Plot Changes in Novel Writing #Realise (SW#28)

Heyo Bookaholics!

Sometimes the story plans itself!

Realise. If you follow me on social media, you would have seen me hashtag that word in my stories, and sometimes in photo captions. In case you don’t, Realise is the name of the novel that I am writing! You can read more about the story’s origin in various Nanowrimo-themed posts on this blog as linked below:

  • Nanowrimo 2018 – In which I talk about Nano 2018, why I chose to write this story, where the idea for Realise came from, and some Pinterest inspo for the novel!
  • Nanowrimo Update – The first and only Nano update, where I unleash more secrets about the three main characters, and an updated Pinterest board!

Now that you’re all caught up, let’s move on to the real issue here, and the reason why I never finished Nanowrimo last year.

My character is actually being the sh*t that I said she would be…

In other words, I could never figure out her motive in the novel AND keep the original storyline that I wanted.

Well, not it seems that I have. Partially. There is still more work to be done, but after planning out all 23 potential chapters of this bad boi, and filling various pages of my new notebook – which was once an old notebook with all the used pages ripped out – dedicated specifically for Realise, I have come to some sort of peace with what is happening.

A sort of peace.

Sort of.

From other writers that I follow on social media, it seems as if their characters have a mind of their own and don’t like to listen to the plot, creating their own and ultimately making the story still awesome! Jaz (my main protagonist) is doing the exact opposite. She is using that mind of her own to steer the story in a- well there is no direction, that’s where I had to use my brain.

Planning may actually be important. Who knew?

I thought that the basic 24 chapters worth of heartfelt rubbish I had pulled from my 2014 published works on Wattpad would be enough of a plan to carry the novel. Oh, how wrong I was. It wasn’t until a few failed attempts to move the story along, and finally reaching chapter 10 that it hit me.

What makes my novel unique?

None of my characters is LGBT+, they aren’t in space, or going after the Faerie king to retrieve a very dangerous book on dark magic. These humans are literally just every day – mostly insecure – people in a very average situation, living the most hetero lives they can.

So how am I relevant to today’s YA crowd?

I don’t want to make the decision to change the sexual orientation or romantic preference of one of my characters for the sake of relevance because then it defeats the whole purpose, and I do remember Jes Layton said something wonderful on this topic at an event she was speaking at. She said something along the lines, that when she writes a story, the main character will be more than their sexuality. Much like her short story in the Underdog anthology, where the character is non-binary, but that wasn’t anything to do with the decisions they made that drove the plot.

Now I’m still stuck.

With relevance still being the forefront of my mind, but appropriate representation also screaming at me, the next thing I thought about was myself. Not sure if you see where I am going here.

Us as humans go through a lot in our lives, and as a woman writing an average ass female protagonist who is already an insecure shh*t-head, it is really easy to slip some anecdotal moments in there. To add depth to Jaz – the protagonist – and give her more character, I walked down the path of own voices. I decided to put her through councilling and gift her with some mental health battles. Although, where all these mental health dilemmas are cool and well in a contemporary, something I do not want for my character is for her to be “fixed” at the end of the novel, because

this isn’t a fairytale, this is true life.

The only thing I haven’t been able to-

OH SHEIT! I just got it!

I was going to segue into motives but it seems like my train of thought just collided with it. I’m writing this dang post in hopes of finding Jaz’s motives for the entire plot of Realise. Here I am talking on about anecdotes and unruly characters when the only thing unruly is my memory. I just needed to collect all of thoughts and bingo! Motives are solved!

The missing piece of my puzzle – motives – is what that separates Jaz’s experiences from my own. It is an event that I cannot pull an anecdote for, but I may just be able to use aspects of some stories of mine, mould them the right way, and create the perfect piece for my puzzle.

Question: Motives? Answer: More conflict.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR HELPING,

and letting me ramble to you. This has helped me plan my story out, finally come to a loving comfortable state of mind, and let out that toxic air that was clogging up my lungs. I legit can breathe clearer. No joke! If you ever need to sort something out, talk it out, and when that doesn’t work, ramble to your audience and you will be rewarded.

