Writing challenge day 5

I forced myself again to write. I didn’t want to write. All I wanted to do was to watch Stranger Things and finish my book. But I wanted to get this challenge done with.

So far, it has been an uphill battle for me to even put pen to paper. I sit at my computer trying to think of things to write. In the end, I just get a few short paragraphs done and then write on this blog. I think my problem is that I write right before I go to sleep, since I forget to do it during the day. What I should push myself to do is to write in the morning and see if I want to write later.

I wrote a little more backstory on my story. I realize, as I am writing this, that I’m painting a picture of my parent’s life. It’s not the complete story, no. But it’s the essence of what my mom has been telling me for years. They say that you put a little of yourself in your work.

I wrote this on Reddit yesterday. Thought I’d post it here.

So a few months ago I met this guy on Tinder. He seemed nice. Went on a few dates and talked a lot on the phone. Let me set this up with the fact that there were huge red flags before this event occurred. He used to be married (he’s 24) and he’s a Republican (I’m a pretty liberal Democrat). I should note that I’m not discriminating against Republicans. I’m sure there are some that are lovely. I’ve met a few. But he does fit into the intolerant Republican stereotype. Of course I was desperate and chose to ignore the signs. After the fourth or so date, we had finally slept together. I didn’t want it to be just a hook up or one time thing, and he didn’t either, so we talked about being together. A few days after this, that’s when shit really hit the fan. He came over and cuddled. No sex, just cuddling. We were both pretty sick that day. I had given a few kisses while we slept. I wouldn’t push it, because I wasn’t in the mood, but hey… what’s wrong with a little kissing? I didn’t force myself on him. He didn’t call me out then. No, that was later. I saw him a few days after that and he acted normal. Held hands, talked about random stuff, and kissed in public. A few days later, after that, he started to become distant. I was really stressed out because I had to turn in my dissertation that week. I had failed my dissertation the first time, so I had to redo it so I can receive my Masters in Creative Writing (I passed by the way). So while I was working on my last edits, I decided to confront him about why he was so distant. That’s when he told me that I had raped him. He said that I had kissed him while he was sleeping and that since he was unconscious, that was considered rape. I apologized and asked why he didn’t mention it earlier, since he kissed me the other day, a few days after I supposedly raped him. He didn’t give me an answer on that one. I felt hurt that he would accuse me of such a thing. I’m glad that I wasn’t so angry that I turned in the wrong file or even deleted something crucial. I told him that he hurt my feelings and that it wasn’t rape, but he only said that it doesn’t matter. That I should get over it. After trying to get him to see where I was coming from, he finally yelled at me that he was almost raped in high school. He got mad at me because I was saying how I felt. I felt bad that he was almost raped, but that doesn’t excuse what he said. I continued being his friend a few months after this. I even considered sleeping with him again, out of desperation. There were a few things after this incident that made me realize that he was very racist and very misogynistic. I’m glad that I’m no longer friends with this guy. I think it’s hilarious that someone who moved to the Bay Area, who is so in love with how open minded the city is, could ever be so ignorantly racist. I always read stories about women accusing men of rape, but rarely hear about it on the other side. I did not rape this guy, but his accusation has made me feel like I am a terrible person. I thought posting this online would be immature, but honestly I think it helps alleviate the pain. Now I will always worry that any guy I’m with in the future will accuse me of something.


Writing challenge… 4 (skipped a day): in which I overanalyze my love life

So I missed a day on my writing challenge. I’m a little disappointed in myself. But to be honest, I wasn’t feeling so great.

Today I wrote a little about myself. I just wanted to get some of this pent up feelings and put it down on paper. I psycho analyzed myself. It’s definitely something I should do more often.

Something I realized during today’s writing was that I worry too much on whether or not I’m going to meet a guy. I haven’t met a guy I truly liked and was willing to go after. I want a guy to fall for me…without the awkward flirting and talking involved. It doesn’t make me less developed. My mom made a comment about how if we raise my niece right, she could be married by 20. Like there was anything wrong with the way we were raised. Yes, I know there’s huge gaps in my upbringing, but whose fault is that? Just because I haven’t found a man to settle down with at my age, doesn’t mean that I am developmentally challenged. I’m perfectly fine just the way I am. I don’t think you have to change you are to attract a guy. If a guy is going to be with you, they’re going to be with you for YOU. We all have qualities that are less than perfect. But I definitely think that if you like the person enough, you can get past it.

