I wrote a book for him;
Yet he wanted
Not I but
A different heroine.
I wrote about his charm
And wit and courage;
About the brown of his eyes
And their tender warmth.
I wrote about my love
In the words I know;
They describe the man
I will never have.
I wrote about many things,
Especially about him;
Now I write with nothing
But a broken heart and a pen.
Lately I’ve decided to detach myself from some people.
My friends didn’t understand why I’ve been withdrawing myself from social activities. They didn’t understand my reasons so I stopped explaining. I didn’t reply to my messages except if they’re important. I didn’t go out the house except when I have to buy my food.
You see, sometimes you have to be alone to appreciate loneliness. Loneliness needs not to be as lonely as you think. It gives you a chance to discover your inner self–your true self–when not surrounded by other human presence. It gives you an opportunity to explore your mind and to realize greater thoughts. It provides you a time for recollection and faith renewal.
Moreover, it’s being alone that I appreciated my own company. I discovered my weaknesses found ways to overcome them. Being alone allowed me to be creative, to spend my time writing things I’ve never even thought about.
I think I will continue down this path for a while. It would prepare me for my future plans of leaving my hometown to pursue my dreams as a writer. Appreciate loneliness. You will discover your true strength.
I’m currently revising my first novel ever, written and finished last April 2014. The draft was successful and I’m really proud of it but then when I read it again earlier this year, I knew I have to change some parts. I just have to.
There are some scenes which occurred as childish and immature, clearly an output of a 17-year old teenager. But the story itself, the characters, were so full of life to me that I felt compelled to listen to their voices once again.
You see, the story was born because of my real-life experience. I was very much hurt and lost years back. To deal with my depression, I had resolved to writing down my misery and sadness. It later evolved into a bittersweet story of losing and falling in love again. Below is the synopsis of Fix Me and the link to Wattpad.
Jasmina Reamer’s world implodes when her fiance tragically dies in an accident. Trevor Kaplan is just as broken and just as hurt when his girlfriend dies from cancer. Two people trapping themselves in the past. Two people becoming ghosts of their present. Two people losing sight of their future.
When fate allows their destinies to meet, Trevor is rattled by Jasmina’s striking resemblance to his dead girlfriend. Haunted by their different pasts, two broken hearts find solace in each other’s shattered pieces and they slowly build themselves up. But just as Jasmina is ready to let go of the past, it suddenly comes back to life.
Torn by choices and circumstances, Jasmina and Trevor part ways to find the true desires of their hearts–Jasmina, her writing and Trevor, his music. What are the chances of two people, in the middle of fixing themselves, to survive?
Apart, they’re lost. Together, they might stand a chance.
So I will only be saying it here where none of my relatives and friends could read. This secret could only be shared to you, my fellow mysterious readers out there.
I’ve finished reading John Green’s Paper Towns and I’m pretty sure I could relate with Margo Roth Spiegelman’s view about leaving and never coming back, the realness of something, and the paper-thin and paper-frail condition of everything.
In the story, she left the town of Orlando because she couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted to be herself. She wanted to live the life she wanted. In a way, I kind of felt for her. I’ve always felt trapped in our little town. The superficial environment kind of got on my nerves. I wanted to leave. To travel. To never come back.
I’ve decided to plan for it. I’ve decided to leave.
When I’ve got enough money to be self-sufficient, I’m going to travel. My first destination would be New York, the place I’ve always wanted to be. I planned this escape not because I want to leave but because I need to.
Next year would the the set date of this perpetual journey. As of now, I’ve already hinted some of my friends about it but not really telling them directly.
I’m going to be free. I am going to the paper towns. And I am never coming back.
So I will only be saying it here where none of my relatives and friends could read. This secret could only be shared to you, my fellow mysterious readers out there.
I’ve finished reading John Green’s Paper Towns and I’m pretty sure I could relate with Margo Roth Spiegelman’s view about leaving and never coming back, the realness of something, and the paper-thin and paper-frail condition of everything.