I do promise that once I have an established synopsis for this novel I will discuss it here exclusively on Jasper + Spice. You’ll receive the elevator pitch and full character cast. I’m so happy with how it is all coming together, as well as the crazy progress I made on this post.

Here are some well deserved Pinterest inspo photos for Realise:

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Are you writing anything?

Do you plan your story before or during the writing process? xxx

Leave your opinions in the comments or alternatively on my social media channels!
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With Love Bree xx

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Superstitions – Poem (SW#27)

Heyo Bookaholics!

I needed to get this off of my chest!

It’s true, all of it.

I have so many necklaces.

I never used to care much about which one I wore,
they all mean something to me anyway.

The ones my boyfriend bought me,
or the few I received on my various birthdays
and that thing I bought online too;
all tying to memories,
like a ball on a string
I can use to pull the memories up.

I never really cared about which one I wore,
until my accident.
Then there were ones that brought bad luck,
one that I wouldn’t leave home without,
and one I refuse to wear again.

You’d think it’d make sense really,
since the pendant falls so close to your heart,
it’s like something is there
that can change your fate.
Maybe there is some energy flowing from the middle bead,
or running down the spiral charm
on its way to your heart.

That’s not how I see it though.
I never understood energies,
just feelings.

It was just easier to visualise that way.
Energies are funny.
Feelings are easier to identify,
but not to understand.

I wore a different necklace today,
for the first time in months.
It felt strange.

Wrong.

I didn’t know it was there really,
but if I reflect back,
the crushing anxiety,
lack of breath,
loss of motivation, and
how mentally drained I became…

It really makes sense don’t you think?

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Leave your opinions in the comments or alternatively on my social media channels!
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With Love Bree xx

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Cute OTP Story Prompts (SW#26)

Heyo Bookaholics!

Beating the Writer’s Block!

Inspired by tumblr text posts that are seen all over social networking sites and usually appear unwarranted and when you least expect them. They’re always so cute, angsty, and just overall adorable figments of the writer’s imagination.

I know that reading other people’s OTP story prompts has helped me clear my writer’s block and inspired me to write, so I hope that my little mismatched ideas do the same.

Feel free to use these as story prompts or one-shot ideas, maybe even make them into a story of your own! Please credit me if you do and pretty please link me to your story because I’d love to read it 🙂

CUTE STORY PROMPTS!

* Person A is lying on their back on the bed, holding the phone up to the ceiling and ignoring the pain in their arms. ‘Say Yes To The Dress’ is playing on the screen. Person B is standing at the foot of the bed, out of sight, twirling a ring between their fingers teeth clenched and shoulders tense. “Hey.” Person B scares Person A into dropping the phone onto their nose. “I have a question.” Person A sits up, concerned by the shake in their lover’s voice. B takes a deep breath; “Do you want to pick out a dress too?” “I’m more of a suit kinda person.” A laughs out a reply, which dies out as they watch Person B drop to their knee holding up a simple gold ring with small markings around it.

* Person A bites their fingernails and this bothers Person B, so Person B offers to paint Person A’s nails. They take two hours trying to make it perfect, doing nail art, gradients, watching YouTube videos; yet the nails turn out so so ugly! Person A is so overwhelmed by love and promises to keep the painting in perfect condition for as long as possible, layering on excessive clear coat polish to seal off the artwork. Person A forces themselves to stop nail biting and keeps the polish on for weeks until it begins to crack, and peel, but Person B repaints them.

* Person B hurries out of the rain and into their house to find Person A wrapped in a blanket lying on the couch. Person B creeps up alongside the couch and crawl on top, wrapping their arms around their significant other. The two lie there all night, finally rising when they cannot discern their stomach rumbles from the storm outside.

* Person A is staring lazily into the oven, watching their cake rise and Person B comes up behind, scaring Person A into turning around and thrusting a bunch of wild Daisies in their face. The tiny flowers held ridiculously between Person B’s thumb and forefinger.

