The Writer’s Tag

I found this tag on the internet and decided to give it a go. Are tags till a thing? They better be or else I look like a real noob.

What do you write?

Novels. General/Women’s fiction I suppose, New Adult, Young Adult…and they always include a romance component. I like to mix it up. You can’t tie this girl down…to a genre.

What do you mostly write about?

I’ve never stuck to a genre, sometimes I like soppy, happy, cliche plot lines, sometimes I like disturbing, gritty tales about pretty girls. I’m better at the disturbing stuff. I do not want to look into what that tells me about myself.

What’s your favorite thing about writing?

Writing is sort of my ‘thing’ now. It’s something I’d like to think I’m somewhat good at and I like being somewhat good at something. But truthfully, it’s a replacement. My true love is acting, it’s the only thing I am naturally good at, I do not have to put much effort into it, it’s just something I’ve been able to do pretty well since I was a kid. But…I left that dream behind (for various reasons) and picked up writing. I am not a naturally brilliant writer but the work makes the reward that much sweeter. And so really, I like that it keeps my creativity alive, it’s given me another ‘thing’ and that has kept me sane.

What/Who inspired you to start/keep writing?

I started writing properly when I was thirteen (truly, I started my first novel at thirteen like the big nerd I am). I was in a friend group not unlike the Plastics from Mean Girls and I needed to write about it because I was too much of baby to break free.

I keep writing because I like telling stories and I like talking to myself about my books on trains and buses and long runs. That sounds odd. It’s not, I promise.

Who’s your favorite character you’ve made up?

Oh god, do not make me pick! That’s like asking me to pick a favourite child.

When did you start writing?

Thirteen. Don’t be fooled, I wasn’t any good at it. I thought ‘mean girls are mean and it makes everyone sad’ was an original plot line.

First story you wrote?

No clue. I was probably pretty little. I made my sister a book of short stories for Christmas when I was seven…that’s as early as I can remember.

Favorite story you wrote?

Pretty Girls Die First. It’s the novel I’m working on right now and it is almost done. Actually, it probably is finished, but I can’t stop prodding at it.

Do you have a writing schedule? Like, do you write every day or just when you feel like it?

Good god no. I write when I feel like it. Sometimes that is every day for three hours, sometimes that’s once a month for twenty minutes. I can’t write if I’m not in the mood.

Do you want to be published?

Heck yeah.

Writing Bits

These are bits and bobs from the book I’m working on (which is painfully close to being finished). It’s called Pretty Girls Die First. Please don’t steal the title or any of my carefully crafted words. I will find you and I will give you a very stern talking to.


I have been drained of my emotions. Someone stuck a cork in my brain and my heart, twisted, and then pulled it out without asking. And before I had the chance to say my piece, everything that makes me human spilled out of me and onto the floor, sticking to my shoes and swimming around my ankles. So that they always followed me, just out of reach, a reminder of what I’ve lost. I wish they had been poured into a nice tall glass, cooled with ice-cubes and given to me as a drink, my humanity fed back into my bloodstream. Maybe then I wouldn’t be this numb.


It’s funny how the night always plays out the same way. But still, I remain in my seat, transfixed by the tired narrative.


So I’m worried. I’m worried Leo is going to expect me to be perfect when all I’ll ever be is human.

So lately, stupidly, I’ve been thinking about Rob again. Not in a romantic, I want you back, type of way. Instead, I’ve been turning arguments over in my head. I’ve been cradling memories of dirty texts sent to other girls in the palm of my hand. It’s like cheating, in reverse.

Because, in the end, and as much as I despise myself for it, it’s easier to fixate on Robert. He knows me. There is no starting again with Robert because he’s already seen how ugly I am, inside and out.


“I’m never going to be in love with you the way that he was.”


I was deluded. I secretly trusted the idea that what we had was too passionate, too intense for this world. It was destructive and sometimes it left me raw but it was romantic. It was Scarlett and Rhett. Romeo and Juliet. Bonnie and Clyde. We were so in love with each other that we destroyed the better parts of one another. What I should have paid better attention to was the lack of a happy ending in these love stories. I should never have based my romantic expectations on fiction.

