Rev Writes!

So, it's Halloween. And while that is an amazing day full of spooks and treats- for me, it's also a little nerve-wracking. And that's because I've decided: this year? I'm going to tackle NaNoWriMo. For those of you that don't know, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, and the challenge is to write a 50k novel in a single month. Crazy, right? I think so too. I'm not saying I'm not going to succeed, not by a long shot, but I'm definitely going to try. If nothing else, I'll gain a bunch of writing practice and have a blast along the way, even if I do  fail; and I'd count that as a win. I'm super excited for it, and I'll be working on my original story Cold As Flame, one of my favorite WIPs. Hopefully, I'll gain some new advice from the experience to share with you all! Peace!

Of broken mirrors and pixie dust the water shatters with light, bouncing diluted warmth from its mirror-like countenance. maybe that's why the world is so grey, she thinks as she sits upon the edge. if the ocean shines like a broken mirror always then that must be an entire eternity of bad luck, by now. she's not superstitious, but that's what she thinks. and if superstition was what the rest of the world believed, then who's to say it wasn't a self-fulfilling prophecy? belief holds power, strength. she knows that. that's why she didn't believe in anything, not even herself. she is weak. and as contradictory as that is, she believes that with certainty. .....she jumps. the birds around her fly to their own freedom, dancing on the wind the way the sun danced on the waters below.

the iciness of the air comes in through my nose, my mouth, and somehow, sets my insides aflame. no no no, i scream. it is silent, but in my mind, overwhelmingly unbearably loud; it's all i can hear, all i can think- gods no not again- because the cold- while i love it it sometimes does not love me. sometimes it fuels a fire within me that wants me to run, run as far as you can, go, get  a w a y - but there is no escape, and there shouldn't be. i must learn to live with the flames. so i let them burn me away to ash, knowing that soon, i would be whole again.

You know, writing is... it's an experience. I mean, I'm sitting here tapping out words on a school district computer, vaguely wondering what my classmates might be doing, considering, maybe, the audience this post will reach. Not much of one, I assume. But imagine if it did . Because, wow, then this (the product of boredom in a class I maybe should be focusing in) starts to matter. Because without an audience, what is a writer? A dreamer, mostly. A person screaming out words to a void that doesn't care, that won't give feedback or ponder at the carefully crafted sentences.  But with an audience? Ideas become shared things, works of art and color that flow not just through one mind but through many. The words start to matter, because if they aren't heard? They truly and honestly don't. I'm sure we all know the old riddle "If a tree falls in the forest, and no one's around, does it make a sound?" This applies to us and our thoug

Nonexistence for dummies "I am." "No, you're not." But... aren't I? I must be. But- ...No, no, no. The things I am are but spun glass shields and broken swords- there. Fragile. Created. Who am I? I wonder, mind skipping and trudging and drowning all at once. I am. I reply, repeating the words like a mantra until I almost believe them again. I must be. ...Then the 'wolves' come. And life continues, the world spinning as it always has and will until it, too, is gone. * For my Perspectives class, I had to write a flash fiction piece that was meant to be a sort of self-portrait, and here's where I'll place the breakdown of said piece. The piece is titled  Nonexistence for dummies,  which I think summarizes it quite nicely- the piece itself is a narrative about a person that is made to feel that everything they are isn't real, and as if they, themselves, don't exist- so the title shows that "hey, these are t