supposes that a penchant for red lipstick makes her friend, a close affiliate to Bozo the clown. Bozo reasons that someone who reads Kundera and Murakami,…
Her fingers paused on the edge of the key-stroke. The ceasing of the rapidfire tap-clackety-clack-tap of her keyboard sounded very loud and she glanced up guiltily to see who had noticed. No one had, apparantly, so she breathed in a slow rush of air, settling that odd fear to rest…
The PenTathalon sounded like fun. And unnerving given its ‘Five Exercises for Fiction Writers’ description. What does a fiction writer look like, one wondered. I found out on the morning of Saturday, 3rd February.