I bet that if he had pressed a gun to my breastbone and threatened to pull the trigger…I bet…I’d press my chest deeper into the barrel until it bruised me. And the next day, like a fool, I’d maintain his love for me. Romeo and Juliet baby. Romeo and that fucking idiot Juliet.

Stupid Things I’ve Done…

I’m sort of excellent at embarrassing myself. I’ve spent the last twenty-one years mastering the art of self humiliation. Here’s some of the dumb things I’ve done.

  1. I fell over whilst receiving the award for clumsiest skier. Yeah. That happened.dasaaa.gif
  2. I once stayed on a bus I was meant to get off of. Sure, everyone’s done that or come close. Except, my friend was with me and I watched her get off the bus, instead of getting off with her. And I then waved at her, completely oblivious.giphy (2)
  3.  In my first week at my new uni Uni I went to the wrong room for each of my four classes. What’s worse is, I sat through two full tutorials, completely confused when they told me my name wasn’t on the roll.asdsa


4. I got my side fringe caught in a comb when I was twelve, my Mum had to cut it out, leaving me with a very short, very jagged front fringe. It took me a year to grow that baby out.


5. I thought rabbits laid eggs till I was sixteen. I’m intelligent, I swear.


6. I ran out on a date because I hadn’t realised the dude was such a creeper. I took a phone call in the movie and literally ran to the train station. How romantic.


7. Last year, in the hopes of re-inventing myself, I cut a front fringe. It wasn’t the look I was going for but it wasn’t a disaster. So, a bit panicked, I cut my hair into a chin length bob thinking it would make me look super edgy. It was the most unflattering look I’ve ever sported, seriously, I’ve burned all the photos so I can’t show you. Trust me, it was bad. It’s been a year and I’m still haunted by the six months it took me to get it past my shoulders.


8. I was raised in a Catholic family, had twelve years of Catholic education and I’d like to think I’m kind of tight with Jesus. But…it took me a while to figure out that the cross we hang around our necks as jewellery is symbolic of Jesus dying on the cross. And by a while, I mean I didn’t realise until like last month. Sorry Jesus.


9. I bought a pair of boots online last year, I wear them nearly everyday, and I am in constant discomfort. I looked at my order a month ago, turns out I ordered a size six. I am a size eight. Can someone please hold my hand and guide me through adulthood, I am not doing it right.


10. I regularly put coffee in my coffee machine without the filter…and proceed to make myself a lovely, grainy cup of coffee. Seriously, help me! Anyone, please, I don’t care if you judge me, I need someone to tell me how to stop being an idiot!





Writing bits…

I’m trying to tackle my anxieties regarding people reading my writing because ideally, I’d really like to get one of my books published. So…I am sharing bits and bobs on here to try and combat that fear. Here is the opening chapter to a book I tried writing this year…unfortunately, I’ve abandoned it. I may develop it into something later but for right now I have other writing projects that I’m working on. Still, I’d like to share this first chapter.



Winston gives Ivy a nervous little smile. The type of smile you give a girl when you’re about to kiss her for the first time, or tell her that you love her. But instead, Winston opens his mouth and tells her that he is currently in a rather serious relationship with a girl called Lorelei.

“What?” Ivy’s mouth is a sticky puddle. “I’m sorry, did you just say…”

He laughs, like this is a rather delicious secret they’re sharing. “I know, it must come as a shock. We’ve been going out for about two years now. I’m breaking it off with her. I promise.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m breaking it off with her. Tomorrow. Or sometime in March. Either way, I’m leaving her for you.”

She blinks back at him, as he looks at her with hope, lips spread in a contented manner. Ivy notices the plaid button down he wears proudly. She blanches, he looks like my grandfather, if my grandfather still had a mop of honey-brown hair. “Winston, we’ve been going out for two years.”

He nods, “Yes, it was really a rather unfortunate time when you came into my peripheral. In fact, it was only around a week after I went steady with Lorelei that I met you.”

“You’ve been dating us. Both of us. For two fucking years! I’m not the other woman Winston, I’m the woman. You’ve been two-timing both of us.”

