Tag Archives: writing

Winter’s Wonderland

          “So I was telling Robert that we will be settled in by the end of week.” Frank’s stern voice echoed within the moving truck. His gaze was focused on the road ahead but tried to keep a conversation going, as to not fall asleep. His son kept him company and sat right beside him. He wasn’t too fond of the move. But Frank managed to get promoted and was asked to oversee construction of the new building for the hotel. 

           The icy wind clawed at the windows looking for a way to pierce the awaiting bodies inside the truck. Warmed by the air within the vehicle, heading down the mountain pass. Timothy stared out at the blanket of snow outside. He just let his dad ramble on about all the “blessings” that was going follow. 

       “Come on, kiddo, I hear the school there is great” Frank gave a short nudge at his son, making sure one of his hands never let released the steering wheel.

       “Yea, right, like this weather huh?” Timothy’s response was sarcastic of course. He hated the cold and was used to the warm, hot weather of Florida. He only saw snow on tv or movies. He never thought he would move so far north that he would be enveloped by it til God knows when. 

       Frank curled his lips in hesitation before he continued. He managed to catch his son’s tone and knew for a fact this wasn’t the best weather. He remembered looking up the town on the internet with his boss’s words constantly repeating in his head, “It is freaking cold there”. He kept his gaze on the road now, he decided to keep quiet for a bit as he neared the crossroad. 

        The sign on the side of the road read Arcadia, the winter wonderland. It had a picture of what appeared to be a smiling family playing in the snow with Christmas decorations on the house behind them. Timothy rolled his eyes as he couldn’t make out the rest of the billboard. His father kept going straight as they passed the intersection. It had been quite a trip but they were almost close to what everyone else called their new “home”. He could start seeing the dim lights pierce through the storm. You would think that a sane person wouldn’t drive under these conditions and yet his father insisted that this was the weather most of the time year round. 

The road seemed to merge into a narrow strip as what appeared to be the last hill leading down to the town began to have them descend. Insanity, Timothy thought to himself as he looked for signs of worry on his father’s face. The man Just continued to rant about how important his work and his new position would not only benefit them but everyone. 

Frank didn’t want to give his son any sign of discomfort or worry as he noticed the terrain was literally like a death trap. The road had to have warning signs or something, he thought. He would brush of any fear as he continued to discuss how the company who hired him spoke about the new job opportunities he was bringing in to this town. 

The wind continued to pound the moving vehicle. Like a monster trying to devour its prey it clawed at the windows. The snow attaching itself and building up on the front window trying to blind it’s victim. The moving truck still continued its steady descent and as the storm raged on, the town slowly revealed its appeal and wonder. 

Timothy was the first to notice it all. The wind seemed to stop after awhile. Snow started to brush off the windshield and he could fully make out what was before them. The town stretched out in between mountains but apart from all of the snow, it appeared to be something of fairytales. What lay before them seemed like one of those towns you see in a snow globe. Trees spawned around and decorated due to the upcoming season. The houses surrounding the various other buildings seemed nice and warm due to the lights that escaped and helped bring the town to life. 

Frank gave a quick look at the side mirrors to check if he wasn’t imagining just leaving a blizzard. He blinked 4 times at what he now understood from his wife’s description as a magical place. 

Though the town was small as one could see it from the hill from beginning to end, it seemed welcoming. Movement could be seen amongst the town and as dark as it was getting outside, the lights sprawled across gave new life or signs of it. 

Frank pointed to the far right of the town where what appeared to be a set of steel beams were erected. “There’s the building”, he then pointed to the otherside of the town near the back, “and that’s where we will be staying.”.

Timothy couldn’t make it out from where they were. As they reached the bottom of the hill he couldn’t see the whole town anymore. It seems he would have to wait. 

They drove through the town and everything truly seemed to be from a movie. Of course, people would look at the passing truck in awe as both of them in truck only assumed was natural. For being a small town and the location, it was unlike any visitors or new comers to just come about. This is what Frank and his companions hoped to fix, though it was still a mystery as to why this place. 

After what appeared to be never ending minutes of torture, Timothy felt a wave of relief as he neared what appeared to be his new house. He could see his mother complaining to the movers outside.

“Oh boy”, Frank’s worried expression surfaced as the words rolled off his tongue. He knew his wife all too well. “This isn’t good.”.

