It’s just so beautiful, okay?
I could talk forever about books that I have read and love. I like to share. This time however, I’d like to list the books I’m looking forward to read this term. As a teacher (and student) I don’t have much money during the summer, but since the term is starting on Monday I will soon be able to get new books again from time to time. Some of these books are not new and I know that. It’s just books I’m planning to buy and read before Christmas.
- “Good enough to eat” by Jae and Alison Grey – this is suppose to be funny, it has vampire and it’s by Jae (partly). What could go wrong?
- “Lifeline” and “Karma” both by Susan X Meagher and part of the “I found my heart in San Francisco” series. (Sorry. 😉 ) I’m just too invested in Jamie’s and Ryan’s life to stop now.
- “And once more saw the stars” by Rae D Magdon. I need to seriously catch up with this girl’s writing. She’s brilliant. I should to stop wasting my money on stuff like food and rent and instead just get the books of hers I haven’t read.
- “All things rise” by Missouri Vaun. I’ve only heard good things about this book and the setting sounds awesome.
- “Next of kin” by Jae. Actually any book by Jae that I haven’t got on my shelf. But this one comes first.
- “The magic hunt” by L.L.Raand. This is part five of the “Midnight hunters” series and very high on my list. Why do all my favorite books have werewolves I wonder.
- “The muse” by Meghan O’brien. I haven’t read much on this book yet, but Meghan O’brien has never disappointed me yet.
- “Soul selecta” by Gill Mcknight. Sadly not werewolves, but like all books by Gill Mcknight I assume it’ll be witty, very funny and well worth reading.
Who knows if I’ll manage to get all of them before Christmas, but this is what I look forward to reading during the next couple of months. Do check them out, even though I haven’t read any of them yet I’m quite sure they are enjoyable reads.
But first comes university. I’m not presenting my master thesis tomorrow for nothing. At least it’s fitting that it’s on children and literacy.
AN: This has a threesome, so don’t read if you don’t like. Also, beta read by a fellow writer, Deniz Pekin.
“Well that was fun.” Chell stretched her arms above her head as the last guest left, then she turned towards the Bonnie and Anya: actual hosts and her friends. They were standing by the door of the only bedroom, Anya’s arm around Bonnie’s waist, like usual. They had been together for three years and Chell liked seeing them happy; they were her friends after all. And they had been sweet enough to offer her a place to sleep since they had known from the beginning that the party would stretch far into the night. It was now two in the morning and Chell was very grateful that she didn’t have to head out for the two hour ride back to her place. Continue reading
I’m a firm believer in doing what makes you happy. Everything I do, from work to play, need to benefit me in some way. The good need to outweigh the bad, which is why I go to the dentist or go to work even with a terrible headache. Or cook when I’m tired.
But then there is the curious case of writing. Writing, oh man, writing is within this way of thinking ruining my life. Writing is a source of stress, anxiety, guilt, tears and fights between me and my fiancee. There are good things too, joy, pride, a sense of accomplishment. But if I didn’t have the absolute compulsion to write, I should within my philosophy, feel pressured to stop. Writing makes me happy, but it also makes me miserable.
I just couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. I’ve always been writing and I *am* always writing. I can come home from work at five o’clock in the afternoon and feel like getting at least 1000 words done before I can sleep. I can write among people, in the car, on the bus, outside, inside, in the morning and in the night. By hand, on my laptop or lately on my phone. I’m a writer and that’s something that was chosen for me. Not something I chose for myself.
And that’s what writing is to me. It’s not just something I do for fun, or what I hope to do for living in the future. Writing is an integral part of me, it sticks to my body like a second skin and I doubt I will ever be able to stop. And to tell the truth, I don’t ever want to stop either. Sometimes I just need a reminder.
April took a strong grip around the armrest as the plane shook into movement and sped up, readying for flight. She didn’t hate flying, not really, but it was scary how the plane shook in the beginning. It was so easy to imagine it coming apart. If April concentrated she could see it happening. She could see the terrified faces around her, she could see the oxygen masks falling down, she could smell the burning metal in the air. She shook her head. Nothing happened. Within a few minutes the seat belt sign turned green and April got up to get her laptop. It was just two hours from London to Brussels, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t and shouldn’t get some writing done.
Words. I never had much more than words. Beautiful words. Happy words. Sad words. Ugly words. Lost words. Words for love. Words for hate. Words to cut, hurt and maim. I don’t know why the ugly words were easier, but they were. I spent my childhood never hearing the pretty ones. I couldn’t spell them. I couldn’t pronounce them. As an adult, I have heard them. And I can reproduce them, even when I don’t understand them. Even if I can never understand them.
She leaned back and frowned. What she had just written was absolute trash; she deleted it. She leaned back and looked out of the window for some inspiration. Since the majority of Europe seemed to be covered in heavy rain clouds there wasn’t much to see, so instead she focused on the strange shapes.
“So where are you going dear?” April turned towards the old lady that was sitting next to her.
“I’m going to visit… a friend.” April hoped that Christine, her editor and fellow author, didn’t mind being called her friend. They were friends, right?
“Ah that’s nice. I’m visiting my daughter and her husband.” April smiled at the woman, then she resumed looking out of the window. Usually she loved small talk, but today her whole body was filled with butterflies. She really couldn’t wait for the plane to land. Continue reading
Ah, here we have the writer in her natural habitat. As you can see she mainly writes on a blanket on the floor, observe the papers thrown around the blanket, one of them with what looks like a tomato sauce stain. Another one with a forest green nail polish stain. Of course there is also a cup of tea next to her, constantly watched in case any of the dogs come closer.
Listen to the different sounds. Not just the obvious tapping of fingers on a key board, or the scribbling of a pen on paper, but also a song of choice that she plays over and over. This example of the species thrives on repetition, after all.
Oh, look closely, she opened another tab. Huh, I wonder why she’s looking up a recipe for seitan, that’s not related to her writing. And no, tumblr is definitely not related to writing. Ah, she must be engaging in something that’s known as procrastination. Terrible habit but awfully common among writers in captivity.