What a weekend!

What an eventful weekend is behind me. (Although I am longing for some downtime because I’m starting to feel like I’m getting too old for this shit. A book, a blanket and some tea, with more than some rum, would be perfect right now. 29 going on 92.)

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On Saturday I went to see the freaking Rolling Stones in Austria. I might be more of The Beatles fan but you just have to see the old pebbles before you can. ๐Ÿ˜‰ My boyfriend got us the tickets for our 10th anniversary and we were super excited to go with our friends. We were having so much fun, the excitement kept rising with every passing second leading up to the show. We couldn’t wait for it to start.

When we arrived, we stopped to take photos (because if you don’t do that, what’s the point in going anywhere ๐Ÿ˜‰ ) and a British guy approached us and actually gave us tickets for pit access. Pit access!!! We were literally 3 metres from the stage. It was unreal, we couldn’t believe our luck. Still can’t.

We drove for hours and you better believe I had a book with me and stole some time between engaging in conversation and drinks with people who didn’t understand that an open book means “Not to be bothered!” ๐Ÿ™‚ .

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I slept the entire first half of Sunday and then I was glued to the TV screen to watch Slovenia win the title of European basketball champions. I was so nervous and very hopeful, and now I am beyond proud of the team, still screaming at spontaneous moments, like a deranged person. There is nothing like feeling the whole country (all 2 million of us) stand behind a cause, wanting the same thing, fighting against whoever wants to take it from you, physically or mentally. But there was no way we would lose – we got a Dragon and The Chosen One in our team. ย ๐Ÿ™‚

How I managed not to lose my voice again is beyond me! There is nothing ladylike about me when I’m cheering on whoever I’m rooting for; all elegance goes out of the window. Put a blond wig on the Hulk, maybe some mascara too, and there I am.

I’m hoping that the week will be less eventful just to let me find some time to write and to read.

 

What was your weekend like?ย 

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To write or not to write…

… That is not even a question.

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When people know that you enjoy (more like, are obsessed with) reading and writing, it’s only a matter of short moments before they ask you to explain why that is so. As if it’s something so far-fetched and unbelievable that they need you to clarify it.

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Answering that question also makes me feel under pressure. Their faces change, I can sense the question before it leaves their lips and as soon it’s out there in the world, every clock ticks louder, my breathing gets faster, as drops of sweat descend my forehead.ย I need to impress them, make them rethink their life philosophy and make them realize how creative I am.ย Kidding! But I do feel as though I have to answer it in a way that will not be plain, shallow and will be fresh and imaginative.ย 

Besides that, after answering why I like reading and writing so much I usually feel like a walking and talking cliche.ย Oh, you know, words are like air to me. I can’t breathe without writing and reading.ย Only half-kidding now!

I’m seriously considering coming up with the stupidest answers.ย I read books because I need something to use to level the table and I keep carry at least one around so that my bag doesn’t look empty. I write so that I can write about people and express what I can’t in real life, make fun of them, even kill them off.

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But in an honest and serious note, I write because of everything I am and everything I’m not; I write because of everything life is and everything life isn’t; and I write because I want to live and not just survive in my world, I want to create it.ย (I’m going to memorize this and recycle it over and over again.)

 

Tell me, what do you say when someone asks you why you like writing and reading?

Voiceless voice

Lying in my bed, computer in my lap, a headache that doesn’t get the hint it’s not wanted, a cold that is just as ignorant, and with absolutely no note in my throat you can imagine I have found myself with some extra time. I have all the time in the world to think and rethink and overthink and think some more because I lost my voice completely yesterday. If anyone wants to piss me off, needs something from me, or just wants to annoy me… There is no better time than now.

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The whole situation, or rather my health state, has made me ponder how you don’t realize the value of something, how you take it for granted, until it’s gone.ย I’m a writer not a talker but not having my voice to express myself has made me feel powerless. I can’t say what I need or want, I can’t express how I’m feeling, I can’t share my opinion… (My family and boyfriend are having a blast. ๐Ÿ™‚ )

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It’s very important to use your voice.ย And we all have it. It has to be a tool of power, honesty, love, respect. We all must use our voices for good. Speak up when you face or see any unfairness. Use your voice to fight evil. Have it express how you feel and what you think. Use your voice to fight for yourself. Let it be a weapon of peace, goodness, and encouragement. But don’t misuse it by hurting others, by inflicting pain. Don’t waste it.