Timothy chuckled, “Yea, for them that is”. As he said that he looked at his new house. Surrounded by wooden fence and two pine trees on the front yard. It had a driveway to the left and was a two story house. The colors appeared to be a tint of red with brown but was mostly covered in snow. The lights were on what appeared to be the two rooms on the second and he could now make out his sister looking down. 

Mary looked back momentarily as she heard the approaching truck and waved at them. She then turned back and faced the two men in front of her on the front porch. “Good, now you will have to hear from my husband!”, They could now make out the words she was saying. 

Frank took a deep breath as he put the truck in the driveway. He looked at Timothy, “Well buddy, we’re here.”.

The words scratched in his head and echoed like a nightmare. His dad was removing the keys and signaling that he was going to check what was the big fuss. Timothy started to get ready to get off the truck, he also took a deep breath and looked around. He looked up towards his sister’s room and noticed her eating a strange fruit. She was smiling and waved at him and then disappeared as he thought she was going to greet them. 

He looked towards the mountains and noticed a strange green light that appeared to flash. The light seemed to call to him and he felt himself enter a trance. There was something familiar about the light, as if he saw it in a dream. 

“Timothy!!”, His mother’s voice awoke him from his trance and he got out of the truth. His feet sank an inch to the ground as he landed. Snow, it was the first time he actually was around it apart from the drive here, he already hated it. 

His mother rushed to him and have him a huge hug. “Welcome home, honey.”, the warmth of his mother was truly welcoming. He hugged her back but the words still felt like a stranger. He looked back at the mountain where the light shun only to find there was no light flashing this time. He whispered to himself, “Yea, homeā€¦”.

The Write Choice


Let’s be honest, we all want to be heard. There is a tiny voice that shrieks at us from the back of our minds that goes something like, “Calling any listener or reader, it’s me!!!”. Call me crazy but that is just how us, as humans, are. We long for company or even to some degree, a mild interaction with someone or something to reveal we’re not alone.

I’m here, sitting in the dark, hearing the rattling of my ceiling fan contemplating life. It isn’t unusual that I ponder about the choices I’ve made or the words I shared with others. In many cases, I’m now drawn to how far I’ve come as a writer. 

Hmm, it is interesting, it has literally been a year and 2 months now. What have I learned? Have I grown in any way that my old self, just starting out, could say, “Wow! You’ve changed!!!”. I don’t even think I would sound like that, a pun would have to come from it, more so something in regards to I made the “write” life choice. Comedic gold, I know, hold the applause. 

I’ve been disappointed a bit in my endeavors with keeping track of my work and my stories. I’ve turned away from using a laptop or desktop and now solely rely on my phone. Granted because of my computer dying on me, I still have my wireless Bluetooth keyboard I use to write for my phone. I’ve been looking at ways to get it(phone) connected to monitor and presto, I have that ecstastic sensation of seeing it all on the big screen. I’ve linked all my drives to jotterpad-which is the app I use when I’m not using office-plus I’ve literally been taking time out to plan out ideas and work on my stories more. I’m in this for the long haul.

I really don’t know if all writers get this zeal-is it really a zeal? All I can fathom from it all is that I still love to write and it isn’t like my usual spurts designing where my head is spinning and calling for me to put it down and go do something else, I still would find myself writing for hours and get swept into the early morning, having the sun blind me and remind me I work in an hour or two. 

I guess this is literally the joy you get when you find your niche, your purpose in life. Now, I’m not the best of bloggers or my following isn’t massive. Either way, I do hope people get an interest into what I wrote or my stories, poems, and etc. Like I’ve stated, I haven’t had any formal training but when I can, I do find ways to learn from websites, workshops and etc. 

This is actually the realest entry I’ve had just being myself without trying to teach something or just express my inner raw self, it’s funny. I’m actually just grateful for the opportunity to do this, to be able to write and have my words shared with others. Who would of thought, that young kid encouraged so many years ago but English teachers, that young kid so eager to build worlds, and create characters? It is truly amazing. Writing is truly amazing, this is indeed the write choice.

Why Write?


What are you really after? I ponder this question before every story or poem I write. It would seem to hold a significant weight on my chest. Even within the realm of Instagram where I post poems and quotes. 

Let’s not sugar coat things, we all seek to be recognized is some way but the question remains, what are you after? Long hours “perfecting” a story or poem all so you can get some likes? A follow maybe? Is fame your goal? Or do you want to truly share your message, vision, and/or truth to the world? 

