Author: Morgan Love

If you refer to the title of this post, you can see I used the title of the old Disney channel segments in which kids would tell their “The Time I…” stories. I was feeling pretty nostalgic and decided it would be cool to tell a story from my own life. Now, my memory is terrible. I honestly have a huge memory loss gap in which I can’t remember anything before 2009. Considering I was 7 years old and probably living an easy-going and unbothered life, I don’t think anything truly exciting happened. However, I do have vivid memories of major events in my life. In this case, the one I most remember is the time I got lost at the zoo.

The time I got lost at the zoo had to be the first encounter with true fear. It was a school trip (shoutout Mcwillie Elementary in Jackson, MS!) to the zoo and it was the entire 3-6 age group of the school. Let me pause and explain this “group.” The elementary school I attended had grades split by ages in the lower school. There was a 3-6 group in which there were literally 3-6 year olds. This was the pre-K and kindergarten groups. To this day, I don’t understand why they couldn’t just refer to us by our actual grades, but it’s in the past now. Okay now we are resuming the story. So, like any other trip, we took the big yellow to the Jackson Zoo. We had on the same t-shirts to help identify any lingering kiddos if the situation occurred (it did by the way LOL). We were walking around the zoo, oohing and ahhing at all the animals that were trapped in their cages.

Side note: Even then I never liked the idea of seeing animals in cages, no matter how “protected” they are.

My mom had planned to meet us at the zoo. She wanted to eat lunch with me. Let me emphasize that she wanted to eat lunch with JUST me. So, when she came to the zoo, we broke from the group and sat in a mini sandbox and ate our lunch. After a while of eating, my mom wanted to take pictures with the wood cut outs in the sandbox. These were the cut outs where you put your face in the hole and the rest is a silly image of a mans body or a bears body. In this case it was a giraffe. After having our mini photoshoot, my mom had to go back to work. After seeing the group not to far away from us, my mom trusted me to make the short (and I mean so short, like literally a 60 second walk) back to the group. Me, the ever so trustworthy child, decided to make a short detour on my way back. I can’t remember what caught my eye, but when I started back towards the group again—they were gone. I can still remember the fear that ran through my body. So many questions bounced in my small head. Is someone going to kidnap me? Will I be lost forever in the zoo? Will I eventually pull a Tarzan and become one with the animals and live the rest of my days with them? While in the midst of panicking, I started walking around the zoo to find the many blue shirts that were in my group. Probably 10 minutes later, I found the group again. In that span of 10 minutes I completely accepted the fact that I was going to be lost forever. The joy in my heart when I saw those blue shirts was through the roof. I was so happy that I ran back to the group. The group had been sitting down almost as if they were at a stopping point. Little did I know, they were searching for me. I can still remember hearing, “Ms. *****! There’s Morgan!” *I’m going to leave the name of my past teacher out* The fury in the eyes of my teacher when she saw me would make a bull scared. I was pulled to the side and got a good ole reprimanding. I’m sure that if spanking was allowed at the school, I would have surely fall subject to it. I was so upset and ended up crying so hard. My teacher didn’t even let me get a popsicle like all the other kids like???? I get lost and I don’t get a popsicle????? To this day, I still get mad at that.

After the trip ended and we were back at school, I wanted nothing more but to go home. I was so relieved to see my mom pull into the school to pick me up. That was the first day I didn’t have anything to say on the car ride home. My mom knew something happened, but she never did ask me about it. I still appreciate the fact that my mom knows when not to ask me about things when I get upset. I actually don’t think I ever told her this story, which is pretty funny to me.

I hope you guys enjoyed this little story of mine. I like this idea and will most likely do it again in the future. I’m actually saw an idea to challenge your readers SO my challenge is for you to write your own “The time I…” story and share your stories with us!

Y’all. I don’t mention my mental health a lot, solely because I feel it is my personal health and sharing that with the world seems a little too personal, but I feel this particular story I’m about to share makes for a good blog post.

Long story short…I had a panic attack at school (hence the title…get it…panic at the dis–no? okay). It happened out of the ordinary, but I have conducted a personal investigation and tried to figure out the cause. Now, I know you guys want the gory details. I get it, I get it…if I was reading this, I would want to know what happened in detail too. In fact, I would have a million questions.