* Person B wakes up to Person A tapping their face lightly and singing along to the rhythm alternatively Person B wakes up to Person A softly running a make-up brush up and down their face.

* Person A and B are standing side-by-side brushing their teeth in front of the mirror. That’s it.

* Person A is throwing pillows around the bedroom, mad about something. Person B can hear the noise from the kitchen and goes about lighting all the candles in the vicinity, opening a packet of chips and turning on Harry Potter, listening as Person A makes a different noise: feet pattering across the hallway.

Did you enjoy these? This is my first attempt at this and now my brain is fried. Goodnight xx
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If you happen to use any of these ideas, please give me credit xxx

Leave your opinions in the comments or alternatively on my social media channels!
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With Love Bree xx

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It’s Only A Game (SW #19) Part 2

Heyo Bookaholics!

Coz you liked Part 1 so much!

If you haven’t read Part 1 of this story, I suggest that you go read that right now by clicking on this link!

Part 2:

You had a dinner? Like a date dinner?” I exclaim incredulously, maybe putting a little too much emphasis on the word ‘you’. What do you expect? Some crazy daemon looking dude appears in my kitchen making himself at home saying that I summoned him and made him miss a dinner. Sue me if you think someone as hideous, not beautiful as this would have a date.

“Yes, a dinner date! Oh my gosh, you humans are all the same.” He replies so mournfully placing his head into his red clawed hands. After a small silence, two words boom from his mouth that shake me up. “WAKE UP!”

I’m unsure if it was the severe unexpectedness of the shout or if there was some sort of magic going on but I felt all of the tiredness evaporate from my body and it was as if I’d woken up at my usual 10am without a raging hangover and eight hours sleep.

“Wow man, thanks. I thought you said you were going to ruin my day but this is great!” I feel so awake right now, I can dance or run a marathon, or do something more achievable like make breakfast without collapsing.

“Well I was going to, but you’re just so frustrating.” He smirks an unexpectedly sexy quirk of the lips. Maybe seeing me happy entertains him? Is that weird for happiness to amuse such a creature? I calm myself down and grabbed another glass from the cupboard as well as toast.

“Easy questions first.” I start, placing my loot down in neat lines along the bench, everything taking me a few minutes to line up and position. “What would you like to eat and drink?” I turn back to face my red skinned house intruder, guest who’s stare is fixated strangely on the spirit board still on the table.

“Your flesh and blood please, toasted and freshly drawn respectively.” My eyes widen. I’m no longer calling him my house guest nope, nope abort mission! The one time I try to be nice and it backfires! My wide eyes look everywhere but the intruder as I place four slices of toast in the toaster and poured a glass or orange juice for myself choosing to ignore the vile request.

I hear chuckling behind me, then full blown laughter. Let me tell you that if you ever have a red skinned daemon looking dude intrude on you, make him laugh! That sound is the sweetest most melodic sound my ears have ever heard and I would play it on repeat till the end of my days.

From behind me, he – whom I must really need to ask his name – speaks between breaths of dying laughter. I catch enough of the sounds to piece together what he’s saying, going something like; “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Well, that’s better.” I try to joke. Handing over the plate and glass that I’d prepared for myself, saying a little  “here you go sir” then turning back to the kitchen.

The house becomes silent suddenly and I can only hope that he is eating or picking at his food. I turned around to see my guest, not eating but staring uncomfortably at the table in front of him.

“What’s wrong? Do you not like Vegemite?” I ask worriedly.

“I don’t like being called sir.” Uh okay, that’s cool why was he so nervous? Maybe he was a super old person whom I am offending by acknowledging his possibly super old age.

“But you still like Vegemite right?” Sue me for just making sure my breakfast delicacy is to my new friend’s liking.

