Inspired by voyages

It is that time of the week – Discussion Tuesday.

Thoughts, ideas and questions are exchanged from blogger to author; writer to reader and vise versa.

After holidays, for me, it is always hard to get back in the swing of things:  post regularly on my blog, continue editing and writing. But returning home gave me a burning passion to get things completed. Being overseas gave me ideas for my current WIP and future projects.

Continue reading “Inspired by voyages”

Long Weekend

m.isaac 141

Hello bloggers/ writers/ authors or general online public.

If in case you were wondering if I was still alive. The answer is yes. I am alive and refreshed. I took a few days off from blogging. It was the Queens Birthday so most of Australia enjoyed a long weekend.

I spent the days camping up the coast and disconnected from the Internet with my partner. It was raining and cold but it brought us closer. We enjoyed each others company and hot teas brewed on our portable gas stove, around the campfire.

I feel refreshed and ready for online engagement. I missed my regular #tuesdaydiscussions and #fridayfantasy but all will be caught up on and ready by the weekend.

I hope everyone had an enjoyable week. Please tell me your current #WIP and if sometimes you just need a break from everything to reconnect the creative streams in your mind.

Till my next post, I will leave you on this note.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride”

 

Inside and out

City life had always fascinated me. Crowds of people rushing for public transport to arrive at a destination. There were some moments I stood there and created back stories of  random people; where they were going, what lifestyle they lived and if they had a family or lived alone.

It sparked creativity and train of thoughts for short stories, poems or a character

I would love to create, inside and out.

I can remember this lady I saw. Her eyes were emerald green and curved

like a tear drop on its side. She was one of my memorable characters I created whilst waiting for my train.

I named her Yalein. Her wavy red hair fell below her shoulders and bounced on her back as she paced through the train station. She had always been in a rush after work. Everyday she walked the same path for the same train; the long black draping coat, wavy red hair and tapping high-heels. Her husband, Trent, was an abusive alcoholic. Her escape was work. Worked as long hours as possible to come home, abused of sleeping around or meeting up with other men. Trent never trusted her; Yalien didn’t care, only for their unborn child.

A few months went by; Yaliens belly grew, bruised eyes faded, arm-slings were used and replaced but her make-up was always done perfectly.

Until one day, she didn’t turn up. No echoing taps down the tunnel nor bouncing hair.

(This is fictitious based on no real people or events I know.)

train station

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