“Where did it happen?

Who was around you?

Did you fall?

Did anybody help you?”

And if you don’t have any questions and would just like me to get on with the rest of the post…I feel you and will happily do that for you. *inserts two thumbs up* But, and you guys know there is always a “but”, I need to feed the hungry eyes that are looking for the breakdown of the panic attack. Since this is a literary blog, and I am a literary person…literary artist?…okay I write, I wrote a free verse poem to explain the panic attack as coherent as possible. Look below for said poem…

panic attack

I forgot how to breathe today.
The air from my lungs escaped through my nose until the very last drop left my
body.

The moment fell on me spontaneously.

Silence rang through my ears
and everything stopped.
Time slowed for me and my sight faltered.
The only thing I could see were the blurred figures walking past
me.

Panic wrapped me in its arms a second later.
The rhythm of my heartbeat sprung from a steady beat into a fast
crescendo.

My fingers eagerly reached out to grab ahold of something,
but they were met with only the air that escaped
my lungs.

My hands start shaking.
The slight tremor moved to my knees and I soon
collapsed.

Almost…as if in slow motion…it slowly came back to me.

Breath
Hearing
Sight.

I slowly lifted myself off the ground and held my chest.
I can’t believe I forgot how to breathe today.

As soon as I calmed down from the panic attack and could focus on one thing, the first line of the poem was on repeat in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking of that sentence, so I turned it into something poetic? I don’t know if that’s poetic, but it was very relieving to write it.

Moving on to the details of my investigation *inserts Nancy Drew magnifying glass*, I narrowed down the suspects to the top three likely causes of the panic attack.

1. Stress. I was very stressed out prior to the attack and under a lot of emotional and physical strain. I made this the top reason because it seems like the most plausible.
2.  I was simply freaking out. I have a small tendency…medium tendency…okay a large tendency to freak out over the smallest things. Prior to the panic attack, I was freaking out over a particular submission despite having plenty, and y’all I mean PLENTY of time to finish it. I think this could have been the cause, but I still think I was just stressed out.
3.  I simply forgot how to breathe. Now this may seem the least likely, but it makes sense. Have y’all ever forgotten how to do the most basic task ever? Like you may have forgotten how to blink normally because you were focusing on how you blink too hard? Does that make sense? I hope it does because I don’t know how else to say it, but that’s essentially what could have happened. There have been multiple occasions where I have been focused on my breathing and simply lost track of my original breathing flow. I think this could have been the cause, but then again I still think it was because of stress.

Whatever reason caused the panic attack…it wasn’t fun. It honestly made me actually stop and focus on myself for once. I had to ask myself if I was okay. I get so caught up in things that I completely ignore my mental and spiritual health. It is almost like I lose sight of those parts of myself. In this case, I lost the mental part of myself for a minute, and the only way I could think of finding that part of myself again was to be hit with the reality that I wasn’t okay mentally per the reason I had a panic attack. BUT, then again…I could have honestly just forgot how to breathe.

When I was younger, a particular teacher would always make backhanded comments about my handwriting. This made me extremely insecure about how I wrote which eventually moved into me being insecure about what I wrote instead. I know it sounds weird, but back then everything was connected to me. Any wrong within my writing changed my writing as a whole. I would use simple words because they were easier to understand when I wrote it out. Keep in mind that this was during a time where I didn’t use computers to type my work. Believe me, if I could have typed every assignment that I had to handwrite, I would have. Unfortunately, without that luxury, I had to endure years of being teased about my writing because without a keen eye, my writing looked like a bunch of scribbles on a page. According to some, my writing was viewed as “chicken scratch.”

As I grew older and got away from that teacher, I let go of my insecurity of how I wrote, but I never let anyone see my writing. If it wasn’t for an assignment, the only one seeing my writing was me. This lingering insecurity formed into a form of hate. I despised writing things for people. I would grit my teeth, ball my fists, stomp my foot, you name it! I hated writing in school, mindless writing, even writing a letter. I always felt it would somehow be criticized.