“Uhh about that…” He trailed off. Oh, come one I thought we were going to be best friends and eat Vegemite out of the jar together on the couch while watching The Bachelor and judge all the girls and the horrible way in which channel 7 likes to portray them. “It’s bitter like my soul.” I met the answer with a look of confusion at which he laughed, and that wonderful sound filled my house once more. I will swear on everything that my anxiety has been cured hearing that sound.

I was going to end this story at Part 2, but if you want the story to keep going please let me know!

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What are your thoughts on Part 2 of It’s Only A Game??

Leave your opinions in the comments or alternatively on my social media channels!
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With Love Bree xx

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Planned Conversations (SW#18) : Therapy

Heyo Bookaholics!

Some things cannot stay in my head…

Therapy

“So I’ve decided not to take the medication.” My therapist and I had just settled into our respective seats facing each other when I broke the news – if it is even ‘news’ at all. I’d been thinking on her proposal for two weeks now, but deep down I knew, I really knew that medication isn’t the right thing for me.

“Why? I think you should consider it.” She replied, leaning forward in her chair slightly, shuffling around, then leaning back again comfortably. I knew where she was coming from, and yes I’d most certainly considered it. One can only consider something for so long before making up their mind.

She said it last week that medication would give me some time to calm my physiological symptoms and focus on working on my mental ones. It sounded appealing and quite tempting but I said no, though not without reasons of course.

“I don’t want to have an easy way.” I began, taking a deep breath to continue but she stole my floor. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to word what I wanted to say, but it’s what came out first. Agh.

“It won’t be cheating.” she started, but I cut her off before she could repeat herself; again. The same spiel I’d even said to myself before I’d heard it aloud from her.

“Oh I know that, but my mind is effed up. I don’t think it’s cheating per say, more like.” I paused again looking for the right words. “Ignorning.” My brain actually came up with something decent for once. Good job brain, mental pay on the back for you. “I’ll ignore it and put off my recovery of my mental state because well to me it’ll be fixed physically I can deal with the mental shit later.” I was just rambling again like I usually do; I guess maybe this shows the progress of how well I’ve come to identify my weaknesses.

I’m sure she was used to my ramblings and self-depreciating talks by now, but I still feel bad when I did it. Though for some odd reason I could control my ramblings when in this room, so I stopped speaking and scratched my nose a little. Don’t judge, it was itchy and I think there was crusty bit hiding away.

“But that’s why you come here isn’t it?” She took my pause, and subsequent internal monologue as a cue to talk. I would’ve done the same if in her position; the question was relevant though (thankfully) and lead me to my next point.

“Yes, but you know how bad my procrastination is?” Some reason that came out as a question, regardless I continued talking, confident in my argument. Or as confident as I can be when the introductory paragraph of my final exam essay begins with ‘In this essay…’.

“I want to work on that first. My work ethic and avoidance bullshit is something I need to fix first. I honestly believe it’s 99% of my problems.” I took a deep breath, stupidly fearing her response; and yes, I am so thinking of that 99 problems meme. Sue me.

“Look it’s up to you, but just keep it in mind.” She sounded wary but not trying to push anything, probably fearing my mental instability and glad for the lack of windows as she saw me eyeing the door.

I wasn’t intentionally looking for, or thinking of an escape, I just needed a place to look other than her eyes (too intimidating) and I just so happened to choose the door which just so happens to lead outside, a place I’m thinking I want to be more than here. Don’t get me wrong, I actually liked being here it’s a good reprieve from my hectic life, but there were some things that even I felt hard admitting to myself.

Often times I feel ashamed and horrified I could even conjure up such thoughts and I hide my face, my eyes, all the ways one could look past my happy-go-lucky facade. I would break down and tell everything, or I’d keep it inside, far too deep that even I didn’t know the seed existed until I leave the sessions. Maybe I should tell her that?

Her voice breaks my thoughts. “Are you okay?” I look up at her face a painting of soft concern. All her intentions are to help me in every way possible and if she’s spending her time with me, I could spend just as much time on myself to get better.

“I think so.” I reply back, glad to have someone with me. Glad to have spoken the truth of how I feel. First I take charge of my actions then I’ll conquer my thoughts; at least I hope it works like that.

