Writing Tip: 159#

Despite how childish this is, think about that book that angered you and why it did that. What would you have done better? And then write the better book.

dying on laptop

(Not gonna lie, this is how I got into writing my novel)

Good Morning!

The sun rises upon the morn,

Igniting the sky red with the dawn.

Crisp air of night thaws,

The life slowly returning to the fields and moors.


And with the fading of the night,

Comes the neighbours, out in spite.

To rudely waken me from my lumber,

With the wretch sound of their lawnmower.

The world once alive again,

Is a beautiful sight for all men,

To witness the trees bright with colour,

Makes all heart humbler.

The dawn will come today and what do you know?

It’ll come again tomorrow, for all the people that go,

To work too early down my street,

And wake me from blessed sleep.

But the birds are singing,

The world is waking,

Why won’t you join them?

What are you thinking?

I was thinking of flying with fluffy pink sheep,

But now you have woken me from the deep,

So, I’ll tell you this once and hope you listen,

Shut the fuck up and let me sleep!

The Collection


The tiny back room was a light shade of baby blue paint that covered over the smooth plaster walls. It left the windowless room feeling bright and calm. He loves it that way, he needed a place where he could relax.  For everything in the needed to be perfect for his collection. Each of the floor to ceiling cabinets were filled with glass jars.

The first few of empty, dirty and broken. He started actually buying jars when he was eight and filled them with shiny pebbles that caught his eyes. The plants he collected were the ones that inspired him to collect more living things. Watching them wilt and their colours fade. It had been delightful to watch.

But… the spiders from his room were better. Trapped in the jars with no air, he watched them scuttle in panic, crawling as far up as they could, before falling back down. Their small crumpled forms with their legs bent over their corpses were fascinating to him and he knew he needed more. For the mice and small birds, he caught he allowed to breathe in their tiny jars. And then he watched them panic and scream as days past and their movements became sluggish until they lay panting and finally went still.

The cabinets were mostly filled with this collection; however, his latest cabinet was part of his new collection. He snapped when a small tabby cat had come bounding up to him. It had wanted food but instead he had strangled it. But of course, a cat was too big for a jar. So, he had cut off the tip of it’s tail and collected that instead. He now had tails, paws, even the squished remains of one eye. He loved this new collection and it helped itch the itch in the back of his head.

But of course soon he’d want to start collecting bigger things…

Well, a finger would have to do.


Panic Attack

You can’t breathe,

everything is sharp,

the colours too bright,

the voices too loud.

All of them crowding,

angry and screaming.

You curl in to stop the pain but it spreads,

crippling you, paralysing you.

Your heart beating too fast,

and panic beats faster.

You drown as all becomes dark

and voices now echoing.

Something is coming,

it’s coming,

it’s coming,

it’s coming.