A common thought crosses my mind every time I type, as an answer to those questions. I would like to be known but I don’t want to do it for selfish reasons. I prefer my stories to truly touch people and encourage them. You can really summarize my blog ultimately as an outlook on life and how I perceive the world but it really is a motivational one. I like helping people, helping them understand and find that they are not alone. 

Don’t get me wrong in anything, I find a sense of pride when someone comments, likes or follows me because of something they read. But I also know that if I base my writing on likes or fame, it will distort my message or story. I find that I will gain an audience some way but writing isnt just to help people as well, but also a form of medication for myself. I write for me as well. 

We can all joke and reminisce about having our books or stories published. Write about our struggles as writers on a daily basis and even fall into the stereotype of being a writer, but ultimately what are you chasing? What is that pull that keeps you writing? People may not even notice you because you’re not “famous” and as soon as you take off, you’ll see swarms of “fans”. Begin to write differently or in such a way that it offends the reader and you will get dropped. This is just how society has transformed over the years.

I’ve learned all of this since I first started writing about a year ago. I don’t become discouraged at what is happening or if I don’t “make” it. I still put in the hours and write, learning from my mistakes and perfecting the craft. To be able to give an emotion or imagery using words is a gift and is something truly beautiful. Never forget the reason you started and always remember, you arent racing, there really is no finish line. Write as if your work was meant for eternity and your story will be made history.

Acting Upon Our Choices

Hmm…should I use this word here or that word there? Decisions, decisions, decisions. 

It’s funny really, how we look at the words we write and decide what word “works” best. We spend our time trying to get our points across as writers, bloggers, poets, and etc. Defined by our words it becomes more than descriptions of what we de but reveals an action and who we are.

I’m not the best, nor do I want to be considered the best writer, I just write. I’ve learned from my experiences and as I continue on in life how, not only in writing but in life, we over analyze things. We spend our time debating with ourselves about what we are going to do, say, eat and etc. Contrary to belief, it doesn’t matter what someone says, we care about what others say about us. The thing that sets us apart from others is our individuality, which in turn can help determine if we accept others opinions of us or we acknowledge it; know ourselves well enough that we ignore it and learn from it. 

I’m not a motivational speaker, my blog is not ranging in the 1000s of subscribers and I’m not pushing anyone to read my words by asking for emails. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying those that do have that are something or that it wouldn’t be nice to have people reading your work and waiting for your next post. What I’m trying to write is this, I know where I stand as a writer, where I am in life, now. I am not going to pretend to be someone I am not. 

I love to write, though my post count is nothing compared to the daily posts others push. I still manage to let myself bleed and find an escape, which is writing. I remember how a customer came into the store and asked me, since he learned I’m a writer, what it “takes”. I chuckled. I don’t have a fully published book under my name yet, though I’ve written one and compiled my ebook series awaiting thorough editing, even my collection of poems within a book. Yet I looked at him and told him, just write. Sounds weird doesn’t it, sounds like it is easy, but it isn’t. I told him you’re not an aspiring writer, you are a writer, you just need to break free from defeating yourself.

There is a kicker in what I’m writing. We over think things and in the end defeat ourselves. We become lost in trends or distractions, we see others doing something and because it works for them, we think it will work for us. I’ve found that I am still creating my “voice” or style. I don’t have years of writing under my belt, just a year. Yet I will rather write and be criticized so I could properly learn to improve. I can debate with myself about life but only when I decide to take the risk and do it will I see action and learn from the experience.

As of late, I’ve retreated again from social media as those who do read my posts can attest. It has really been an eye opener. After all the senseless posts I see or meaningless drevels, I find I am more myself away from that sort of environment. I’m clear headed. It can work for others but not for me so I purge it out od my life. 

People think my choices at times are extreme but it is because of what I’m saying now, we are our worst enemies. There may or may not be something better but don’t spend hours contemplating the “what ifs”, life is too short. Take the risk. But also understand, there is a difference with being rash and actually discerning, in a logical manner, and doing something. Learn who you are, become content with yourself, change what you feel needs to change, and then learn to move forward.

Be blessed.

Breaking the lines


I’m not your typical writer/blogger. I think everyone should have that figured out by now, if you read my work. I don’t believe in formats. Trust me, I read various articles on how a blog should be, how to get people to read your work. But, reality is, I hate limitations. 

