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Black cat,
tail twitching.

Black cat,
eyes glist’ning.

Black cat,
claws showing.

Black cat,
blood flowing.

Black cat,
heart stopping.

Black cat,
witch hopping.

Black cat,
broom sweeping.

Black cat,
soul reaping.

Black cat,
tail twitching.

Black cat,
body ditching.

I'm moodyNow it’s been forever that someone managed to demotivate me and even made me stop writing completely, but the article I read just recently did exactly that.

I won’t be linking to the dreaded piece, but basically the post was about that you shouldn’t call yourself writer or even author, if you don’t have the skills. It went on, that most people fail on writing a book, because they don’t know the structure it requires and writing itself is a hard thing – and not a bit fun – anyway and should be only done, if you know what you’re doing. Therefore – of course – the author would be able to provide the fitting book that he just published.

I don’t know what he tried to accomplish with that article besides selling it to people who knew what they’re doing, but all it did to me was to demotivate me. I even started to debate with myself, tell me that

  1. I shouldn’t call myself a writer, because I don’t do it professionally
  2. I shouldn’t write in English, because it’s not my native language
  3. I shouldn’t write at all, because I basically have no idea what I am doing here

In the end, my boyfriend found me curled up on the couch with lots of chocolate and salt sticks trying to hide my moodiness. Even though he told, that I’m writing for myself and for fun in the first place, he still couldn’t make me pick up the pen again. That went on for a few more days, until I told my sister the story.

You should have seen her face!

She just threw me a stern look. “Bollocks! I also call myself a rider even though I just ride in my neck of the woods. Does that make me less a rider compared to the competition riders? Nope! I still have a horse I sit on. And just because your stories are all short, only your blog available and you didn’t publish a few hundred books, it doesn’t mean that you’re not a writer. You still have a pen and paper, and you’re still writing. So tell that dude to go away with his negativity and do your thing!”

Yes, Ma’am!

So here I am. Writing, and happy because I am a writer – no matter how good or bad – and because I have an awesome sister! Don’t let them get you down, what goes around, comes around and it’ll get them some day. Write on!

Hello everyone!

It’s Friday and the 1st October week is already over, I’m back in Ireland and – at least here – it’s chilling even though the sun is shining. I so love autumn, with all its fog, coloured leaves and the nights are just perfect for some spooky stories that make you check your closet twice before you go to bed.

Therefore, I thought it might be fun to write a shorty. Here’s the writing prompt:

Write a flash fiction or short story about the Monster in your Closet.

If you need a little motivation and doesn’t want to write alone, check out Friday Night Writers over at Twitter. They’ll be sprinting most of the day and throughout the night in a 30/10 minutes rhythm. Means, 30 minutes writing, 10 minutes break, and their hashtag is #WriteClub.

And if you need some musical inspiration, I have Gnarls Barkley with The Boogie Monster for you:

I’ve been travelling a lot in the last 1.5 years and probably had the best time of my life (so far), but in the end it’s always nice to go back home. And with home I don’t mean my current residence in Ireland. With home, I mean the little town I’m from in Germany.


Morning sky at home

This is where my roots lie and also where I feel utterly rooted, home and whole. I guess that’s how it is supposed to be when you go home to the place you grew up. But being home I don’t only chit-chat with my family and catch up with long time no see friends, I also tackle that “Family Project” as I like to call it by now.

You might remember, that I wanted to write my family’s story and right now, sitting in my parent’s kitchen with a nice cup of cappuccino, I’m starting to collect memories, descriptions, quotes, and stories about the people of my family. I hope I won’t mess up things too much and end up with something I can actually show to my family to read, but we’ll see. It’s still a long way to go.

But what I actually wanted to say with that last paragraph is, that it adds to the wholesome feeling that I belong somewhere. I missed that lately without actually knowing what it was, so it’s good to have that feeling back again. It’s not that I don’t enjoy living elsewhere or that I don’t feel good there. It’s just so different from actually being at the place I called home my entire life and will keep doing so.

What about you? Do you know where your roots lie? And how it makes you feel to get back home?

Lle Cake Bar wasn’t widely known, but it was hugely popular and when you went in later at night, you could see all kind of strange people huddled together on fluffy couches with flowery pillows enjoying a piece of their favourite cake and a beer, while music from 20th and 30th let you miss your granny. I loved this combination and visited often.

On of the nights I went there, the atmosphere felt changed even though you couldn’t see a difference at first. There were still plenty of people eating their cake and drowned it with a seasonal beer, but after a little while you could hear the patron’s conversations circling just around one topic. The arrival of a new Cid.

Well, now I have to tell you that a Cid isn’t to be taken as a kid in a funny writing. Therefore it isn’t a child or youngster. A Cid is a shadow that follows you until it is sure you provide enough energy for it to travel further on its journey to the darkest part of the universe. When it is certain, it will merge with your own shadow and leech the energy from your soul and body. The last thing you hear before you die is a question. “Can I die?”, and you know that the Cid is talking to itself, musing about its own being instead of worrying about you. After that, you are gone.

The problem with the Cids is not that they appear out of nowhere and drain people’s energy. The problem is that even a Cid doesn’t know where the darkest part of the universe is, and instead of searching for it they settled on roaming planets and collecting energy. You know, just in case they stumble over the darkest part of the universe by accident. Because of this, Cid shields got enforced around every planet’s outer atmosphere which cared enough about its inhabitants, but of course, there are holes in the system and once a Cid finds such a hole, almost nothing can stop it.

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