Anyways, I did the challenge. Now to go read “Frozen Tides” by Morgan Rhodes.

Writing challenge day 3

I definitely did not want to write today. I just finished reading “One Dark Throne” by Kendare Blake. My thoughts are jumbling. It’s almost midnight and so I thought I’d update on my progress. Again, I wrote into my “Summer with Nana”story. One thing that I’ve noticed is that the language I use for this one has been progressing. Definitely something I want to keep going with on my challenge. I realize that I’ve been editing as I write. I write a few sentences and then go back and make sure they have a coherent voice. I think I’d get a lot more done if I didn’t think of the sentence beforehand. Seriously, I spend a copious amount of time rereading what I just wrote.

I didn’t write much so I will not be posting what I wrote.

My stomach feels crappy because all I really ate was sugar. I did have a healthy sandwich, but that doesn’t cancel out everything else I ate. I have got to cut soda and any sugar drink out of my diet. From now on, I will stick with water.

Writing challenge day 2

It’s day two of my writing challenge. I didn’t want to do it in the end, but I forced myself. I wrote a new scene for my “Summer with Nana” story. The scene I started writing was definitely more of a character development piece. I want the grandma to be unique. She doesn’t allow her house to be filled with china cups and antique clocks. I want my character to help solve the mystery of her grandma’s life by sorting through some old documents. And while this is happening, I want the character’s favorite book to go missing, only to have it reappear with a note in it. My character will definitely have a bit of a romance, but the main focus is her relationship with her grandma.

This challenge will be harder than I thought. I have so many excuses of why I don’t write or read as often. But if I cut out some of the mindless time spent watching cartoons or checking Facebook, I could be writing a lot more. For now, the twenty minutes is a good push for me to keep writing. I’m never going to finish my novel otherwise.

Here is what I wrote, since I actually think I’m beginning to get my voice down.


Nana’s house was my home away from home. She was not like any other grandma I had ever met. Trips to the mall were fun scavenger hunts in which she and I would compete to find the most unique thing that day. I always won, on account of Nana throwing the game and buying me a churro instead. Her house looked lived in. She never had any old relic in her house because she always switched her house around every six months. I’m sure the old memories, like china cups or antique clocks, were tucked away somewhere she could only find. She truly was a one of a kind grandma.

When I came home that day, the day after, it felt like I was walking into a stranger’s house. The pictures on our wall were foreign to me. Memories from another time. I looked around at the small TV in the living room, the reclining chair nearest the door where dad would sometimes sleep at night, and the dining room table. These objects didn’t mean anything at that moment.

Instead of making sure the house was taken care of, I walked out the door.

Of course Nana was happy to have me. She had just come from the hospital, where she said her goodbye over her daughter’s dead body.



Because I want to stick with the twenty minutes challenge, I will not be editing some of what I post. These are raw snippets of my writing. If I sat down to edit them, I’d forget to even do the challenge.

In which we try and making writing a habit

To non-readers, my list of books that I’ve read this year may seem high. But what you don’t realize is that I am such an avid reader, that the number is very low to my standards. If you can imagine that I have bought at least six books a month, and I read at least two or three of them that month, my number may seem average. Currently, I have read 26 books. This year has seen me through some big reading slumps. A slump is when you can’t get up the courage or motivation to read. Sometimes you can get in a reading slump when a book you’ve been most anticipating turns out to be a dud. You get the book and you just cannot get the will power to read it. And thus creating a reading slump.

I’ve been trying to at least read for twenty minutes each day. It’s a goal that has kept me actively reading. So I thought I’d try that for my writing. I will be writing for at least twenty minutes each day. Sometimes I will post what I have written, but others I might just talk about what the process was like. That way other writers and even readers can join in on the fun. They say that if you do something for at least two weeks, it’ll be a habit. So for the next two weeks, we will see if I prosper, or if I fail. What I write might be little antidotes on writing, or even some small reviews. Or they might be personal.

I’ve been writing for at least ten minutes. I honestly want to talk about friendships.