“So tell me.” She starts again; not entirely dismissing our earlier conversation, rather starting afresh; as if our earlier exchange happened yesterday. “How have you been?” I answer truthfully and simply, going into detail where I see fit. This isn’t a hard question for a chatterbox like me and I calm down talking about myself while she takes notes and listens, her facial expressions matching accordingly.

Part 2 of ‘It’s Only A Game’ will be up next week xx 2

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Leave your opinions in the comments or alternatively on my social media channels!
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With Love Bree xx

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TRAINS – A Short Story or potentially a full-length novel…

Heyo Bookaholics!

Welcome back to another storytime. This one I wrote while I was waiting for my train and I know it has a sad and possibly triggering ending, I don’t intend for it to end like this when I write it into a FULL-LENGTH NOVEL! Yep, I intend to write this into a book so look out for news on a WIP called TRAINS over on my Instagram or Twitter!

TRAINS.

In a town decimated by a deadly plague, residents fight for survival. Cut off from the rest of the country, a single station resides within a town’s centre and every day at 1:46pm, the occupants of the town congregate at the station to watch the train pass through. The civilians on the train avoid the eyes of the onlookers. The impenetrable walls of the train and it’s advanced air purification system keeps the occupants safe from the toxic air of the town.

A well-off girl with a deeply seeded self-hate and a boy who has taken on a mother role to his two younger siblings find themselves standing together at these gatherings day after day, they don’t pay much attention to each other until one day, a full five and three months after their town was cut off, the train fails to arrive on time.

The boy who acts like a mother, asks the girl who hates herself for the time. Though they both can feel that something is wrong no one mentions it. The shuffling feet on the platform and the whispers of “maybe it’s delayed?” “maybe tomorrow” “maybe it’s too dangerous?” float around the platform. Always maybe. Always with a tone of certainty.

The next day and the next and the next saw less and fewer people on the platform as the train failed to arrive. A week flew past, then two and four, and soon the train’s passing became a distant memory; a story whispered in the streets.

The boy and the girl saw each other again. She ran past his first-floor window a two months later headed towards the bridge that spanned over a fast-moving current. Hesitating, he checked and double-checked his brother and sister who slept silently in their tiny beds and ran into the street compelled by some force of attraction.

He watched as the girl climbed onto the edge of the bridge leading her back against the railing, her hands lightly holding on to the railing. He saw her posture loosen as she surveyed the black rushing water 30 feet below. The toxic sludge that cycled through the town’s water supply could kill anyone from a single sip; he would know.

He watched as she wobbled slightly, bracing herself to dangle a leg over the ledge, her hand loosening its grip on the bars behind her. She looked around embarrassed, her eyes flicking past him and into the treetops.

She didn’t hesitate. He watched as she jumped. Chocking, his heart leaping from his chest in shock. His body screaming for him to do something. How was he to know she was going to jump; he could’ve done something.

In the last moment, before her body smacked into the water with a sickening slap and a crack, she turned her head ever so slightly toward the end of the bridge and saw him. A smile on her face and stars in her eyes.

Fixating on her smile, he felt his shoulders drop, his body relax, and though sad, knew that she had made it to where she wanted to be. Her ancestors had already taken her, long before she made the jump.

The well-off girl with a deeply seeded self-hate felt not the impact, but the heavenly hands of her relatives long passed and heard a soft splash of the water as she hit it. Then light.

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Do you ever have strange bursts of inspiration that turn into something that you could be proud of? That’s what this was, and I love it. I’d love to hear what your inspiration bursts lead to.

I’d love to hear what you thought of the story, and if you want to see the concept (maybe without the tragic end) be translated into a full-length novel?

Leave your opinions in the comments or alternatively on my social media channels!
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With Love Bree xx

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Shaking Hands – A Story About An Anxious Teen.

Heyo Bookaholics!

I was feeling quite panicked today in regards to the YouTube video that I had edited but didn’t like (so didn’t end up posting), and I wasn’t planning on writing this post BUT I needed something to ease my shaking hands and heavy chest.