He pats the leather lining of his mother’s favorite sofa. “Ivy, that’s not very fair.”

Ivy stands, shocking the cat, Lula. “It’s completely fair.”

He rolls his eyes. “Honestly, you’re making this a big deal when it the grand scheme of things it really isn’t.”

She laughs, sarcastically. He hates it when she does that, so she really draws it out, waiting two beats before she speaks again, so he can sit in the discomfort he must be feeling. “No, I’m sorry, this is nothing. I shouldn’t be at all bothered by the fact that my boyfriend has been screwing some other girl for the entirety of our relationship!”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

Her stomach threatens her with her recently digested apple strudel. “I’m going to have to get tested for STD’s. My Doctor is going to think I’m a slut.”

“No, he won’t.” He leans towards her, lowering his voice. “And besides, I always wore a rubber.”

Something inside her, located near her diaphragm, snaps. “THEY’RE CALLED CONDOMS WINSTON! THIS ISN’T 1983!”

He flinches, recoiling at the volume of her voice. He had no idea her voice could fill the room that way.

Ivy is sick of pretending that she doesn’t mind his prissy way of talking or his ugly beige pants. She chose the nice boy, the one we’ve all been told is the best fit for a nice girl. Her mother told her, over and over again, “marry a nice boy Ivy. Nice boys will never hurt you.” Except, the nice boy broke her too.

And what if she isn’t a nice girl?

“I don’t like the way you are speaking to me. I realize you go to a public school and thus you’re a little rougher around the edges than I am, but I will not allow you to raise your voice like that in my house.”

“This is your mother’s house. And I’m the one that’s going to Harvard in the fall, you couldn’t even get into Brown.” She makes her voice as icy as possible. She refuses to be bullied by this boy. Two solid years of her life have been spent loving him, ignoring the things that make her write lists titled why it is important to stay with Winston Carroll.

Winston’s mouth sets into a hard line. “How dare you bring up Brown.”

“How dare you cheat on me for two years!”

“I wasn’t cheating on you; I was cheating on Lorelei.” He says, exasperated.

Lula bolts from the room, probably to inform the other cats of the drama currently coming to a head in the living room.

Ivy cannot believe that she has skipped first period for this. She should have gone to her calculus class, perhaps then none of this would be happening. “I’d like to meet this Lorelei, I think she and I might have a lot in common. Heck, maybe I’ll take her out for coffee and then lure her into my bed. Seeing as how I’ve practically been sleeping with her all this time.”

Winston’s face crumples at the mere mention of homosexuality. “I don’t think I want to leave Lorelei for you anymore.”

“Yes, well I’m not sure I want to be the last woman standing.”

They stare at each other for a while. She shudders, to think, I probably would have married this boy in five years.

Ivy picks up her bag, swinging it onto her shoulder. She wonders if Todd Samuels will be interested in taking her to prom.

“Good-bye Winston.”

“Good-bye Ivy.”

Things I learned last week…

I should really stop experimenting with cookie recipes. Apparently my version of marshmallow cookies isn’t as delicious as I’d imagined.


The Killers are making good music again.


I have to stop buying clothes online.


I might have wasted three years studying English. I might make a last minute change and switch my major to Writing. I might, I may, I will.


Never go to Bookfest without food. Coffee is not enough sustenance for eight hours of book browsing.


Grey’s Anatomy really is good TV. I just needed a good year away from it to recover from the absolute agony Shonda Rhimes put me through in season six.


I’m never going to tire of watching Jeremy Jordan belt out pretty songs. Can he please do another Broadway show? Thanks, that’d be great.


Pretty Little Liars will always let me down. Seriously, they should let the fans into the writing room, their theories are so much juicer.


Graduation is looming and so are bigger, better opportunities.

Words I am infatuated with….

I love words…big ones, small ones, the ones that you can’t spell without a dictionary. I do not discriminate. I like big words and I cannot lie.

So here’s a small collection of the words I am currently in love with.




Laboured breath

Stuff (as in to stuff something e.g a turkey).