I have a hard time keeping friends. Making friends is the easy part. Keeping a friend is something else entirely. I can be a bit annoying and sometimes don’t know boundaries. There is still a little amount of clingy that I haven’t been able to suss out. I’ve recently had to block a friend that I was once close to.

Without going into details, I will say that she was extremely clingy, and a lot of my other friends wondered why I was friends with her in the first place. There were several bad instances where I should have just ended the friendship before it had really started.

I will point out one thing that really set me over the edge. She is the first person (besides my sisters) who has ever told me that no one cares about me. I’m sure none of the other people who I have unfriended (there’s not that many people) would ever say that to me. Sad part is that I didn’t automatically unfriend her right then. I knew she had mental problems, so I wanted to brush it off. But when she wrote two weeks later that my happy posts were annoying her, that was when I drew the line. They do say the best revenge is them seeing you be happy.

No one should ever tell someone that no one cares about them. You don’t know how they will take it. I’ve dealt with depression, and if I was maybe five years younger, I might have done something harmful to myself because of that statement. Words hold meaning.

Don’t ever let the idea of being friendless stop you from unfriending a toxic person. You deserve to be happy.

Infinite: a short story of sorts

I am on a ledge. I don’t know how I came to be here, but there are people on the ground, looking up at me. My mind starts to wander to images of this morning. That positive sign, and the yelling that ensued. I had been contemplating this for years, but had never had any sign, up until now, to do it. My breathe shakes and twirls in the afternoon mist. I want to get off, but there’s John in the back of my mind; telling me that I can’t possibly be pregnant. With his kid.

The trees surrounding me are all glazed with fog, even though the sun is shining brightly overhead. The rocks beneath my feet start to dig into my old black Vans. The sound of the distant creek and the many wildlife around the area, is all that surrounds me in this moment of clarity. My therapist seems to think I live my life on a limb. She’s not wrong, though every fiber of my being wants to contradict her. Which is probably why I spend so much going twice a week. I can’t ever come down from this high that I seem to have gotten myself in.

They say jumping from this height is probably a sign I’m going crazy, especially considering my age. But to be honest, I really don’t care. I just wanted that momentary thrill of rushing off a cliff. Now, however, I seem to be stuck. I could just walk away and be done with it.

Yet, haven’t I been doing that for years?

I’d see a stray dog, and on a whim, I’d adopt him. Not even taking into account the fact that my apartment has a no dog clause and we’d be forced to move out. Who knew pit bulls could be so darn cute? It was hard giving Prince Charles up so I would have a place to stay that wasn’t completely bankrupting me.

That’s nothing compared to the thousand dollar ticket I bought to travel through the US on a train. I chickened out last minute and couldn’t get my refund. I did that all because I watched an episode of Big Bang Theory and thought trains were cool. But then I worried that something bad would happen to me. So I let the time pass and revoked my two week’s notice at work.

These many life choices I’ve made have led me to this ledge, half hoping I would actually splat on the forrest floor. The people on the floor are yelling at me. Small encouragements from people I’ve only known for an hour. I stare at the rock I’m standing on. It juts out, and then at the last possible moment takes a dive to the floor. It wants me to give up. To let some real or imaginary obstacle prevent me from finishing something.

As my lips get chapped and my hair tossed, I look down at my flat stomach. I realize that I have time, and that this baby will be my chance at a new life. I will be the woman I have always dreamed of being.

But for now, I have to complete this journey and jump off the cliff. Because when I left home in a rage, after being yelled at by my partner, I knew the one thing I had to do to get my head clear. Cliff jumping.

As I jump the cliff, tethered to the bungee chord, I feel infinite.

100 post celebration!!

Here goes my 100th post! I can’t believe I’ve posted in this blog 100 times! I have 92 followers and so far I have a decent amount of likes on my page. I really want to express how much that means to me. I am in no way a professional writer and most of what I put in here are personal tidbits or drafts from my stories. As I said I would do something interesting for this post, I wanted to share a video of me singing.

