I have had this book idea for about 3 months or more and I struggle every day trying to expand on it. (One of the reasons I haven’t been blogging. I’ve been writing elsewhere.). Tonight, I was able to break through the stone walls of writers block and surf the rainbow of imagination. I am only in pre-writing stages, but I plan to make it a short story. So, with that in mind, you can help. I am looking for first and last names that are french in origin. Comment your suggestions if you wish to help a fellow writer! Au revoir!
Where am I? This obscure darkness is clouding any glimmer of light.
Have I perished? Is this my eternal damnation?
My mortal frame will not shift. My limbs are frozen as if I were a cement statue on display for anyone to glare and snicker.
I no longer feel agony, merriment, or even irritation. My physical form has become a ghost, a hallow shell that harbors my beating heart.
Wait. Is my heart beating? I no longer can comprehend.
What if the end isn’t near? How will I be freed from these shadows?
Is solidarity eminent? I can’t end like…
The excerpt above is written from a thought perspective.
Like many people in the world, I am a person who has a seizure disorder. I was diagnosed with Epilepsy when I was a little girl, and have lived with it for over twenty years. In most recent years, it has actually become more difficult.
Written above is what comes to mind when I think about what happens. Even though I am unconscious when I have a seizure, I wake up feeling disoriented. Usually, I have the feeling of “If I did not come out of that, I could have died”. Not being able to utilize my motor skills is terrifying, discouraging, distressing, and tiresome. Above are my thoughts on what I believe I would contemplate in my own consciousness during a seizure.
Hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much to all those who read my blog posts!!
She pulled the shaven wooden stake from her chest and smiled.
“Was that supposed to hurt?”
With her supernatural strength, she crushed the robust stake as if it was a tiny twig. The daughter of the legendary hunter prepared her second offensive attack. As scared as she was, she held up her crossbow and aimed it at the creature that murdered her father. The red hot anger fired through her as she set the trigger and fired with no hesitation. Beads of sweat broke out across her forehead, as the creature’s frosty breath trailed down the back of the assailant’s neck.
“ You may have the fire in your eyes, but it can never melt the ice in my veins.”
~SirenCay with help from contributor/Editor Satoshi
Satoshi is the editor behind all my blog posts. She is a college graduate with a bachelor’s degree in English, and is a great writer in her own right. If you have any questions, or want to see more work from here, let me know!