In the story, she left the town of Orlando because she couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted to be herself. She wanted to live the life she wanted. In a way, I kind of felt for her. I’ve always felt trapped in our little town. The superficial environment kind of got on my nerves. I wanted to leave. To travel. To never come back.
I’ve decided to plan for it. I’ve decided to leave.
When I’ve got enough money to be self-sufficient, I’m going to travel. My first destination would be New York, the place I’ve always wanted to be. I planned this escape not because I want to leave but because I need to.
Next year would the the set date of this perpetual journey. As of now, I’ve already hinted some of my friends about it but not really telling them directly.
I’m going to be free. I am going to the paper towns. And I am never coming back.
Here’s a page where you can promote your Wattpad usernames and story links. Every day we have a specific activity and SUNDAY is a FREE DAY meaning you can post anything on the page right here, RIGHT NOW, TODAY! Like the page and post now!
Monday is for gems for writing
Tuesday is for writing tips
Wednesday is for writing workshops
Thursday is for write for laughs
Friday is for FREE STORY PROMOTION
Saturday is for SHOT STORY SHARING
Sunday is for FREE DAY!
It’s 9:02 on my clock. My mind is traveling far away again. Outside it is dark, the moon is obscured by dark patches of clouds. The sky is devoid of any star. The world is silent.
Inside of my mind, though, is a steady clamor of ideas and wishful thinking and memories. They all fall into one story–twisting reality to fantasy, defying truth and telling lies.
And then everything starts. My mind hovers around the atmosphere, watching me sitting and typing, watching my parents and my younger brothers sleeping, watching the whole world moving. It’s then I realize how we are merely misguided ghosts. We are unaware of the true battle in the shadows. We are oblivious of the cruelty destroying the peace. We are too absorbed in our own little worlds, trying to fit perfectly into place with everybody else.
Are we really supposed to blend in? Weren’t we supposed to stand out?
My mind, satisfied of the night’s sojourn, travels back to my body and returns.
It’s 9:11 in my clock.
My name is Anne Fortunate. I am an accomplished artist, blogger, and author at my current age of twenty-one. I have been named by the Times as 27th of their top 40 most influential women in the world. My latest novel, The Secret Life of Kelly North, is on its 19th week being the number one bestselling book as recorded by New York Times.
Some people say I already have everything I have ever dreamed of. Some people call me The Lucky One basing from my last name. I think they’re right. I am lucky. I have the perfect life, perfect self, perfect relationship.
My days are made of endless interviews, promotions, and shootings for my commercials. These are the times my life is perfect.
But my nights… they are a different story altogether.
When the spotlight is gone and when the cameras are off, my world is plunged from being Anne Fortunate to Just Anne. My world at night is just around the four corners of my apartment at Upper East Side. There are no more eyes watching me, just the twinkling stars in the night sky. I have no one else besides my reflection in the mirror. My pillow is the only thing seeing my tears. The wind coming from the windows is the only thing drying them.
And as I lay on my king-size bed every night, I’m starting to doubt if I’m really lucky.
If I have everything I have ever wished, why do I feel there’s still something missing in my life?
The world knows me as Anne Fortunate: the artist in the towering billboards, the blogger of whilemyinkdries.com, and the author of several bestseller books. Take away all that and I am nobody. Take away all that and I am nothing.
Who was I before the world told me who I should be?
Is this what I really want for my life?
I am The Lucky One, but why do I cry?
The world awaits Anne Fortunate every day and the more I become her, the more I lose sight of who I really am.
Tonight, I will go to the annual Oscars Academy Awards Night where I am a nominee for Best Actress in the film, The Girl in the Shadows. If I win, it’s my third Oscar trophy and according to my manager, the odds are in my favor yet again.
I am in my room putting my make-up on when the telephone rings. The caller is unknown. His voice is garbled and ominous.
“Anne Fortunate, this is about your mother. This morning, she left a letter in my care to be delivered to your apartment. You will find it on your doorstep.”
