One day I’ll post an article on my own blog again… until then, here’s another quick post! River Ram Press #InspireWriters #InspireReaders HIYA! This thought occurred to me, as I was snuggling into bed with a new David Sadaris book, that you have to listen to me chat on about River Ram Press when you have no clue who I am or what I am, or what I do. This, of course, might not bother you, but for those who are interested, this post is for you! I am a person who has always been

Such is life -and it’s a pretty good one. xx, Kristin #rainyday #writing #AdaptationTeam #contributor #BlogContributor #writingabook #writer #career #Socialmedia #prose #laptop #work #workethic #creativewriting #ghostwriter #novelwriting #lifeexperiences #experience #projects #fellowwriters #writersdesk #Employment #fiction #Ambitions #inspiration #kitchentable #notebooks #fantasy

Since my first love, I’ve wondered if it was possible to have a truly vanilla romance as a writer. A writer can only know the world with highest levels of empathy and acceptance as they are always immersed in the lives of others in the books they read, and the stories they write. If a writer works honestly to complete a fiction on a drug addict or someone in a tough situation, they have to fall into that voice without restraint. The most likely result of this immersion will r

Snapshots. That’s how he got up here. The green duffle bag had been under his bed. Already packed, though not well. How was he supposed to prepare himself? Not like college, where the unexpected was still vaguely expected. Condoms, bottle openers and loads of pens for the studying bit. Even when he moved into his own place, several blocks down the road from his mom; his books, his suits and the grey satin sheets that made him feel like the man he wanted to become. But for som

I stare at my knees. My lost day has been given back to me. Carol comes to check my pulse. She sticks the thermometer in my ear, sets my body back against the pillows and under the covers but I’m not in the room. I’m sitting under an afternoon sun, next to my pond. My skin warming, only to cool from the soft breeze. The birds spin tales of summer. I’m remembering Sam’s fingers as they run up my arm. Hotter than the sun. He begs me for a release. I stroke his cheek. I listen t

Nights like this. But one last pint to pour. And, with the glass in her fingers, she moves. Bites her lip, as she grins for the golden beer sparkling in the glass. If it has to end – she slams the pint on the bar, a giggle slips past her lips as the head foams over her hand. He raises his eyebrows. The question’s there, but instead of asking, he hands over his credit card, “And one for yourself, darling.” “Oh, and I need it, sir.” With a wink she spins, finishing the account.

Boots skid through the skinny puddles of beer on the red floor. Dancing as the music’s turned up with the last set of the band. Stepping with the beat, she dances. Shifts and spins behind the bar with a smile. The power of alcohol drives away thoughts of tomorrow and gives a genuine light to her strut as she points to the next man behind the bar. She has the key now. His voice faint in the bar’s Friday night noise, but lips read clear. She knows her job. Pour the beer and mak

For the moment, she’s the force behind the calm. Encouragement and serenity pressed in-between the lines of each report. And it’s working. The city has started to celebrate the stars alongside the confident voice of the overrated lead anchor and her words. Fear’s now subsided from the headlines of local towns and cities, inspired by our attitude. However, she hasn’t taken a night off to actually go and witness the sights, the stars, with me. I’m not one to traps through that

I’m not even sure what to say. I did love him – for whatever reason. I still feel him in my chest when I think of losing him and the thought is hard to take. When we touch, I feel whole and safe.  But then I remember who is holding me and that feeling challenges itself into a confusion that weights down on me for days at a time. I don’t know what to do. – – – xx, Kristin #writing #creativewriting #personal #relationship #love #fiction #fantasy

Jane heard a set footsteps scuff past. Goosebumps came from a shiver up her spine. Her body pulsed around her, the hard surface pushing into her bones. It was so cold. The world was blurry as she blinked awake. An orange glow warmed the center of her vision, but Jane could not muster the energy to move closer. Too tired. The concept of pushing off the floor was enough to melt her back into the stone. There was something heavy in the air. Something heavy in her head. – – – xx,

As I always say, I aim to be as honest as possible. So, here it goes… With my novel, I started with ambition. A glass of wine, the curtains closed, a new document open. I closed my eyes, took a breath and began to recall my last night in London – a moment I thought would open this on a strong note. The more I got into the scene, the fleshing out of the details, the more I began to realize this was the first time I allowed myself to really think about my life since I’ve landed

Harter ducked. A heavy blow came from his left side, but the current issue was the beast in front of him. It jabbed its massive horn towards his stomach, trying to gut him without grace. Hot breath streamed from the nostrils that Harter used to hold himself steady to his grey hide. Groaning, he tried to ignore the small being who stabbed uselessly at his side. The blade would not enter the impenetrable, skin of his horchef race, but that did not mean each blow came without an