Rain after a drought

Returning to writing after some serious downtime.

Dear You

You call me prolific, yet my pen has run dry over the last few months.

There now lies a void where creativity once thrived. Silence in place of harmonic hubbub. A swollen tongue in a minuscule mouth. Empty pages, blank screens, an absence of words and phrases - a literary hide-and-go-seek in the darkness of a storm.

And I’ve had enough.

I’m beginning this Substack to reignite that writing spark. To find that source that once drove me to write. No more excuses. No more wasted time. (We know how I like to procrastinate!) We are doing this.

Today is the start of something new, something different, something lasting. (I say ‘lasting’ with real hope to keep this up).

Wish me luck on this journey, and should you feel the urge, hop aboard, pull up a seat, grab your notepad and write along with me - the company is always appreciated.

Me x 

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Entry 1 - The Meal

Write about a memorable meal - Up to 200 words.

He wore the darkness as a cape. Slid through shadows like silk upon rugged stone. Danger reflected unspoken warnings from his amber eyes, a caution, a deterrent, a forewarning to approach with due diligence, to tread gently.

He was ravenous, starvation a memory. This hunger was different from anything he had ever felt; it ripped through him, the ache bubbling from the foundations of his empty gut to the tip of his tongue. Every breath, agony, each step a curse.

Licking his parched lips, he set his wolffish gaze to the sight afore him. A feast, a sea of the most decadent of courses from starter through to dessert.

They say that the younger the kill, the more rich the blood. An indescribable high, euphoria. He watched as two rosy-cheeked children ran from their bedroom through to the warmth of the lounge, flaxen hair trailing behind them, ribbons following their lead. Their large blue eyes sang ballads of hope, gaping smiles broadcasting their excitement.

“Yes,” he thought to himself. “Tonight will be quite the feast.”