It’s a song that really holds true for me. Since my grandma passed away, I’ve been kind of contemplating the meaning of life and death. I’ve never really experienced anyone close to me dying, so this is all new to me. I wanted to sing this song because of her. It was the day we got to see what the real estate people did to her house when we were putting it on the market. Everything looked new and interesting. Except when you go out back, you can definitely see my name in the concrete.

The memories I had in that house were pretty cool. I remember going over my grandma’s house every summer and getting to hang out with her. She always did Tai-Chee (not sure how you spell that, but that’s how I say it in my head) and we got to help sweep up the backyard. My favorite parts were when we got to get some Ching Chung Fun and some fruit jellies.

Since I believe that the dead can see what we do all the time, I want to write a little note to my grandma.


It’s been almost a year now and there is not one day that goes by that I don’t miss you. I love you so much and I hope you’re in a better place. Your family loves and misses you. We think of you often. I’m having a great time here in Wales and have even lost some weight! I know you’d be happy about that. Anyways, I love you so much.

Yours forever,

I wanted to also tell you guys that there will be more book reviews soon! I am currently reading a bunch of series that take up most of my time. I like to review an entire series as a whole. I hope there are more book lovers reading my reviews.

I also want to show you guys something else that I’ve started. It’s not really thought through that much, but here is what I got. I haven’t titled it yet.


The world is a scary and dangerous place. When you aren’t paying attention, the world will swallow you whole like a black hole. When I learned that my parents had passed away, I was sitting in a café, eating cake and enjoying my second date with this guy named Tristan. I was just getting into the story of how my cat had swallowed an entire bag of pills, when my Aunt Kristy walks through the door of the café. She looked disheveled, which was very uncharacteristic of her, since she always seemed to be put together. The look on her tiny pixie like face was one of worry. Her green eyes seemed to water when she spotted me across the room.

There had been a fire in the house and my parents weren’t able to get out in time. I knew then that my life would always be one crazy whirlwind after another. The only good thing was that my little brother of four years old, Tyler, was next door at his friend’s house when the fire happened. In the blink of an eye, we had become orphans. That left us in the care of Aunt Kristy, the successful writer of two bestselling novels and now the parental unit of a four year old and a 17 year old.

People were always treating me like I needed help, when I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. They always say, “Poor Tricia. She needs all the help she can get with her parents being gone. I know, let’s make a casserole!” People are always making casseroles. As if that will make my parents come back from the dead.

It’s not that I’m ungrateful for their help; it’s just that you need some time alone now and then. Tyler thinks that Mom and Dad are just on some holiday to Heaven. I’m jealous that when he looks back on this time in his life he won’t remember much of what went down.

It was the second week of staying with Aunt Kristy when we started off at the new school. We used to live in San Francisco, but Aunt Kristy lives in San Rafael. It was the end of October, so we had to start in the middle of the school year. I had been going to the same school with most of my classmates for my whole life. It felt odd to suddenly be taken away from everyone I knew and loved. I even tried convincing my aunt to move to the City. But she wouldn’t hear a word of it.

The first day was uneventful, in the grand scheme of things. Went to class, had lunch, and went home. Other than a few teachers making me go up in front of the class to introduce myself, I didn’t really talk the whole day. It was the second day that started the whole thing.

I was walking to my first class of the day when I bumped into someone. I mumbled a small apology, hoping to get as little human interaction today as possible. I’m about to walk away when a hand grabs my forearm.

I turned to look at the person and noticed that he is staring at me with some crazy purple eyes. The guy’s eyes were a dark shade of purple and what was even more surprising was his white blonde hair. He was wearing a blue button up shirt with khakis. Most importantly, however, was his attitude. I could tell that he was upset by what happened and that he somehow took offense to the tiny apology I gave.

I was terrified. Not just by the fact that his hand was still holding me to the spot, but there was something sinister in his eyes. The moment seemed to drag on. I was about to say something, when he just shakes his head and releases me. And then he walks away.

Chapter 2

I’m still shocked as to what happened. I try to focus the entire day, but I couldn’t help feeling that there was something sinister about him. The day seems to be going on longer than usual. Finally, when fifth period comes around, I see him again. He’s in the corner of the classroom, fiddling with his pencil. I don’t see any open seats besides the one next to him, so I cautiously take a seat. I can feel the tension as I wait for the teacher to begin. The teacher, Mr. Jakobs, is getting some kind of slideshow ready for the class period.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see that he is just as transfixed as I am. And yet, I can tell that he is kicking himself for not saying something. The class seems to drag on. The teacher’s lesson just white noise in the background. The clock above the white board seems to halt. Suddenly I’m aware of the itch on my nose, the way my lips are so dry they’re cracked and the uncontrollable urge to fart.