I’d had the pounding heart and shortness of breath before, usually during a minor inconvenience, which just turned into one major inconvenience. I called it “a weird feeling” or “my chest hurts”. Never had I called it Anxiety.

Anxiety is a label. To me, anxiety was an excuse, a way to not face your fears. Anxiety was an invisible wall that stopped people from leaving their comfort zone. Though as I started emerging from my sheltered environment, emerging into the wider world of drugs, clubs, full-time work, coffee and social events; the word anxiety brought upon a different meaning.

I go through my days as normal, experiencing my bouts of stress due to deadlines and train departure times, even the state of my hair; though anxiety, on the other hand, attacks me when I least expect it.

Anxiety grabs at my heart and pounds it hard, faster than it should go like a fist opening and closing at the speed of light. It blocks the air to my lungs so I cannot breathe, and all the muscles in my body spasm.

I’m shaking, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I’m driving, scared, not knowing how to stop this. The pain increases with each breath. Negative thought swirl around my brain. I cry out in pain, pulling over on the side of the road, listening to the soft tick tick tick of my indicator.

Click. It turns off and I call the only person who will understand.

One ring;

Two rings;

Three rings; he picks up asking me if everything is alright. It’s an unusual time to be calling.

I answer a simple no and the conversation begins, though by the end, my choking breaths become calm; the tear tracks down my cheeks are dried and my nose is crusty from snot.

I hiccup a thank you and I love you then hang up, taking some time to myself before turning on the indicator again and driving off; a new sense of determination filling my mind and body.

Anxiety became a warning signal and a challenge. Anxiety was still an excuse and a wall, though there are days where I wished to hide behind this wall of excuses, and other days, where I was determined to break through and beat it to sh*t.

I needed to find my cure, my calm place. It took me a while but I have it. my calm place is a mindset, a creative one. A place where I can let my thoughts and feelings be free with no strings attached, like a bird in migration.

Anxiety isn’t to be feared, I’ve learnt; it is to be learnt from and something that can enable a person to grow if they let themselves do so.

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What are your thoughts on this short story? I felt it very calming to write this, and I’ve learnt that writing is my remedy which is such a lovely thing to have. I am so grateful to have that ability to be able to use creativity as a stress reliever.

Leave your opinions in the comments or alternatively on my social media channels!
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Thank You, With Love Bree xx

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The Green Gentlewoman

Heyo Bookaholics!

First off; this is my first time making an aesthetic layout and I think it turned out perfect!

Today I want to talk about one of the characters from my more quieter works that I want to keep very much quiet, only because there isn’t much going for it right now. It’s called The Truth About Meme Fox. TTAMF is a story I wanted to start writing on Wattpad but I never got around to actually starting it because I thought the concept was too difficult for my writing capabilities at the time.

My Post

I want to keep TTAMF a secret project as my main project; The Inversion is something I am trying to promote at the moment, and I am still unsure whether I want to make this novel – TTAMF – a mystery novel where I follow the investigation into a murder, or I go into the backstory of the victim and tell the story leading up to the events.

I didn’t think I wanted to create the main character’s profile prior to writing the novel, as I believed it would be a very plot-based novel – which it still could be – with the characters physical appearances being left up to the minds of my readers. But; I was creating this aesthetic layout for the fun of it, just trying to be all tumblr chic; and it hit me! This is my character! Whether this is Meme Fox or not, will be determined whilst I write the story; unless you as readers have any opinions.

I might put some info for this book up in later posts but for now this is all I’m willing to share, I hope you love it as much as I do xx

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What did you think of my aesthetic layout? I hope to do more in the future to encapsulate the various characters from my various works.

Do you guys have any tips for creating layouts?? I couldn’t find anything online, so if you know any resources, or have any tips please do let me know by leaving a comment below or via my socials!

