United States

I drew my profile
Dancer, singer, actress
Student of ASL
B-Way theater nerd
I love Loki
Avatar (as in Aang and Korra, not weird blue people)
anime weeb (TPN is my favorite)
LGBT+ ally
~joined 8/10/20~

Message from Writer

I'm a very thorough editor and enjoy filling out reviews for prose. If you want me to review one of your pieces, just let me know and I'll give it a look!

Published Work

Novel Writing Competition 2020

It Fell in the Forest and No One was Around

Adjusting the frayed strap of her backpack more securely onto her left shoulder, Hollis pushed open the door to the little grocery mart by her school, triggering the jangle of bells overhead.     “Good afternoon, Miss Brooks,” called the stout man behind the counter as she entered.     “Good afternoon, Mr. Dolland,” Hollis responded with a respectful nod. “How’ve you been?”     “Well, I’d hate to ramble, but since you asked…”      Perfect, thought Hollis as the talkative attendant proceeded to recount, in great detail, the events of his week thus far. Making sure to provide an “uh huh”, an “oh really”, or an attentive nod every few minutes, Hollis made her way around the checkout counter, though still within hearing distance of Mr. Dolland. Walking purposefully, she stopped, as usual, at aisle four, about two thirds of the way down the row where baskets of fruit decorated the shelves. Her eyes immediately dropped to the...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

The Unending Battle

    "You've heard what they've said about Vietnam-" she sobbed. He cut her off with a kiss, wiping away her tears with his thumb.
   "I'll be back."
Thomas lurched awake from the memory, gasping and clutching his shoulder. Grimacing, he rose from bed, making his way to the washroom.
   Peeling off his sweaty nightshirt, he hissed, unwrapping the large bandage around his chest.
   "Let me help." Katherine appeared behind him suddenly, pulling at the bandages. Thomas' breath caught, pain shooting through his shoulder.
The bullet tore through his chest, knocking him down in blinding agony. His consciousness wavered as shouts flew overhead.
   Suddenly, something crashed beside him. The boy on the ground was a young man from his division. The ever-present smile he wore was replaced by a twisted look of horror; his mouth agape, his eyes wide but vacant of life.
He growled, swatting Katherine's hand from his wound. She...

Untitled - Chapter Five

His head didn't really hurt. It mostly just felt heavy, numb. Probably thanks to the painkillers. He sighed, leaning against his hand as his elbow rested on the arm of the couch.
   "Tea?" Mei called suddenly from the small kitchen across from him.
   "Yes, please," he responded quickly. Jabir had been given plenty of water at the hospital, but his mouth still felt dry and tasted sour.
   He took some time touring Mei's apartment with his eyes. From where he sat, he saw the homey little kitchen and it's black-and-white tiled floor. The cabinets all seemed lower than normal, probably an accommodation made specially for her disadvantage in height.
   He sat on a white leather couch facing a little television, and looking past it, he saw a cute, square wooden dining table.
   From what he could tell, everything in this house was small, tidy, and perfect, just like their owner.
   His gaze floated to Mei then. She looked just as...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 8

In My Dreams

Day 1 
You're falling.
   Colors and shapes blur around you as you plummet, but you pay them no mind. You're too busy bracing yourself for the impact.
   Which never comes.
   You've been falling forever, but you have yet to meet the bottom. Realizing this, you finally release the tension from your shoulders, giving up.
   Bad timing.
   You hit the ground hard, head cracking back violently. All the air leaves your body. You lay there a minute in shock, gasping to suck in a breath.    Eventually, you shakily make your way to your feet and take in your surroundings, massaging the back of your pounding head.
   It seems you're in a forest. But all the colors are wrong.    The leaves hanging from the baby blue branches and spread across the creamy white dirt are shades of pink and purple. As you look up at...

Untitled - Chapter Four

   “Hi...hello!” gasped Mei, sprinting to the front desk before leaning down, hands on knees, to catch her breath.
   “Hi, hon, how can I help you?” asked the woman behind the desk, typing away on a laptop without looking up.
   “I’m here...I’ve come to…” She took a deep breath, steadying herself and straightening up before continuing. “I’ve come to take someone home.”
   “Who are you here for, darlin’?” The desk lady still hadn’t looked up.
   “I’ve come for Jabir Reed.” The typing stopped abruptly and the woman’s head flew up.
   “You’re here for Reed?” she confirmed, finally taking in the frazzled-looking girl in front of her. Mei nodded vigorously. The woman extended a hand. “I’m Rita Kulski.”
   Mei took the offered hand.
   “Mei Zhao.” Mei shook Rita’s hand, then peered around the corner, tapping her toe anxiously. “Is he okay?” She turned back to see Rita staring at her, interest and a bit of pity mixing in her gaze.
   “Yes, hon,...

