All he had was a letter.

Here we go again.

This post is about something I’ve blogged about countless times, on my previous creative writing blog (where it first developed) and also on my now non-existent Tumblr. So really, a blog isn’t any blog of mine unless I make a post about this, ahahah.

Creative writing has always been a passion of mine, if you will, and ever since I was a kid I’ve been spinning stories (both written and otherwise) like there was no tomorrow. I can recall a particularly proud moment in grade 5 where I completed a story that was (wait for it) a whole TEN PAGES LONG. Yep, I was a writing machine back then, that’s for sure. In high school, my writing progressed somewhat and I actually got nearly twenty thousand words on this one story (originally called “Untitled”) about a girl called Elizrah (yeah, let’s not revisit my weird name invention phase) who had to go live with her aunt and uncle and cousins (who I actually completely honestly based on a family from a book I read, lol)… But, as things tended to go in that period of my life, I never finished the story. I had this mindset where I would refuse  to plan endings t0 my stories, so I’d always get really enthused about the beginning and orientation sections of my story, then it’d come to filler stuff and actually having to figure out what I wanted to happen, and things would just fall apart. I kept that “creative process” for a long time and at school creative writing camps I actually began to develop more of a taste for poetry and descriptive prose over formal narratives. I found with poetry and passages/prose/whatever you want to call it, I could just put whatever was floating through my mind down on the page, not needing any character development or thoughts of narrative structure, I guess. About 18 months ago (if I’m recalling all of this correctly), I was in a bit of a writing mood and somehow managed to come up with what has since been termed “All he had was a letter” (I worked really hard on the title, guys.)

All he had was a letter.

A tired-looking, crinkled page of writing. The top left corner was torn, the ink had faded, but to him that didn’t matter. What mattered were the words. The words that were written with love, with truth, with him in mind. The letter, it had her scent. It had her scent. It had her warmth, her happiness, a glimpse of her pain. The words, they had her voice. They had her rhythm, her spirit, her sense of pride.

 

All he had was a letter.

The envelope had been lost, years ago. It was the letter that mattered. The letter was the window into the world her never knew. The world he saw in photographs, heard in stories, sensed in other people’s eyes. The eyes of the old, those who remembered. Remembered her, her smile, her soul. Those who remembered were those who knew the truth. They all knew, but all he had was a letter.

I kept it to myself for a little while, fine-tuning everything, before I posted it on this creative writing blog thing I used to have, and showed it to my dear friend Adam (I think this is how it all panned out, anyway), who suggested it would make a good prologue to a story. Soon enough, I’d rediscovered another passage I’d written six months previous, inspired by how good of a stalker I am   an observation I had in literature class one afternoon of two of my classmates (who would later become good friends of mine, funnily enough). The original passage went like this…

They sat at the last desk in the back row of the classroom, writing furiously as the teacher spoke and made dot points on the board about the literature novel. The girl, with flowing, deep brown hair and tan skin, seemed so natural in her pose, head propped up with one hand, the other clutching a pen. Her eyes appeared to shine with life, and the smile spread wide across her face gave her whole sense of being a lifting presence. The boy seated beside her, his face crumpled in concentration, was fair-skinned, with light brown hair that had subtle curls through it. He was focused on the teacher and the movement of her hand as she wrote upon the board. Then, for a moment, his gaze shifted to the girl alongside him. He took in her every curve, every dimple, every inch of her being. He smiled as she laughed at something, and his eyes, too, seemed to shine with life. Beneath the table, their feet rested on top of one another comfortably, as if that was the way it had always been. The level of togetherness was so natural, so present, it was clear they had a connection that went much further than sharing a desk, sharing a laugh, sharing a breath.

And as I worked more and more on the story, the characters of Tom and Ellie emerged. I find as I’ve grown as a writer, I’ve tended less and less to base characters solely on people I know in real life; they become more of a combination of the characteristics of people I know, and Tom in particular was no exception. Ellie’s a bit of a mystery to me so far, but I can quite clearly recognise who Tom is made up from. I’m not actually going to tell you who those people are though, because there’s no fun in that! I slowly began weaving the characters into the content I already had: Continue reading

Inspiration.

What inspires you?

It’s a question that’s been playing on my mind rather a lot, as of late, and I thought there’d be no better way to ponder it than to put it in a blog post!

(Haha, but let’s be honest, I blog about the most random things so no matter what I’d been pondering, it would probably end up in a post somehow… Harry Styles and The Blazer, anyone?)