Leave your opinions in the comments or alternatively on my social media channels!
Instagram // Goodreads // Twitter // YouTube

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Thank You, With Love Bree xx

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My Heart For You – Short Story (SW)

Heyo Bookaholics!

The night before I wrote this, I finished reading All of This Is True By Lygia Day Peñaflor and I was a mess of confusion and full of inspiration. It left me with so many more questions than if it had ended 20 pages earlier than it had; I’ll have my review posted next Monday sharing all of my thoughts about this book; the good, the bad and the irony.

So after reading, I had this brilliant idea to write about a genuine human connection I had and came up with this story! I hope you like it 😊

Image result for music heart


(This Is) My Heart For You

Ember and Gerard

The concert was their first genuine musical connection. Their bodies mashed together in a sea of people, jumping, screaming, feeling the bass as it pounded on their ribcage. The pain of music.

They screamed the words and let everything go. All the panic about being the closest to the stage washed into the past; all that mattered now was the love in the room, not only between the two beings in the middle of the floor but the overwhelming love for the artists on stage who were delivering such glorious sound. It filled the stage and flowed from every one of the bodies in the stadium.

She was only into pop music until she met Gerard. He showed her a whole new world of music she’d always been too scared to listen to; the true heart pumping, head-banging, foot-tapping music. He’d showed her a whole new world, but she couldn’t show him her’s; he’s already heard it and made his dislike clear.

Ember has been slowly listening to new music out of her comfort zone. Every day she hears new words, tapping her feet to a new tune, quickly learning them and filling her favourites into a playlist.

Ember found her favourite song yesterday. Another one about teen angst and noon-conformity. It was your typical rock song, by some generic discontinued band; but it had that perfect balance of musical elements that she couldn’t skip past.

It came up every four songs and soon enough, Ember knew all the lyrics to the song and was able to sing perfectly in time. She was so proud of herself, smiling every time the song played and thinking of her one and only, Gerard.

Days later, Ember and Gerard found themselves in Gerard’s car and Ember was in charge of providing the tunes, in which she eagerly grabbed the aux chord and turned to her boyfriend in the driver seat.

“Get ready Gerbug!”

“Go on.” He chuckled encouragingly, keeping his eyes on the road waiting for the usual pop tunes that killed his ears.

She smirked out the side of her mouth and tapped a bit on her phone before music began blasting through the car speakers. Ember quickly spun the dial on the radio to turn up the sound and began singing.

“They’re gonna clean up your looks
With all the lies in the books…

“Ay, we’re playing some classics here!” Gerard exclaimed turning the volume up further and joining in on the singing. Ember’s smile widened until she wasn’t even singing, just smiling. Her cheeks in pain as she attempted to sing around her glowing smile.

“You heard it before?” She wonders out loud during the bridge of the song. She hadn’t even thought of whether Gerard had heard the song before, she was just too happy to show it to him.

“Of course E! This song is so old, but still a classic.” He looked over at her briefly, a brilliant dazzling smile across his face; and in that moment she couldn’t care less how old the song was, she was just far too over the moon that she could bring such a smile to the face of the one she loves.

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Did you like the story?! I’m putting so much more effort into them from now on and they’re going to be more storylike and not rushed and recounted.

If you have anything you’d like me to write about leave me ideas in the comments! Things will still be personal but I’d love to write things inspired by my readers.

Leave your opinions in the comments or alternatively on my social media channels!
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Thank You, With Love Bree xx

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© Jasper+Spice 2018. All Rights Reserved. Please do not use without my permission. This post was not sponsored, all photos and graphics are of my own creation.

The Scary Voice In My Dreams | Storytime Wednesay

 

Heyo Bookaholics!

Welcome back to another storytime. Today I’ll be narrating the only scary dream I remember from when I was a child. This was the only reoccurring scary dream that I’ve ever experienced. It was at times oddly comforting, and in my later years I’d call it back somehow to put me to sleep when I wasn’t able to. I hope you find it as creepy as I did.


The Scary Voice in My Dreams… Continue reading “The Scary Voice In My Dreams | Storytime Wednesay”