Untitled - Chapter Three

"Ty, I'm going to pick up the pizza," Renee called to her brother from the doorway. Tyler's head popped around the corner, framed by a set of thick headphones.
   "I can't hear you," he responded obnoxiously. "Why not tell dad." She rolled her eyes.
   "He's not wearing headphones and he still wouldn't even notice." She slung her purse over her shoulder, seeing her brother's smirk drop as she stepped out the door.
   Leaning her shoulders slightly to the left to keep the purse from falling, she slid a hairtie from her wrist, doing her best to bunch the explosion of curls on her head into a compact knot.
   Renee rounded the corner, hardly noting any street signs or landmarks. She never really needed any of that yet somehow she always made it to the right spot.
   Suddenly, a short woman ran past her, nearly plowing her over on the way.
   "Hey!" Renee turned and scowled at the back of the...

Untitled - Chapter Two

Carter Long strolled his way up West 42nd, humming to himself. Pulling a hand from his jeans pocket, he tucked a strand of curly blonde hair behind one ear, intentionally letting the sleeve of his t-shirt roll up, revealing the refined muscle beneath.
   He heard giggling across the street and turned his gaze, dropping his hand. A small group of college girls stood huddled together, blushing and waving at him. Offering them nothing but another charming grin and a wink in return, Carter turned the corner, making his way down Broadway.
   The bell on the door jangled as he stepped into the empty pizza parlor. Joe's Pizza was a small building crammed into a busy outlet, the only seating being a bar by the window with four stools.
   "Welcome to Joe's Pizza. May I take your order?" came the monotone voice of the boy standing behind the counter, eyes never drifting from his phone.
   "Could you be any less enthusiastic?"...

Untitled - Chapter One

The alarm on her bedside table blared obnoxiously. Flailing her hand around wildly, Paisley eventually hit her mark and the noise cut off.
   Sighing, she sat up. With a yawn, she stretched then scratched her nose tiredly. Swinging her leg over the side of the bed, Paisley leaned on the wall as she hopped over to the shower. Staying in her dad's big travel apartments had some perks, including getting her own bathroom.
   After a hot, energizing shower, Paisley made her way back to the bed. Sitting on it's edge, she slid on her glasses then strapped on her prosthetic leg. Even after a year, she hadn't gotten used to the robotic machine she attached to the stump of her right leg every day.
   Waking her phones, she scrolled through the messages she’d already received that day, though it was only 7:15 am now. Her dad had left a stream of texts that grew gradually harsher ordering her to get...

Deathrush - Prologue

Jabir Reed gently sketched along the back of the empty envelope, darkening the shadows cast on the neck by a soft jaw. Flipping the pencil, he brought down the very edge of it’s eraser, carefully adding contrast to the shines in those smiling dark eyes. He dragged out a few more lines, making the long, straight hair peeking from behind the figure's shoulders look even more black. He had no reference photo pulled up, but he didn’t need one. This was a face every detail of which was engraved into his memory. 
   Jabir lifted the pencil, tapping his chin thoughtfully as he scrutinized his brief sketch. It was good, but he came to the conclusion that no simple drawing could capture the expanse of the beauty of the subject.
   Sighing, he tucked the envelope into his carry-on bag. He then closed his eyes, resting his head against the plane’s window. According to the last report from the smiley...

Psychic Distance

Sunrise Sketch

  1. The sun had only just broken the border of the horizon and a small girl sits watching from the edge of a cliff.
  2. Mei Zhao sat, sketching the sunrise onto the small pad of paper in her lap, enjoying the view.
  3. Mei sketched the sunrise into her book, basking in that view which she so enjoyed.
  4. She smiled into the beautiful sunrise, trying her best to replicate that amazing view into her sketchbook.

Chadwick Boseman

Yesterday, a legend died,
And all do mourn his passing.
His picture flies, his name is cried,
Admirers amassing.

They send their comfort, send their praise,
Letters fly from post to postman.
Forever rest in peace a hero,
Chadwick Aaron Boseman.

