Featured
Posted in Flash Fiction Friday, Writing

Aware

I don’t know what changed.

Before, my eyes were glazed over, and I didn’t care much about anything. Life was just a cycle- never ceasing, always dull. I was a grey, ticking machine in a crowd of robots. We didn’t feel, we didn’t care, and we didn’t love.

notawareBF

But something happened in my dreary, dismal world: the touch of color brushed my cold skin and brought back warmth into my body. My eyes opened to a whole new dimension and suddenly every breath was a gulp of sentience. I could see the blue in the sky and I could feel a flutter of excitement with every beat of my heart… and every new experience was divine.

awarehappyBF

And then that soft, tender touch of color left before I was ready to let go. The absence of it became unbearable as I was again thrown back into the crowd of machines where the only thing that mattered was completing the cycle of selfish, distant, unremarkable accomplishment.

awaresadBF

Yet, somehow, something was different. I could feel the damp ground beneath me, and I heard the distant sound of birds from the rooftops. If I closed my eyes, I could feel the beat of my pounding heart. Although it was difficult to gather, I could still see life thriving around me. I wasn’t focused on myself anymore; instead, I was perceptive to the world surrounding my small body. For the first time, I was aware.

awarenotsad1

Although that warm touch that breathed life into my soul was gone, and my heart longed dearly for it, I couldn’t help but be at peace. Beneath those sad, melodious emotions, there was happiness.

I was aware, and that made me so, so much better.

-Charlotte Emelia

P.S. Shout out to my AMAZING model, Sidney Cameron.

Posted in Life, Writing

A Very Important Update

I did it. I finished writing my novel.

It’s been a whole year since I started writing this book, and there is no way to describe all the pain, trouble, and joy I have experienced while writing it.

  • I have stayed up late often to finish a scene.
  • I have documented and researched an entire notebook full of planning.
  • I have written until my fingers cramped.
  • I have stared at a blank screen for hours and hours on end.
  • I have written despite all the homework, tests, and work that I have because my passion lies in my novel.

And I did it, I am so proud. There’s so much more work to do, but I made it to the big checkpoint and there’s no going back.

Are you working on something big, too? Take my advice: don’t let anything stop you. Things will ALWAYS get in the way, but find a way to work around them or make a few sacrifices, because the feeling of accomplishment that I have right now is glorious.

16923666_618769271655936_1224700804_n

Love, 

Charlotte Emelia

Posted in Prompts, Writing

The Ups and Downs of Writing

There are some days where I could write for hours on end. Those days, like the day I wrote My Burning Fire, are absolutely amazing. Words tumble out of my brain like the waterfalls of Rivendell while my excitement level overflows. I can usually spit out two or three thousand words easily in a couple of hours.

But then there are days like today where I can barely keep my eyes on the screen. For the past two hours I have scrolled through facebook, contemplated my life choices, and played all the games on my phone to avoid focusing on something that really matters to me. In fact, by writing this post I am avoiding the REAL writing that I want to do (*cough cough* finish my 300 page novel!)

But every writer must have days like these. I think, in a way, that occurences such as these really define the sheer willpower of a writer- specifically an author. We spend so much time on our books: we create them, shape them, and enhance them.

We breathe life into them.

And every life has to have ups and downs, right? Without them, there is no life.

506-heartbeat-1920x1080-abstract-wallpaper

Anyway, I wanted to share my thoughts. I hope this might help other writers out there to quench their doubts. Don’t give up if you get some serious writer’s block, no matter the circumstances. Keep going and one day it will turn out.

I think I will return to my novel, now. Wish me luck.

-Charlotte Emelia

Posted in Prompts, Writing

The Air of Silence

hot-air-balloon-ride-1029303_960_720

I felt its entrance into the atmosphere. A buzzing soundlessness filled my ears and I stood very still, tilting my head to interpret the change in the air.

I lifted my eyes to the foggy heavens where the sun was hidden beneath the clouds. Everything was an orange-gray haze, and the skies were daringly empty; not a single bird flew.

But there it was: a hot air balloon drifting towards the earth. Its silent dominance filled the air as even time itself began to freeze. The moment stood still as a tingling wave of longing, anticipation, and fatigue swept over me.

“Finally,” I whispered to the contraption in the sky. “I’ve waited long enough.”

 

-Charlotte Emelia

Posted in Prompts, Writing

Daily Prompt: Pillage

via Daily Prompt: Pillage

The black stallion thudded to a stop. The man swung his metal boot over the horse and jumped to the ground. He pulled out his thick, double sided blade from its sheath and studied the village.

Everything was on fire. Houses erupted in flames and collapsed, wagons and carts were burned to ashes, and soot covered everything. Women and children screamed and cried over their loved ones who were caught in the crossfire. Men with dented helmets and dull breastplates, many of whom were injured, stood guard around the outskirts of the village, protecting whatever was left of their homes.

A few of these men stood in awe of the man who just arrived. None tried to stop him as he passed through the destroyed gate leading to the ruins of the village. His eyes lay on a boy, aged 12 or 13 lying on the street. “Boy,” his low voice rumbled. “What happened here?”

“Them monsters.” The boy said, clutching his bleeding arm. “Trolls, goblins, and wolves too. They pillaged and burned everything, they took all our gold and treasure.”

The man slowly pulled his sword back into its sheath and looked around with his aged eyes. He grunted. “Where’s Analla?”

The boy was silent.

“Boy, answer me.” The man said, grunting again. “Where’s my daughter?”

The young boy lifted his dirt-streaked face. He turned towards the forest behind the smoke-filled houses. “Them monsters,” He coughed. “They took her too.”