Finding inspiration

Last weekend, I was gifted the most amazing, thoughtful and tear-jerking gift I had ever been given in my brief two decades of life. That may not seem like much, but the note that came with it may help to illustrate just how much it meant to me. The note said:

“Every craftsman has his tools. And this is the tool of a writer. Now please- take this tool and use it for your craft. I truly hope that you find the artistic inspiration by using this tool.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself. [Some quick backstory] When I was a kid, I had to sneak chunks of lined paper from my mother’s stash to write all of my stories on. Naturally, with editing and lots of rethinking along the way, they got pretty messy. Especially since I was never one to write in pencil. The problem was, when it came time to type out my stories, I had to ask for permission to use the computer (can any of us even remember a time when we needed permission?!), and even when I could, I had to share with my brothers and got booted off sooner or later. So, every weekend when we were at my grandmother’s house, I ogled the unattainable box of my mother’s old electronic type writer. I dreamed of owning that thing, and never needing to ask permission or even bother printing out my digital stories.Long story short, I never did get my hands on that thing.

So I cried when I opened the suitcase-esque box containing my gift and I saw this.*

Maybe it’s a little bit impractical. My mother’s initial reaction was, “You’re actually gonna type on that thing?” Maybe my next best-selling (as if there was a first?) story won’t be typed on it…
but it might be created on it.

This gift not only echoed inside of me, and reminded me of that box beneath a bunch of other boxes that I could never reach as a child, but it did what the gifter meant it to do. It inspired me. Maybe it was a placebo effect from the note, but since I’ve had this thing, I may have only used it once or twice,but I’ve written so much more than I have over the past few months in these mere two weeks.


And all over again, I’m beginning to find the words.

BONUS GIF: Just cos this post was particularly gif-less and it’s giving me anxiety.

Haaaaa. Much better.

* along with a book, a collection of poems by Tyler Knott Gregson called Chasers of the Light. 10/10, would recommend over and over again. I’m in love with it!


Father, I have sinned. It has been 6 months since my last post…

Honestly, I thought it had been longer. But I guess since my posts became more and more spastic as time went on, it feels like I’ve been absent much longer than I have. But yes, I forgot about my blog.

I mean, first of all I became busier than I expected to be. I started this originally (see Post Numero Uno…actually I think that’s I called it, too! I’m so predictable…) because I had TOO MUCH free time that I spent sitting on my back side being less than productive and having all of my energy sucked out of me. Be careful what you wish for,I guess, cos it changed very much very quickly.

I also was having trouble being inspired to write. A blog is something that doesn’t require one topic to base your writing on, in fact it can change topics day to day. And that became a problemo. Unless I was absolutely struck by something, I had nothing in particular to write about. Although, truth be told, I stopped blogging around the same time that I found something else to write…fanfiction.

I KNOW, I KNOW. 85% of the time I can’t stand reading that trash either. The grammar sincerely makes me want to go out and snap necks. But if there are any sociopaths here who may be interested:
Here’s a hint as to what it may or may not be about…it has a rating of 5/5 shells.

Now this is getting a little long, so I’ll try and be quick about things. In terms of my baby, my love that I birthed all those years ago who is in dire need of editing, it’s been a struggle. I started rewriting it for the THIRD time, but it just doesn’t feel the same. And I worry that it WON’T ever feel like the same book I wrote in the first place. If the remake isn’t as dear to my heart as the original, I can’t proudly produce it in favour of the other one, as desperate in condition as it may be.

Lately, I started forcing myself to write often. I used to scribble down ideas I got on the subway or just throughout the day in a note on my phone but I realized that I won’t get anywhere if I keep setting my ideas aide and letting them sit there, maybe for another five years. That’s not how dreams come true. Cinderella got up and got her own darn ass to the ball, and that’s very much what I’ve decided needs to be done.

So this time, I’m not doing this because I have nothing else to do and need a hobby. I’m not even doing it to fulfill a need to write. I’m doing this to teach myself dedication, perseverance, and get off my lazy behind and take myself to the ball.

