I was nine or ten when I started reading a book with a red background and the protagonist’s name in yellow capital letters. The front of a red train raced from the page. The painted destination read Hogwarts Express. A bewildered cartoon figure with thin circular glasses and a lightning
I live to write, but sometimes life gets in the way. It’s the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. Now, I’ve said it, it sounds like a depressing existence, but it isn’t really, it’s just my favourite pass time. It’s all I’ve done from an early
There lives a distant and mythical world where artists, consumers and trolls live in a state of constant war. Artists fight for their rights to expressions, as consumers seek the best deals from their suppliers while trolls seek to destroy the world in which they all inhabit. These battles play
As my first draft wore on and evolved in countless redrafts, I began to develop new plots and character motivations for different stories. It was an escape from thinking about the novel that stole two years of my focus. Soon, everything became a story. An interesting character on my commute
My mum gave me this bestseller as a Christmas present last year, but I didn’t rush to read it. I had plenty of books to make my way through, and the other book she brought seemed more appealing. I picked up the other book, and from the first line, I
I’ve decided I don’t want to work anymore. A friend of mine works in an office and told me about his experience, but I’d scratch my eyes out staring at a screen and pull my remaining hair out as the phone rang around me. I enjoy my job at times,
I started my blogging journey in 2016, posting poetry and spoken word performances on SoundCloud. I built a decent following, not huge numbers, but a few supporters who engaged with my poems and helped me build my confidence. I’d never aspired to blog my opinions or tell stories because all I’d wanted to do was share my poetry.
Now, this is a story all about jokes and laughs and emotional moments that will make grown men cry. When NBC commissioned the first series of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, nobody thought the show would become a cult classic. Sure, a sitcom produced by Quincy, and starring a platinum-selling loveable
Jakov blinks. Everything’s dark and dust blurs the homes reduced to rubble. None stand, everything blown to bits, the street he whistled along lays in tatters, mortgages and valuables, sentimental or material, gone and destroyed in seconds. Families, friend, neighbours, all unaccounted for, is this all happening in his head?
My first short story attempt. Sarah learns more about herself than she planned to on her first first-date.