Writing Prompt: 35#

A bodyguard of a young princess tries to make her night out goes perfectly.



Writing Tip: 199#

Melanie Pinola

‘Having an “accountability buddy” is a tried-and-true strategy for getting things done. Whether you join an online writing group or simply tell someone about your project and goals, other people can help you stick to the plan.’

– Melanie Pinola

Peace Eternal


The booming drum overhead,

Sets my slumbering pace.

A steady beat to rock me to sleep,

Perhaps to a sleep I’ll never wake from.


Cloaked in warmth,

I wait my turn,

To enter the unknown,

But until then all is peace.


Above me,

Through the covers that hold me,

Muffled alarm and muttering voices ring out,

Their fear cannot reach me here.


A tug then a pull,

I move for the first time.

I scream with no sound and cry with no tears,

But the grip of light drags me further.


Everything is too bright,

Everything is too loud,

And I mourn my peace.

But warm arms take me and the beating returns,

Perhaps here I can still find sleep.

Man’s Best Friend

“Come on we need to get out of the building!”

“But Rufus!”

“Are you seriously going to risk your life for a dog?”

“Clearly you have never owned a dog!”


“And is there anything else you want on his gravestone?”

“Yes, can you write ‘died for a stupid dog’.”

“I mean I’d die for my dog.”

She hung up.


Writing Tip: 197#

‘Try and read the manuscript through once – in its entirety – without stopping to fix anything, without even a pen in your hand. When you get to the end, jot down all the thoughts you had. This is how an editor reads a manuscript when they’re doing a structural edit – because it allows them to get an idea of the overall structure of the work without becoming distracted by the smaller details. At this stage you should be looking at the overall arc of your story – does it have a satisfying beginning? Are there any plot gaps? Is anything confusing? Are there unnecessary parts (like a character or a sub-plot)? Also, think about the overall voice and point of view. When you write down your first impressions, remember to include positives. It’s very easy to be critical, but it’s important to focus on the things that you’ve done well. You can use these elements to then build on the areas that aren’t working as well.’

– Deonie Fiford.

Art in Dying


There is dignity in dying,

If you do it right.

Some find it amongst loved ones

Or in the middle of dark night.


I love it most of all,

When it’s that’s of a stranger.

Anyone will do,

As long as it isn’t me in danger.


To experience the magic,

Of cutting the strings from the puppet.

To watching the horrid sight,

Before they enter hell’s pit.


The choke of shock,

That shudder of fear to come next

Hopelessly crawling away (for which I mock).

But they never stop until their fingernails are in wrecks.


The skin is a canvas,

Ocean blue and deep sunset red

At the sight their eyes’ bulge as if it is heinous,

As if this work of art, is something to dread.


Slowly their pants become sniffs,

And their limbs, once riled,

Fall cold and stiff.

But the eyes remain wild.


Looking to me, begging me, for what who knows.

But then the light drains and I stare into empty holes of shadows.


And one day death will come for me,

But my only wish is this:

That I can give someone else this gift.

This experience of true bliss.

End of Days

Asteroid“Well fuck.”

It probably was the best two-word phrase to sum up the situation.

Well fuck.

Ann nodded solemnly putting on her sunglasses on. It was the part of the Armageddon that the films didn’t cover. After the discovery, the initial panic, the news sites running 24-hour coverage of the meteorite and after every failed missile attempt there was the lull, when everyone was just waiting. That had been the last two months, businesses were liquidated, frantic last-minute holidays were booked. Everyone had got an ‘end of the world’ bonus and sunglasses had sold by the bucketful.

The meteorite was in sight, looking hot white with a glare of red surrounding it. It was unusually quiet, for some reason Ann had expected it all to end with a bang.

“It’s like that old question,” Ted continued, “‘if I was the last man on Earth, would you sleep with me?’”

Ann scoffed, “is it really, dearie?”

“You’re not answering the question.”

“I’ve been sleeping with you for thirty-two years dearie.”

This wasn’t exactly how she wanted to go: curled up on the sun lounger, watching their incoming doom. She wanted to say as much, but for some reason it hardly seemed like the place to do so. They were English after all and English to the bone and the apocalypse wasn’t going to change that.

But in truth she was clutching to his chest as if her husband could save her. Couldn’t he? He had from everything else in their life why not this? But she knew that he was holding her in his shaking arms from that same childish want as well. And she knew she couldn’t save him, she had failed him as a wife.

She buried herself closer.

“Do you want to?”


“Fuck that is. You know one last time underneath the sky?”

She looked up. It no longer looked like there was even a sky to fuck under. It rippled like the sea coloured in purples and oranges, set alight by the meteorite. And still all was quiet, no animals were nowhere near anymore. Tibbles had long since ran away.

When she felt tears on her cheek, she thought they were her own, until Ted’s shoulders heaved.

“Hey now,” she lifted herself up and cradled his head.

“Oh,” he sighed, a long exhale that shuddered, “I do love you, do you love me? – Stupid question- I just didn’t want to see you go.”

“Well…the feeling is mutual. But…I suppose if I am to go, I’m glad it’s with you.”

Ann closed her eyes, the hell above too bright to look at, even with her glasses.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

She scoffed, “I love you too.”