The bell rings with a sudden trill. I quickly put my stuff back in my bed and head out the door. I’m a bit disturbed by what happened, so I leave campus early, skipping out on my last two periods. It’s a sunny day, which is quite unusual for someone who came from the City. I ended up cutting my jeans into shorts this morning to be a little more comfortable and wearing my black spanks underneath.

The city feels so dull and empty. I head to the trail behind the school, so I can be alone. The school is situated next to a big hill that easily could have around twenty different hiking trails. I travel as far as the nearest trail will take me, which means that I can see the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, part of the Bay, and a whole bunch of sloping hills that hold tiny suburban homes. I feel the need to yell and so I scream at the top of my lungs. Complete nonsense, I know, but the feeling in my stomach starts to fade from anxiety to a small, rhythmic swaying.

As I’m looking around at the small clearing I’m at, I notice a silver box beneath a bush. I pick it up and examine it. It’s rusty and I can sort of make out Big Bird’s face on the front. Upon opening, I can see a bunch of folded pieces of paper. There’s also a toy soldier in it as well, which looks like it’s been chewed on through the years.


That’s what I have so far. It’s a work in progress. Anyways, if you guys could pass the word about my blog, that would be great! Love you all so much! 🙂

Dizziness: a night of debauchery and dancing!


I wrote this paragraph during a class I was shadowing yesterday. We were supposed to go through the Market and write about our experiences. While the class had such amazing things to say, whether they were stories or just small observations, I felt like I was the weird one. I mean, they were all undergraduates, but they each had some great ways of writing. I think the best thing for any writer is to not sit and compare themselves to other writers. You probably won’t be the next Jane Austen or even the next George Orwell. But that doesn’t mean that you’re not a great writer.

These past few months have taught me about my own strengths in writing. I kind of feel like I’m a fraud whenever I turn in something that means a lot to me. Cause somehow I think that I am not worthy. Writing takes time and effort. My classmates have helped me a lot with figuring out what kind of writer I am. My ideas don’t seem stupid when I show them my work. I even had someone said that I’m a pretty good writer, while reviewing my work. I am in no way arrogant, so that one statement really motivated me to think.

From reading other people’s work, I realize that I do want to expand on my own writing. I wrote a poem the other day, and while it is not completely finished, I will post it here. It is really personal to me and I feel like I’m putting myself out there for criticism, but I need to overcome that. Sometimes you will write about someone close to you and the topic might make you feel awkward since you know them so well and if they read what you wrote about them, maybe that will change their perspective of you. But writing is something that you have to realize is very personal and there is always going to be someone who doesn’t like what you have to say. So here is my piece called “Dizziness.”

I don’t usually like posting about drunken nights or anything that will be seen as non-professional, but I feel like this is a work of art. I’m not going to post about all of my crazy mishaps with alcohol, since I know that I want employers to read me in a positive light. But here is my one bit of admittance that I’m not perfect and hopefully that won’t hinder anyone’s decision to hire me or not.


I’m drunk
More drinkssssss
Can’t say no
Spinning around with
this guy
Blue jacket, cute smile
Drink more       no more…

Other guy dips me
making a mess of my feet

Then I’m in cute smile’s
arms and we’re spinning
It’s something magical

Then we’re holding
and we are running
And I’m lost
in the deep fathoms
of his deep brown eyes

And I’m in a cab
I feel the
loss of his absence
through the thick jacket
I was so excited
to be put on.



London is a beautiful place
And it’s the day before
And I’m drunk again

He comes to the party
late with his “boy toy”
his hair is a mess
it’s wet
really cute

Try to come up
with something…
witty… yeah… that’s it…
to say but all
that comes
out            is
“Wanna dance?”

We twirl again
and then again
and his hand is in mine
with his other behind
my back, dipping

Then we are out
the door
to see the world of
Baker Street
and a satellite for
waxy aliens.



