Some people plan out every detail of their novels in advance. Not a word is written into the actual first draft of the manuscript until every grain of sand is worldbuilt. I, on the other hand, planned out a children’s picture book and ended up with a new adult faerie fantasy story with romantic undertones.
I’m not inspired. I’m just tired. I could write, but I could also go to sleep. (I’m doing something. I can’t go to sleep) I haven’t written for a while. I’ve been busy. Oh, and I’ve written. But not prose. Not for this blog. Instagram got some poetry. That’s it. Here, you TOO can have a poem.
I’m a lady of many a name. There have been numerous times that I’ve used a name that is not my own. Numerous times! Numerous reasons! Numerous nominal nameity names. Rosalind Wulf is one of those names. When I was born I was not dubbed “Rosalind” nor did I inherit the surname “Wulf.” Rosalind Wulf
Lana floated listlessly through the void, trying to keep her eyes closed, trying to sleep and let it pass, but ultimately failing. She stared at the stars. They were everywhere, except for where she was. What was wouldn’t give to burn up in a yellow dwarf right now. She assumed it wasn’t unheard of to
I’m going to try something, something that will kick this blog and website off right. Spontaneous, unprompted, largely unedited writing. It ends when it feels right, and it starts… NOW: What was wrong with that dog? Katie blinked. Her eyes were wrong. They had to be. Dogs, as a rule, were not purple. She kept