David sat at his rusty old wooden desk, his mind pondering over the concepts he could put into his newest journal entry. His brain buzzed with the events of the past day, remembering Jack’s soft smile and playful words, pondering over the sense of belonging he was given.
Iris
IN the early morning, I drag myself out of bed with the sound of my conscious telling me, “It’s time to write.” It’s become such a habit, that I feel I’ve become an addict. But there are much worse addictions to have.
Chanpheng
Write sentences spilling from my pencil, curvy cursive and thin handwriting upright, on post-its, on notebooks with doodles and characters in the margins
Okay wait now I know I’m doing this wrong. Is the word of the day ‘write?’ Is that it? Because I literally just got this prompt. I made a google form a while ago asking the question “Why do you write” to authors just about 4 times in a row, but I never wanted to answer it myself. I write to describe and to enjoy. I know that. But is that the prompt?
Cecelia V.
wait is the word write? that’s so convuluted? I don’t know what that word means or how to spell it. That’s the interesting thing about writing- I had a friend with dyslexia tell me once that writing is something humans kind of made up. It’s multitasking. I forget the way she said it but I found it so funny because I write better than I communicate.
Cecelia V.
his fingers flew across the keyboard as the thoughts spilled from his brain. he had always been better at writing his thoughts than speaking them. maybe that was why his last relationship ended the way it did. in the kitchen over two glasses of wine, the words left unspoken in his head circling like sharks.
his fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed the words filling his brain. he had always been good at organizing his thoughts on paper. but if he was asked to put them into words he would fall apart. maybe that’s why his last relationship ended the way it had. in the kitchen, over two glasses of wine. so many words left unsaid, circling in his head like sharks.
David sat at his rusty old wooden desk, his mind pondering over the concepts he could put into his newest journal entry. His brain buzzed with the events of the past day, remembering Jack’s soft smile and playful words, pondering over the sense of belonging he was given.
IN the early morning, I drag myself out of bed with the sound of my conscious telling me, “It’s time to write.” It’s become such a habit, that I feel I’ve become an addict. But there are much worse addictions to have.
Write sentences spilling from my pencil, curvy cursive and thin handwriting upright, on post-its, on notebooks with doodles and characters in the margins
Okay wait now I know I’m doing this wrong. Is the word of the day ‘write?’ Is that it? Because I literally just got this prompt. I made a google form a while ago asking the question “Why do you write” to authors just about 4 times in a row, but I never wanted to answer it myself. I write to describe and to enjoy. I know that. But is that the prompt?
wait is the word write? that’s so convuluted? I don’t know what that word means or how to spell it. That’s the interesting thing about writing- I had a friend with dyslexia tell me once that writing is something humans kind of made up. It’s multitasking. I forget the way she said it but I found it so funny because I write better than I communicate.
his fingers flew across the keyboard as the thoughts spilled from his brain. he had always been better at writing his thoughts than speaking them. maybe that was why his last relationship ended the way it did. in the kitchen over two glasses of wine, the words left unspoken in his head circling like sharks.
his fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed the words filling his brain. he had always been good at organizing his thoughts on paper. but if he was asked to put them into words he would fall apart. maybe that’s why his last relationship ended the way it had. in the kitchen, over two glasses of wine. so many words left unsaid, circling in his head like sharks.