We are talking
after three beers
I’m fine
But where are
we going? I grab
the bottle of Whiskey

Down the hatch
and grab some more
….something that starts
with a J….
Or was it an I?

I talk some more
He’s annoyed
“Don’t touch me”
his eyes say
And I’m sad…

He’s aloof
and a little bit

and then

Oh God
why am I …

in a trolley???


I hope you guys liked this draft of a poem. I think I want to continue on to the musical that I was writing. I feel like I have a better grasp on dialogue now, so I will continue with that and then hopefully collaborate with a lyricist.

Also, here is the piece I wrote when I was in the Market yesterday:

Walking into the Market building, I’m surrounded by this innate feeling of home. A place where people greet you with a smile and don’t try to rush you while shopping. A place where you can feel like a part of a community and a person of value. There is a definitive feel of what is Wales. The traditional Welsh cakes are new and different to me. It’s something I can take with me when I do decide to go home. The array of different cultures transports me back to the Ferry Building in San Francisco. I am the foreigner; the oddity. Yet in this market across the pond, I’m home. Parts of the market reminds me of my small town by the sea. It’s the cloth jewelry holders that remind me of what I’ve lost and the many months ahead to find the strength to move on.

I wrote a new character!

I’ve made the biggest breakthrough in the history of my story. There is another character! You know when you feel like you’re missing something and for the longest time, you just don’t know what that something could be? Well, I found it, after two years. This is huge for me. This adds a whole dimension to my story that I never thought of before. I thought I was set with having a few characters and that being it. But as I began to workshop my piece in my Masters class, I realized there was so much more I was missing. For instance, why would her parents be okay with her leaving the safety of her home, alone?

At first I wanted her parents to be super cool and okay with her decision. But I guess it was too much to hope for that everyone else would buy into the fact that her parents would just allow her to go. I could have made it so that her parents didn’t know about it until it was too late. But then that would have just made my character a bit more… mean. I started off with the scene that was easier for me to fix. The bar scene. I went through it and as I was writing, I realized that the waitress had a bruise on her chest.

This bruise led me to connect it with something from Hazel’s life. It connected with a friend of hers. This led me to realize that this friend makes her rethink her plan. But I also wanted her to connect with Aaron, so she has to continue her journey. So then I thought about maybe having Annabelle going along with her, but then they get separated after a big fight. Here is the piece that really made me rethink my entire piece:

One night after walking twenty miles, I stop at a small bar in Denver, Colorado. It’s the first building I’ve seen in ten miles. My feet are aching and I’m tired. I walk into the bar; my want for food bigger than my wish to get out of this small one horse town. Denver may be considered a city, but to me it’s one horse shoe away from being a scene in an old Western movie. I’m sure if my mom was here, we would have a good laugh.

The air in this bar smells like old cigarettes and stale Whiskey. “Hotel California” is blaring from the karaoke speakers in the far left corner. Yay, irony. What is even more ironic is the guy at the karaoke machine. He would be a country version of those hipsters in San Francisco. He had the clothes of a hipster, but his hair screamed “Country Boy.” He is wearing a Sex Pistols t-shirt with black skinny jeans and a pair of red Chucks. His brown hair is thrown every which way and there are small pieces of hay stuck in his hair.

I take a seat closest to the left wall, to avoid the stares of the men nearest to the counter. I take a look at the menu and am not surprised to see that most of t heir dishes have something grown from their local farms. Barf. I’m hoping I can quickly scarf down my meal so I can get to the closest motel to sleep. That fox really scared the living piss out of me.

As I’m contemplating what to eat, the waitress saunters over to my table. She looks like some kind of Debutant. Her hair is bleached blonde and her nails are perfectly manicured. I can tell she’s anxiously waiting to talk to me. I bet the only people this place sees are regulars. I’m the oddity. The outsider. As she approaches, I can smell the scent of strawberries. Since I’m still looking at the menu, she clears her throat.

Now that I’m looking directly at her, I can tell that she has a bruise on the top of her shirt. Some would say it’s just a hickey, but I know better. It’s just like the bruise Annabelle had the day after her dad left. When I had brought it up to my dad, he said that men like that should not have kids. I remember my dad was  pretty agitated when I told him. I had no clue at the time why, though. After that he always made it a point to treat Annabelle like family whenever she was over.