War of the Mind

Clawing hands, desperate and hungry
Cling to my legs, dragging me down.
They beg to be noticed, shrieking for my attention.
But I can't let them have it.
That's what I'm told.
If you give them your attention, they'll never give it back.
If you look down, they'll pull you under.
They're bloodthirsty.
They won't stop until they've sucked the hope out of you, sucked the life out of you.
But what they're saying sounds true.
Their whispers like a soft breeze, caressing my face.
What they tell me seems true:
What they tell me about my friends,
What they tell me about myself.
How can I not believe them?
But I can't think like that.
Like everyone's told me:
You can't let them drag you down.
But letting them take me would be so much easier than continuing to fight.
Sometime during this war in my mind, my gaze haddhad 
The creatures that are latched on to my ankles stare...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 6

Self-Esteem Boosters

Day 1
I wrote two thriller short stories and I've already seen some progress in my writing since I've joined WtW. I also managed to crop down a 3,000 word manuscript to 999 words. That took a LOT of time and patience and backspace-spamming, but in the end was very satisfying.
Day 2
I did some cliche best friend quizzes with a friend. Some were actually really deep, and by answering them, not only did I learn more about her, I also learned a lot about myself. Doing these silly tests brought to light that I should treat myself better and stand up for myself.
Day 3
I read about 300 pages of The Darkest Minds. I'd just been strolling in the library when it caught my eye, and reminded me how I'd seen the movie sometime in middle school. I'd been meaning to read the books because the movie had a cliffhanger and now am finally getting to...

YOU, The Writer

Painted Words

Writing is like painting a picture. First you need a reference photo, something to continually go to and base your picture off of. When I write, my "reference photo" is usually an experience I've had, a dream I've had, or a story I've been told of sometime else's experiences. 
​   Once you have your reference photo, you need to sketch out the basic shapes and lines of the image you aspire to create.
   After you've drawn in your outline, you have to add color and creativity. Sure, recreating an image to exact detail is a great part of learning and a strong skill to have, but you need to add personality. If every painting looked exactly the same, there would be no endearing flaws or fine points that make you stand out.
   Sometimes when writing (or painting) a piece of your own creation, you can become so familiar with it - too familiar with it - that you know...

Icy Blue

"Hello? Hello! Yes. I would like to report house...intrusion?" The words fumbled off his tongue, proper terminology failing him as he stood there with his back pressed against the wall. The woman stared back at him from across the kitchen, her icy, pale blue eyes boring into him. There was something unnatural about that stare. Her eyes were pointed towards him, but they appeared unseeing, almost lifeless.
   He had found her here in the kitchen after a crash had woken him up. He had stumbled down the stairs, confused, seeing as he lived alone and had no pets.
   And there she was. Standing in the middle of the kitchen in her pajamas, unbrushed hair splayed in all directions. He had asked her some questions, but the entire time she had said nothing, not so much as moved at all.
   As he got off the call with the police, giving them his name and address, he stood there,...

(Not) Alone in an Elevator

She cursed. She was about to be late for her shift. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she jammed a finger into the "up" button on the elevator. Thankfully, there was already one waiting, so the doors opened right away. She stepped on, pressing the button for the third floor as the doors closed.
She stood there alone with the annoying elevator music, waiting impatiently for her floor. She had started in the garage level, so had to watch as the glowing number above the door changed to a one, then a two, painstakingly slow.
Suddenly, the elevator lurched and the music turned to static before cutting off completely.
Jolted to sharp awareness, she clung to the rail on the wall, eyes wide. The elevator was no longer moving. She took a deep breath and stood up straight, regaining her composure. The elevator was just jammed. This happened all the time. Nothing to worry about.
She approached the button panel...

"My Heart is Like"

Abandoned Heart

I know what my heart is like
After you betrayed it:
My heart is like an abandoned house,
Ever empty and cold;
Filled with the ghosts of our memories;
Fragile and decaying,
Soon to crumble into nothingness.

Inspired by Edna St. Vincent Millay's poem "Ebb", and branched from its line, "I know what my heart is like"

Butterflies and Ashes

  I was a beautiful day as she walked through the daisies in the meadow. The sun was shining, the sky was filled with soaring birds and butterflies, a strong oak tree provided shade for other forest animals.
   She dropped her bag under the tree then twirled into the sunlight with a smile. A large butterfly with beautifully delicate purple wings flew over, circling her head. With a giggle, she extended a hand and the butterfly flew over. It landed on her outstretched fingers then stopped fluttering abruptly.
   Cocking her head at its stillness, she looked closer. The body of the butterfly was grey, but that could've just been it's natural coloring. She couldn't tell what was wrong until the grey began to spread. Staring on in shock, she watched as the greyness crept up the butterfly's beautiful wings, soaking up their color. Then suddenly, it crumbled to ash, blown away by the wind
   She yanked her hand...


