Writing Is Beyond Words + A Ton Of Intriguing Snippets

Writing is beyond words. I feel as though I can’t describe the absolute wonder, satisfaction, emotion, purpose and passion that writing brings to my life and the lives of my fellow writers. Today I have decided to go back through my endless archive of scrappy paper and untitled Google Documents to bring you a few snippets of my writings from the past and the present and the future. 

Here goes:

#1 “So, um, you gonna talk to me or not?” Skye asked the girl.

“Why should I?” she didn’t turn around.

Skye thought for a moment. “‘Cause your parents told you to?” he answered, finally.

Amber snorted with laughter. “Would you speak to me just ’cause your parents told you to?”  she asked.

“Sure.” he shrugged “It was my parents who made me come here.”

Amber chuckled, took a sip of her coke and leaned back against the wall. “Since when do you listen to everything you parents say? I know I don’t.”

Skye stared at her.

“What?” she glared.

“It’s just that, well, you are talking to me.” 

Amber giggled so hard that the coke spurted out her nose. 

#2 I pause to blow away some of the dust that’s trapped in the gaps between the letters on my keyboard. I smile as the tiny particles are momentarily suspended in a ray of sunlight that’s disturbing my writing session, in a good way. I cup my hands around it and watch them glow with golden light. It reminds me of myself.

“On the morning of your birth, the sun seemed larger than ever before.” my Mother’s sweet, quiet voice echoes in my ears. “ I saw it coming up on the horizon, huge and round and blood-red. It spread its life-giving light all over the earth and eventually it reached you. It seeped in through my window and into the shadowy room. Then it touched your head and you awoke. So I named you Sunrise and hoped you’d be full of life, laughter and most of all, light.”

I sigh as I pull off a floral-printed headscarf and a cascade of knotty, tangled brown hair tumbles down my back. My amber streaked, hazel eyes that are usually full of humour and curiosity sparkle as my big flashing smile makes an appearance on my smooth olive-skinned face.

#3 

I remember flying down that hill on your old bike.

I was on the handlebars,

screaming all the way.

We stop abruptly at the bottom.

In that moment you looked like an angel.

Your blonde hair was blowing in the summer breeze.

But then it was gone and you flashed your wicked grin.

So much for angelic.

 

We sat on the pavement,

eating jam doughnuts.

You drew faces with chalk and we wrote our names side by side,

scribbly and half visible in the evening light.

 

But tonight feels different.

All those years ago, when we swore ‘friends forever’,

That was the day I gave you myself.

I could never pretend to be someone else.

Did you ever expect me to?

 

It feels as if something has changed.

A cosmic shift, there’s something tearing us apart.

And I’m afraid that I’m losing you.

 

I am confused, angry even.

Saddened.

I get up to go.

You look at me with shame in your eyes.

Mine are filled with bitterness and contempt. “How dare you!?” There was no room for me.

 

It doesn’t bring me any joy to see you there, as I walk away,

leaving you in the dark, cold street.

 

I wish you’d come in to watch a movie and laugh at my stupid jokes.

What changed from when we were ten?

Nothing really mattered then.

Did it, my friend?

 

I look out of my bedroom window and dry my tears on the draping curtains.

You’re hunched over, crouched down beside the sketches on the sidewalk.

I see you tracing the letters of our names,

over and over again.

 

Then you cross them out in one sharp, motion. One angry decision.

You look up at me and our eyes lock for a second.

Your expression tells me everything:

No room for me.

 

Why all of this unnecessary pain?

Why do you push me away?

What could be more important?

 

This feels so wrong, so unnatural, so sudden.

Sometimes love can be a trap.

I feel trapped now.

But I still love you.

 

You were, and are, a part of me.

A part of every memory.

Now you’ve been torn away and left to die,

I’m dejected and alone.

 

You’ve left me overwhelmed and drenched in every possible emotion.

For once you’re​ not there to listen.

For once you’re not there to share the sorrow, the grief and the suffering.

You’re not here to help me sort it out.

 

You’ve always been my rock,

and now I’m slipping.

dragged down by a torrent of new, unpleasant feelings.

 

How can I ever explain?

I’m sure you feel the same.

Is this real?

It can’t be happening to me.

Is this all it seems?

 

You’ve always understood me.

Well, I guess this makes a change!

 

I’m still staring out of the window.

And you still haven’t walked away.

Is there hope left?

Is there room in your heart for me?

#4 It’s not complicated. It’s really only simple. Just food. Without it, your body dies. There’s no ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ about it. It’s like society without community and sharing, a part of it dies. The result? Lonely lives, stress, anxiety, tension, negativity, sadness, fighting, anger, depression, lost people. This is making my head hurt.

We don’t claim to have all the answers, in fact we have very few. But we want to help. Food brings people together, provides comfort and conversation, plus it’s yummy. What more could you want? Pizza may not be the solution to the world’s problems, but if more people sat down and shared food that would mean less hungry people.

And it’s not just about the food, it’s about the stories told between mouthfuls of a hot meal. It’s about creating an atmosphere that is open and honest and welcoming. It’s about the warm feeling we all have when we go to bed. It’s about the memories we make and the friendships we form.

So, if you ever happen to be walking down the towpath and smell something cheesy…..it’s probably Evan’s feet! Just kidding, it’ll be a pizza, cooking away. And we’ll be there, waiting for someone, anyone, to come along and share it with us. Cast aside your pride, shyness or whatever holds you back, and be that person!

Which was your favourite piece? Do you have any constructive criticism to bestow upon me? Any writing advice? Are you even a writer? If not, what’s YOUR passion? As you know, I love to hear from you…..