I probably will not divide into sections or lists. Now, I could, help the reader, as well, I could also just write. My friend told me something that has been marked in my heart when I began writing. He said, ” You want to go to college, learn the lessons, study your career but I’ve seen people lose their creativity doing that. Sure, you can get better and master your ‘craft’s but to what cost?”. That really stuck with me.

Now, I’m not diminishing any writer who has a degree in creative writing, English major, and etc. But what ive learned, a writer doesn’t really boast in what he/she has attained as their degree. I’m currently working on my degree in biblical studies, completely different in another scope, from writing. It is good to know foundations, proper grammar and etc, I’m not saying that it isn’t. 

What I’m trying to get across is this, to just write. If you are a blogger, writer and etc. You don’t really need to attain some level, do it now, write. We are not measured by our titles but our work. The more we write, the more others will see our story, our message, to the world. That’s my take. Be blessed.

Touch of Death

The water dripped from the side of the table. Hitting the floor and sending an echo that stretched through the air, as the sounds bounced off the walls. The cup, now rolling to follow the course drawn in steady streams. The hands that held it twitched every few seconds. Eyes that wandered, penetrated by the light that peered into its search.

The man struggled to get up from the chair. His knees collapsing under him, causing a jerking motion which led to floor. His hands now reached towards the light. It now started to flash before him. Everything slowly turning to a tunnel of darkness as he felt himself clawing for relief. Gasps of air were heard over the dripping water that now formed a small puddle.

The light moved upwards, revealing a sly grin. The two front teeth missing and the freckles, revealing a child, as if haunting the beginning of what now was the end. His black eyes seemed to fill the room as everything was trapped by his stare. 

The man felt his heart slowing down from its burst of adrenaline. He could start feeling the floor, its dark wet surface, accepting his fate. He didn’t struggle anymore. He let his hands rest on the floor. Trying to close his eyes, he tried to remember a fond memory. But not even in this moment, was life so kind and easily gave him away.

The child grabbed the mans hand. Its warm touch filled the man with hope for at least a second, til darkness became whole. Feeling his senses with a cold snap, to awaken him from his fantasy. And as he was, he was not and into the abyss went. Yet only his body was left, to uncover the mystery.

They say you see the light flashing before your eyes, moments before death. What they never tell you is that that’s death welcoming you to his embrace. Within the darkness, you can…for the short moments…see his face.

Writer’s Block

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To write is to bleed.

That’s basically my tag line. I remember writing a similar post to the things I will talk about on this one, awhile back, when I was first starting out on my blog. I explained how sometimes we just get “blocked”. As a writer, you would think it would be easy. You sit down at a computer, the coffee shop, even while you are in the back of an uber. But guess what? You’re stumped.

As writers, we all have been there and done that. Maybe knowing you have a deadline in a week, pacing around with coffee til that struck of inspiration hits you. Let me just tell you, I’ve tried all the tricks in the book. From just writing without any clear direction, to singing in the shower, catching a nap, and even spinning in circles-after a tail that isn’t really there-of course.

But I want to tell you all a secret I’ve found. Come on, don’t be scared, I won’t jump out of the screen and bite you (maybe I will, just kidding). People. What about people? It’s simple. People are my source of inspiration really. Sure I can continuously quote my tag line. I do share my thoughts, feelings, and the works. But something I rarely describe is how people also are my greatest source of inspiration and motivation.

I usually describe how people are like books to my friends. I love taking the time to read people, getting to know them. Uncovering the mysteries behind their eyes or finding out the stories they don’t easily share. Take for example that one of my very good friends started a blog of her own (check it out and follow it, bookmark and etc lol, fluffthisshit.wordpress.com). Like I explained to her, writing helps us be free and to be ourselves but as well, it helps to share how we see the world, people. The characters I make up for my stories are pieces of other people, not just my thoughts. The world’s I create is inspired by the worlds seen through people’s eyes. I love that about writing.

I’ve heard it before, take some time to reflect by yourself or to write some place quiet. It does work out sometimes to be alone. But as well, I’ve found that being around people can ignite your stumbling block and grant you an “escape”.

So then, what is the point I’m trying to make? Come on folks!! Write. Pour your heart, see those around you. Everything is and does produce inspiration. It is easy to make up excuses and to let time pass you by, sometimes you do need to clear your head, don’t get me wrong, but for the most part, it is there.

Take a stroll. Have some laughs. Walk around the “block” (puns intended). Find that people are one of the best inspirations ever. Be Blessed.