Exert Numero Uno


Oh this is very exciting 🙂 I can’t promise these will be frequent or lengthy, but you have to start somewhere.Tarzan-GIF

This is something I just started writing one day, knowing I wanted to rewrite my story but had nowhere to start. I had a thought and the rest followed.

I haven’t decided if I’m going to continue to write in the third person or change it to first like my original, but nevertheless, here is my intro, or prologue, as is.

           Toronto was a bustling city. You scarcely ever passed the same person twice, even if you were out at the same time every day on the same route. In the heart of its downtown the tapering office buildings, restaurants and boutiques, with all their lights and signs and screens, were still a sight to behold. True, it had its certain aura- its feeling of importance, but sometimes for Aarya the quiet places took their precedence.

Five blocks from her school- (St. Bridgette’s,  which wasn’t a private school but sure as hell tried to run like one)- maybe six blocks if you took the long way through the roundabout with the crabapple tree, where the sound of cars and people became muffled, was a library. It wasn’t run on government money, nor were its dog-eared second-hand books plastic jacketed or stickered  with serial numbers. Its owner was quiet and mild-mannered; he could be seen wandering up and down the condensed library aisles through its tall French windows. The cube-shaped old stone building enclosed on either side, the library both blended in because of its size and stood out because of its rarity. Just outside of its wooden door, plastered on the foot of a lamp post, was a small memorial put in place by the family of a  car accident victim. Aarya visited her father’s crash site, with its chipped paint and cold dead November flowers, every day, but never went inside the still structure that stood just beyond it.

Now we’re told that every story has its beginning; its “Once upon a time,”; its birth of a hero. Ours starts on a cold November morning with a cup of spilled coffee and a humble library.

That’s all for now….maybe after I finish the first chapter I’ll throw out another exert. This means a lot to me, to be able to share my baby, new and improved, to whoever will listen. Hopefully one day I can receive feedback as well 🙂

Well, what are you waiting for? I have work to do.That’s it, shoo shoo


Paging young author self c. 2009


It’s a little blurry (#blackberryprobs), but it says,
          “Christopher Paolini became a best selling author at 19.
            I want to do that.
            I CAN do that.
            I WILL do that.” Dated October 27, 2009. I was 14.
Now for all y’all who are like
(I named this gif “da fuq” in my blog folder for moments like these). Let me explain.
Christopher Paolini is the author of widely proclaimed (at least around my school and in our Scholastic Book Fair that year) best-seller, Eragon. When I was a kid (although the book was published in 2002, it didn’t really catch wind till about 2005), every librarian and student alike wanted their hands on it. I remember, since my mother ran our Book Fair, that Eragon got a nice little display that year separate from the other books. But what I remember most is that it was a bit of a big deal, how he was so young and wrote such a book. I recall reading about how his parents were both authors, and he would get asked if it came from their influence. 
I assure you, except for the exact year it came out, ALL THAT WAS FROM MEMORY. It really was a big deal, and I do remember those things in particular. If he could write such a critically acclaimed book as a teen, so could I. Although if I’m being honest, I thought that I’d have a manuscript drafted and edited, ready for publication by the time I was sixteen. Alas, t’was not meant to be.
That note was taped on the inside back cover of my “story binder”, as I called the green Dollarama plastic (much more potent and strengthy than modern Dollarama plastic, I might add) and metal rings holding together 412 pages (counting front and back) of my baby. It took me almost exactly a year but I had written something that I could proudly publish. In blood, sweat, and tears, no less.
The only problem was that I was 14 when I wrote it. What was a hearty novel of thought and eloquence was now bones (I call books that are all dialogue and plot “bones”, not much meat to them. Think kid’s novels). If you’ve ever read anything your past self has written then you’ll know what I mean. My mind had grown and my baby hadn’t grown along with it.
Now here I am, turning 19 in about a month and a half, and what have I to show for it? A binder covered in dust. I decided this year I would start editing, and rewriting my story to be stronger, better. 
From time to time I plan to post exerts and scenes here, simply because I’m too excited to wait for publishing to share my baby with the world.
This one was a doozy, thanks for making it this far! 🙂 Bonus gif for you~