of Stardust and the Beasts
Poetry, prose, stories, and other creative writing experiments.
the Six Sentence Café & Bistro #2 | the Nervous Poet & the Azure Box
Another week has passed, and we have our Six Sentence Story featuring the Nervous Poet, who accidentally found herself at the Six Sentence Café and Bistro in my last week's entry. The story is a collaborative one, and you can read about the happenings at the café from several perspectives—and discover some other of their work along the way... Here are a few of the writers/blogs involved: the Wakefield Doctrine, inSPIRAtion, Luna's on line, Messymimi's meanderings, and of course we can not forget our hostess of the six-sentence blog hop, Denise at Girlie On The Edge. This week's entries to the six sentence challenge can be found at the link-up, as usual. Please do check them out and perhaps you want to participate too. the Six Sentence Café & Bistro #2 "What the heck do I do now, this...
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Ten Thing of Thankful #3 | Creativity, Community & Semester’s End
This week went by so fast I didn’t even think of the ten thing of thankful blog hop while living through it. It felt as if I blinked, and it was already gone. The other hoppers’ posts of the week can be read here. Be sure to check them out at this blog hop is the most positive vibes one I have found in a long time. Ten Thing of Thankful #3 First—I have to once again bring up the community of the Six-Sentence blog hoppers. As a writer, I always felt I was far too different to truly fit in, but the more I write, the more I begin to see my own evolution. Writing is a skill, yes—but also a way to stay creative, and that creative part of me is something that keeps me going through the hectic...
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Poetry On the margins of the First Draft #4 | His Eyes
This piece is part of Margins of the First Draft—a collection of very old poems. This was one of the first poems I ever wrote and published. Considering how young I was when I started writing, this one feels especially strange, because at that age, I knew very little about love. (Authors Note) His Eyes His eyes If that was not poetry Written in two words I. Don’t. Do. Poetry Poetry on the Margins #4 First memory Do you remember your very first love?Or an instance of meeting someone for the very first time?Or meeting a pair of eyes as such,depicted in this poem? I wonder if a poemcould carry the whole essence of a person —like their eyes do. I remember my mother telling methat the eyes are...
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Poetry On the margins of the First Draft #4 | His Eyes
This piece is part of Margins of the First Draft—a collection of very old poems. This was one of the first poems I ever wrote and published. Considering how young I was when I started writing, this one feels especially strange, because at that age, I knew very little...
Poetry On the margins of the First Draft #3 | Immortalized
This reflection is part of Margins of the First Draft — a collection of poetry that stems from an overactive imagination and a speck of emotion. (Authors Note) Immortalized So, Today I wrote a poem Crippled by my fear That he will fade into the cruel passing of time...
Poetry On the margins of the First Draft #2 | Flammable
This piece is part of Margins of the First Draft — a collection of poetry that was originally written in my teens, seems I was a very dramatic writer back then. (Authors Note Here) Flammable And I wish That my poetry was a flammable fluid With words spilling from my...
Poetry On the margins of the First Draft #1 | the Beginning
The original poetry collected here was written and reshaped from my old work a few years ago. I wanted to see how much my writing style had changed after years of not writing. This is also why I wanted to add some new poetry to the original pieces that would perhaps...
Short Story | The Silence Between Us
I feel like I have nothing left to write these days. Instead of creating, I’ve been sitting on my bed in a vegetative state, guilt accumulating with every sip of wine I take. I know I should be writing—or doing something, anything. Sometimes, I catch myself simply waiting for nightfall, just so I can curl up and pretend to sleep, though occasionally, I find myself fantasizing instead.