Book Design

Title: Cover Art
Tagline: How do you imagine your book to look?
Genre: Description

Whether you write novels, short stories, or poems, your writing would have a cover if published. Have you ever tried picturing what your cover would look like? Well here's your chance to paint it out for us!

Choose a novel, short story, poem, collection of short stories, collection of poems, etc. that you wrote to design a cover for. Picture your desired cover for it in your head, then describe it out in detail.

Need suggestions? Here are some questions to get you going.
• Where is your title and how is it arrayed? Are all the words the same size? Is it at the top, middle, or bottom of the cover? Is it centered? What font? What color?
• Where is your name? At the top of the page or the bottom? Or is it somewhere else toward the center? Is it...

Hide and Seek

She tried not to breathe. The footsteps slowed as they approached, the ticking of his pocket watch deafening in the ringing silence.
Suddenly, the footsteps stopped right behind her.
Her heart pounded in her chest, so loud she was sure that he must've heard it. She forced her breathing to slow and closed her eyes.
"You're the last one left," came his ragged voice abruptly. She could hear the wicked grin in his tone and had to slam a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.
It couldn't be true. The others should've been long gone by now. He was bluffing. He had to be. It was a lie.
The footsteps started back up again slowly. He paced the length of the small room. Back and forth, back and forth.
Why wasn't he looking for her? She'd had only moments to hide, and hadn't chosen the best spot. He must know where she was. So why was she still...

Mad Libs

Character Descriptions (The War that Never Ends)

Thomas Campbell is a 25-year-old Marines veteran, who lives in Virginia in 1967. Known for being kind and handsome, he wants nothing more than to get back to a normal life with his wife and son. He pretends to be fine, when in fact, inside, he faces strong PTSD and survivors guilt. Thomas’s biggest fear is losing someone else he cares about. What Thomas needs is to realize that he's no longer fighting the war; the biggest thing getting in the way is the memories of pain and death that come to him randomly and strongly.

Katherine Campbell is a 23-year-old housewife, who lives in Virginia in 1967. Known for being gentle and caring, she wants nothing more than to live happily with her son and husband. She pretends to be ignorant, when in fact, inside, she knows that her husband is struggling terribly. Katherine’s biggest fear is losing Thomas or James. What Katherine needs is to keep her family...

A Bird with Wings

Dancing Without Discrimination

To dance is to paint a picture
With only your body and expressions.
It is singing a song without using your voice,
Writing a story without using words.

As I stretch in my dance studio,
I take in the beautiful view around me.
Not the slick wooden barres
Or the mirror laden walls,
The spring implanted floors
Or the high ceilings.
I look to my left and then to my right,
Admiring my fellow dancers.
I'm surrounded by strong talented women,
Graceful young men.
Black, white, Asian, Hispanic,
People of all shapes and sizes.
Dance is for everyone.

When we perform, we're all the same.
We wear the same costumes, the same hairstyles.
We work as a team.
No one is better or worse than their partners.
They say a group is defined by it's weakest link,
but we have no weak links.
We work together as more than a team.
We're a family, tied down by no discrimination or stereotypes.


Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

The Dance of the Willow

The elegant hanging branches of the wisened willow float gracefully in the wind. They leap and pirouette, their leaves flowing behind like the weightless silk train of a dancer's delicate gown.
She spins and jumps effortlessly, free of care in the colorful sunkissed meadow. Her hair is blown in a whirlwind around her head by a sudden gust, but she only dances harder.
When the breeze dies down, she finally stops to rest as a dainty songbird flies over. She welcomes it openly and it comes to a stop on her shoulder, nestling into the crevice of her neck.
Gently stroking it with the long, slim fingers of one hand, she dips the other into the lake below. The water stirs then ripples, greeting her in turn. She smiles as the gentle breeze returns, pushing a layer of the water onward and waking the bird on her shoulder.
As the bird flew away with a chirp of goodbye, she rose...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Ink Like Night

Thick, black ink, spilling in from all directions: cracks between floorboards, holes in the walls, tares in the ceiling plaster. She shouldn't have come here. She should've listened to the warnings.
Finding the door drenched, she frantically scanned the building, spoting a window. She turned to sprint to it, but couldn't. Looking down, she saw the ink had reached her ankles. She couldn't escape the tar-like substance. Panicking, she knelt to loose her feet. Suddenly off balance, she fell, her body rapidly being pulled under the surface. She opened her mouth to scream, but it was filled with ink.