Every day before breakfast, Mariela crept out to see the fairy’s maze. She took her mother’s old mirror from the top of its mahogany dresser, blowing off the scraps of crumbling wallpaper, and swiped a scone from the cook’s first batch of the day.
Long time no see, blogging community! I'm sorry for the unexplained absence; a whole lot of life happened to me very hard and very fast. I chose to abandon ship on basically everything and go into battery-saver mode, which seems to have paid off: all is well, all is handled, and all is squared away. It's a brave new world, lads.
Here we are, on the verge of Nanowrimo month. Last week I was nervous about all the spare time I wouldn't have, but now it's starting to hit--the Nano High. I'm hyped!
Every now and again I'm just going to need to share album covers. I had to gush about Sonata Arctica's "The Ninth Hour" last time, but now I have to gush about Sonata Arctica's "Stones Grow Her Name." I mean, look at it.
We all have certain guilty writing vices. You might not have noticed yours yet, or might be pretending you haven't, but you definitely have them. Some are harder to notice than others, but learning what they are is the Ultimate Final Boss Key to successfully editing your own work.
Since my body has decided to betray me with a hideous sinus infection, I decided this week's microprompts ought to reflect it. Shame on you, immune system. Get your act together.
Now, I know my obsession with power metal and album covers bleeds over into Phantasmagorium a bit more often than is strictly called for, but I had to share Sonata Arcitca's "The Ninth Hour."
Most people have a few (too many) drinks and rag about sportsball to relax. But the cool kids write poetry. With friends.
Phantasmagorium may have a Prompt Cellar, but the there are plenty of good writing holes around the Internet. So here's a cellar of other peoples' prompt cellars.