And since I’m stuck being voiceless you will have to do all of that for me too. ๐Ÿ˜‰

 

MayWanter vs McHaveor

My throat starts tightening. My vision gets hazy, despite my excessive blinking. I can feel the vain in my forehead straining against the skin, the brain trying to escape my skull. I can’t catch my breath, I can’t even slow it down. My eyes look from my laptop next to me to the paperwork in front of me, as I sigh deeply. Loudly. Desperation palpable.

I want to do that.

But I have to do this.

My thoughts mimic my breathing; I can’t slow them down. The focus is unreachable and productivity is unobtainable. I am operating in a state of confusion, stuck between needs in one corner and wants in the opposite one. Not excelling at any of them now.

Why? Well, because I’ve barely written a page this week. I’m back at work and so that has been taking most of my time. And then I’m trying to squeeze in writing, reading, exercising… And living!

I keep telling myself that I have to allow myself to adjust to the new pace and that things will eventually fall into their place but the issue is that I’m going to be more and more busy and stressed as the days go by. And that absolutely terrifies me. Writing is so important to me; it’s an essential part of me. Without it, I feel lost and I’m starting to feel just that – not anchored.

I’m on page 220 of my second romance novel and my plan is to finish it by the end of this year. I’m hoping editing will be included in the set time frame. And I want to publish it at the beginning of next year.

And instead of writing now, I’m off to a movie date with my boyfriend and tomorrow I have a birthday party to end. Sunday? I have to get ready for work. And every second of all of it I’ll be longing to be able to sit down and write.

 

What are your weekend plans?

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Short story: A lifetime of trying

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They stare into each other’s eyes, letting them drop to each other’s mouths every few seconds, dying for a touch. A kiss. A lick. Anything. Just to be closer.

Their skin tingles, desperate for being touched. Their breathing is fast and shallow, heartbeats quick. She bites her lower lip as he licks his in response.

Unable to resist any longer, they pull each other closer, their lips finally touching. His tongue plays with hers, as he ends the first kiss with a suck that makes every hair on her body stand.

She tugs his hair, pulling her body taut against his, as she lets her fingers explore his muscular torso and stomach. He guides his hands over every curve, every hill and valley of her glorious body that moves against him, taunting and seducing him behind the thin layer of her summer clothing.

Everything and anything between them is too much. Every and any inch separating them, standing in the way, is unbearable. They cover every tiniest part of their bodies with their fingers, discovering it all as if it were for the first time. As if it were their last.

He makes a trail of kisses and teasing licks from her mouth to her collarbone, as she tosses her head back, ignited by him completely. She holds his face between her palms as she kisses him again, wanting to devour all of him. Needing to erase every thought in her and his mind. Wanting to make everything and everyone else disappear.

As piece by piece of clothing is thrown off them, onto the floor, the fire inside them gets stronger and stronger, threatening combustion. Their kisses are deep and yet quick, their hands move over each other’s bodies fast, trying to caress as much skin as possible, eager to reach their highs, not wanting to prolong anything. Every moment seems like the sweetest torture.

They fall onto the bed and into a paradise only the both of them can enter, as they get everything they desire. All they want. Every time is more than they can hope for, but never enough.

They promise each other a lifetime of trying as they proclaim their love, getting lost in the pleasure and lust.

You know you are a writer when…

There are tons of cards on social media containing the definitions of “You know you’re a writer when…” but I actually managed to create my own.

A few weeks back I was drying the dishes, picked up a pot and with it came a large and sharp knife, a big mean bully, that fell down against my leg and managed to cut me. It. Cut. Me! I was staring at the spot on my thigh, hearing drum roll in my head, telling the blood not to make an appearance. Aaaand… Of course it didn’t listen to me. So I took care of the cut and then my immediate thought was: “I’m going to have a scar and it’s not even a good story.”

You know you’re a writer when you’ve just cut yourself and you care about the story you could tell about it but can’t. ๐Ÿ™‚