Thinking about Annabelle makes me rethink my plan. Maybe I was wrong to turn away from her. I’m interrupted from my thoughts by the waitress.

“Excuse me? Are you ready to order?”

Am I? Have I made the right decision in coming here? Oh God. I have to call Annabelle. I reach for my phone, but don’t feel it in my pocket. Oh shit. I start rummaging through my backpack. No, not there.

The waitress is getting impatient.


I look up.

“Do you have a phone I can use?”

“There’s a pay phone out back. Are you going to order something or not?”

“I will. I just need to make a phone call first.”


I actually wrote this while sitting outside a cafe in Cardiff Bay. Cardiff Bay is easily one of my favorite spots over here. It’s the location of the Doctor Who Experience, it has a wonderful musical theater scene, it’s very calm, and they film a lot of Doctor Who over there. I will always remember that scene where we found out such and such was the Face of Boe. (Don’t want to say who it is just in case you haven’t seen Doctor Who yet.)

This trip has made me open my eyes to all of the possibilities my life has to offer. Since I only have two days of class, I have to figure out what to do to fill the rest of my time. I typically see movies, walk around, or just write. I’ve finished three books since I’ve been here and am continuing reading still. I’m currently reading this book called “Carry On” (I totally want to sing the rest of the line: Carry on my wayward son. There’ll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don’t you cry no more.) by Rainbow Rowell. I feel like her books are a hit or a miss. I loved Fangirl, but I disliked Eleanor and Park. So far, the book is reading a lot like Harry Potter. If you are missing Harry Potter, read this book. Good thing about it is: it has curse words. It’s also set in Wales.

I will be honest. I miss my family and the closeness of home. But I really do love it here. I have friends who I can turn to if I need help. Definitely a plus since I felt like I didn’t have that that much back in California. I love the shopping over here. And the culture. You know how people in San Francisco are so into baseball and football? Well it’s like that here, but with rugby. It’s super fun to be a part of this.

I want to thank all of my followers. You guys make me so happy and I’m glad that I’ve reached almost one hundred followers. If you could tell your friends about my page, that would be great.

What if….?

All throughout any writer’s life there are “what if” moments. I’m not talking about the usual “what if” moments where you ask yourself, “what if I didn’t say yes to going out with Henry?” or even “what if I didn’t join the Glee club?” No, a writer’s “what if” moments are those moments that they think of a story idea. Like, “what if Peter Pan was really a ghost andFor i he haunts dreams?” Those are the “what if” moments I am talking about.

These moments is what makes writing fun.  For instance, when you get to the middle of a story and you’re stumped at what to write next. If you ask yourself, “what if..” maybe you will get somewhere.

I’m not talking about switching points of view. Cause really, those authors who write books using different perspectives, such as that book “Grey” and that book that Stephanie Meyer almost wrote, “Midnight Sun,” are all just money loving amateurs. If you are forced to write from an entirely new perspective, it probably means you just want more income.  Plenty of people will disagree with me, but it’s what I believe.

Switching points of view is a cheap way to go about writing. If your piece doesn’t have what it takes to really peak a reader’s interest, changing the point of view won’t do it any good. Go back to those “what if” moments.

I will give you an example from my short story. Halfway through writing my piece, I had no clue what I wanted to do for the conflict and ending resolution. An amateur writer probably would have said to change the perspective and the story will come to you. However, I did not think about that. I mean, I did actually analyze the other characters and what they would be thinking in their heads, but I didn’t consider changing the perspective. What I did was ask, “what if we had the main character cry?” It’s such a simple thing, but what would make my character actually shed a tear? I wanted my character to be sort of tough on the outside, so that it would be very significant if she was to cry. As soon as I started thinking that, I knew that there had to be something really drastic to have her cry. That is why I feel like I have to go back and try to make the relationship between Hazel and Aaron more substantial. Also, I need to change the girl’s name since I only used it as a placeholder.

Again, I am not a professional writer. I do not make any money off my writing and so all of what I am saying is just advice. Thanks for reading and I hope you will continue to follow my blog.