The news is not a surprise to me. My mother and I were never in good terms before. I found no emotion as I picked up the fancy cream-laid paper. But when I read the carefully-written words, I found myself crying with all the emotions I buried.
My dear Anne,
It’s been years since you left home. I know we fought before you took the train and I’ve tried many times to reach you to say how sorry I am. I have always supported your dream to live in New York but as your mother I couldn’t let you go so easily. I am worried for your safety. You were only sixteen then, and living in a big, old city is as scary as getting lost in a big mall.
Five long years has passed, my Little Anne. Watching you grow in the television is the only thing I could do. My letters to you have always been returned. My voicemails have always been unanswered. I guess the wound I caused has never really healed until now.
I have pancreatic cancer, my sweetheart. I am already in its last stages. My hands are weak and my love for you is the only thing that keeps me going to finish this letter. I feel I have few hours left before I meet my Maker and I am spending my last moments thinking how I first brought you home from the hospital. I remember how it felt when I held you in my arms. I remember how it sounded when I first heard you laugh. Watching you grow into a beautiful lady is the biggest achievement being your mother.
Anne, I want you to know how proud I am to see you marry your dreams. I tried to persuade you to stay for fear of losing you and look where it had gotten our relationship. I am sorry for trying to stop your dreams but seeing you now, I know you made the right choice.
I have always wanted to live in New York, I had the same dreams you have, and the only thing that kept me from leaving is because of fear. You are very brave to pursue the dreams I never achieved. For that, I am proud.
I am dying, Anne. Before I lose my breath, I’ll say this one last time: I love you, Anne. Always have, always will.
Mom
The world, I know now, is wrong. I am not lucky as based from my last name. I am unfortunate, as my entire name suggests.
Walking back to my room, my entire life is crashing down.
Blinded by guilt and remorse, I took a swig from the brown vial I have always kept in the nightstand. As I lay on my bed in my perfect dress, my tears flow, spilling my mascara. I guess I will never receive my third Best Actress trophy tonight.
As I wait for the poison to take effect, I know who I am now.
My name is Anne Fortunate but I have always been my mother’s Little Anne. My life is spinning perfectly…
…but tell me, what happens when it stops?
So, in my nightly musings I came upon this very beautiful yet tragic idea for a short story. The title is Anne Fortunate–yeah, the word you’re thinking right now is exactly what it sounds like.
It’s about the story of a very accomplished artist, blogger, and author. Her name is Anne Fortunate. She lives the perfect life but every night when she’s alone in her apartment, she keeps asking herself if she’s truly living the life she wanted.
It revolves around her quest for finding herself amidst the fame and fortune.
I actually finished writing it for only three hours with the help of my excessive intake of coffee but hey, at least I was productive, right?
Anyway, I think I wrote it pretty well, especially the end. Not to brag or something, but I’m quite proud. I might publish it here one of these days and I hope you’d share your thoughts about it after you read my story.
(Oh, and by the way, I think Emma Stone perfectly fits Anne Fortunate’s character.)
So… that’s it for today. Bye!
This month, I’ve been trying to write FOUR novels at the same time (you know how writers are–once they get those ideas, they won’t stop writing!) and not only once did I have to deal with the arch nemesis, writer’s block. It was difficult, really, to write romance, fantasy, thriller, and adventure novels all at the same time. Imagine, for the first two hours I’ve got to concentrate on being all-too lovey-dovey then the next thing I knew, I had to shift to fantasy with all its epic battles and magic!
It’s nerve-wracking, to say the least. I’ve had to drink gallons of coffee to keep me going the entire month and when I wasn’t writing, I would read tons of books to keep my imagination flying. You see, I’m only 19-years old. I’ve got to go to the university, deal with the in coming slaughter of prelim examinations, plus I have the English club to deal with. So you see, writing four novels while doing a lot of things is not really very easy.
As of now, I’m in the middle of my other romance novel already so it should be an achievement and a relief. But honestly, through it all, I actually enjoyed it. I got to move from one fictional world to another. The joy of writing will never be replaced, really.
While My Ink Dries 