I stumbled across an interview from Dianna Agron, speaking to Charlie McDonnell (also, her website is so cool! I love the collaborative nature of it all!) and this part took my fancy:

“My friends inspire me the most, I think. I tend to surround myself with people who are trying to do the same thing with their lives as I am, creative people who it’s just fun to be in a room with. It doesn’t even matter if I’m not actively chatting with them, I just like being in the same space with others who are all getting stuff done – it helps me to be more productive myself. I do still have filmmakers and musicians etc that inspire me, but not in the same way that my friends do, and not nearly as frequently as my friends do, either!”

This quote really resonated with me, and I’ve begun to recognise how much of an influence, both creative and otherwise, my friends are for me, in terms of inspiration. All of my fictional narratives have been in part (if not entirely) inspired by friends of mine, and one of the reasons I began this blog was to develop a means of keeping up with one another, in a way. I’m blessed with friends that inspire me, but also listen to and read my endless ramblings, and have no hesitation in telling me what I can do to improve, to move forward, to make things better. Today I was speaking with my friend Chelsea about which creative projects we’d love to work on, if we could work on any at all and I came to the realisation that my dream creative project would be centred around writing and some sort of collaboration. Last year I had an opportunity to develop a series of creative writing pieces for use in Caitlyn’s media film project, and I really enjoyed the creative process we went through on that particular occasion. From the initial discussions we had, to actively developing each piece to compliment the narrative to seeing the finished project, it was just such an incredible feeling to be involved in something that actually had a result I could watch with the knowledge and proof that I’d contributed to it.

This blog began as a personal record type activity for me, a way to document this “journey” I’m on, I suppose. However, it’s become increasingly more an opportunity for me to convey my thoughts and opinions on particular themes and facets that extend beyond my personal life, and I’ve come to the realisation that I find it more rewarding to publish posts that are more about thematic exploration (and fancy hyperlinks, because who doesn’t love those?), so that’s sort of the direction I think I might move in with this blog. Hope that’s okay with you, whoever you are! Looking back over what I’ve written so far, obviously the majority of the posts do have a personal connection (I even researched it- my personal tag is the most used!) so yeah. This makes so much sense so far, doesn’t it?!

Inspiration comes in many forms, and over at RocknRoll Bride, Kat recently launched the Green Room section of her blog (which I am obsessed with) and one of its features is a series titled “Inspirations” (see,  it all makes sense now, doesn’t it?) which is such an incredible read. There is understandably a clear focus on the wedding and blogging industries, but I still find myself going back again and again to read through articles and just learn so much from it all… This paragraph has been a really roundabout way for introducing an idea I had after some conversations today, haha, yay! Long story short, I’m going to see if any of my lovely friends that inspire me would like to contribute to my blog by way of a guest post. Yep. Sounds cool, doesn’t it? I’m unsure of the details because I’m really bad with details, I’m more of an ideas gal, but not to worry! It’ll come together, somehow. I think I’ll just send a really fancy email, that should work, lol. So I shall keep you posted (hopefully they agree, awks if they don’t), and I’m really going to work towards this new-ish concept of this aspect of my writing, and yeah.

Cool? Cool.

Thanks for reading!

Yay, books!

I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to blog about this, but here goes.

As a child, I was an avid reader, and it was a hobby that continued well into my teenage years. I swear I spent more Year 7 lunchtimes in the library reading than I did outside in the schoolyard (which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing- I was terrible at downball). Reading purely for enjoyment and leisure is something I’ve struggled with as of it and I think it might be something to do with studying texts in Literature and English in Year 11 and 12. Don’t get me wrong, I loved studying texts, pulling them to pieces, finding links and singing Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush and Torn by Natalie Imbruglia more times than they ever should be performed, but I guess it just set my mind in a certain way. Every single word, every image, every whatever else in whatever it is I happen to be reading just screams “ANALYSE ME, WHAT’S YOUR INTERPRETATION?! WHICH OF THE AUTHOR’S VIEWS AND VALUES ARE BEING EXPRESSED?! WHAT DOES THE SOCIAL CONTEXT OF THE NARRATIVE IMPLY ABOUT THE DEEPER MEANING OF THE TEXT?!”

Anyway, so the point is that I haven’t read for pleasure in ages, but one book I did thoroughly enjoy over the summer was the first book of the Hunger Games series (or Trilogy- is it a trilogy? I really should research that. Sorry, I haven’t made it past the first book yet… and now I’m drowning in uni reading…But I’ll get there one day! Keen for the movie to come out, it looks so good!). It was so exciting to find a book that I literally could not put down and could really visualise in my mind; it was almost (dare I say) Potterish. Almost. Almost. There was just such a lovely feeling of escaping into another world that I hadn’t gotten from reading in such a long time, and yeah, it was awesome.

Although J.K Rowling’s series honestly changed my life and developed a connection between my mind and the written word I can’t really even comprehend and I am eternally thankful for, none of the Harry Potter books are my favourite books OF ALL TIME, because well, they just aren’t. Continue reading