It wasn’t until my freshman year of high school that I became open to the idea of creative writing. Before I get into that experience, I would like to take the time to mention that creative writing was never an option for me when I was younger. If the writing wasn’t educational in some sense, I wasn’t exposed to it. Coming into high school, nothing was the same from my previous years in school. There was an opportunity for me to join the school newspaper or the literary magazine. The opportunity came to me when my English teacher recommended I join either one. She praised me on my writing in her class. I was so shocked to hear this from her, especially with my history with teachers and my writing. She was the only teacher that actually liked my writing plus she didn’t care how I wrote. She never degraded me on my handwriting. That conversation that I had with her changed my life. She told me about the different types of writing, different forms of literature, and she helped with my handwriting a little. I was (and still am) so grateful for her. She really opened my eyes to the possibilities of writing.

The first time I willingly shared my work was with my mom for Mother’s Day. I didn’t have enough money to buy her a present, so I wrote her a small poem with a card. It was the best I could do, don’t judge. After I got done reading, my mom was in tears. She praised me on my words and pushed me to join the literary magazine for my school. This was the second person to tell me I should join. I talked to the teacher over the magazine, for whom later became my English teacher the next year, and she read some of my work and immediately let me join. From that day I started my journey to becoming a writer. I got the chance to have my writing workshopped and even featured in the magazine that year. I was slowly but surely growing into being comfortable and secure in sharing my writing with others. I was no longer insecure about that part of my life. I was proud of my work. Despite my less than happy history with my writing, I still found my niche and my passion in life. I never thought I would be sharing my past with writing willingly with you all, but I want this to inspire someone else. Never let the hardships or obstacles put in your path to stop you from following your passion for writing. Writing will take you to far places you never thought would be possible. It is a wonderful thing. To the kid that might be in the place I was: you will make it. I know it’s hard. I know you are scared, terrified even. Sharing this part of your life is hard. You are opening yourself up to eager eyes, but in time you will learn that that is the best part of it all. Being able to fully and completely have someone be captured and invested in your work no matter in what way is amazing.

Let my story be of inspiration to anyone who needs it. Let the lesson of “waiting for your time” resonate with you and give you some motivation to just keep writing. One day it could lead you to the best of places.

When people come up to me and ask me how I like MSA, I always stick with my general answer, “I love it!” I usually say this with a wide smile on my face  and with my feet quickly leading me away from the said inquisitive person.

I’ve never been shy with my words, but when people ask me this particular question, which is a LOT, I never give to much away. I’ve constantly thought of ways to describe MSA, but the only thing that comes to mind is that I love it here. This isn’t a lie. I adore MSA, I cherish it even. MSA has been my dream school for as long as I can remember. I knew I would love it here and I do, but when people ask me about the school, my mind goes blank despite the many things that are here for me to love. So, since this is my last post of 2019, I decided to make it out to the main reason I’m allowed to post on this platform. I think this is a great way to close out the year, so I hope you enjoy it.

1. The people

• I find that what makes a place a home is the people inside it. Prior to coming to MSA, I was in an arts program in Jackson where I was surrounded by artist. I’m used to being in an artistic environment, and coming to MSA has amplified that 100x. I am constantly around talented, passionate people who uplift the ones around them. This aspect of MSA is what I hold dear to my heart. Everyone has their own individual and unique personality and it makes the school diverse in that aspect. I can always expect something new from every person. I love my fellow MSApians (LOL) and wouldn’t trade them for anything.

2. My discipline

.  I am so lucky and grateful to be able to be in the literary department. I am surround by the BEST people and have the honor to be taught by one of the best writers I know. I am constantly around creators and am in a comfortable environment. I can always count on my fellow literary peers to make me feel loved and proud of the work I create. I also love being able to share my love of writing and reading in a space that it’s praised and uplifted. I loved writing before coming to MSA, but being in this discipline with these amazing people have made me love it even more.

3. The opportunities

.  I will always advocate for the many opportunities MSA allows. I have been able to join clubs and organizations that I would never have thought I would been able to be apart of. I have networked with people that will stick with me for life and gained skills I couldn’t have learned anywhere else. This, I feel, is overlooked often and I think the clubs and organizations at this school deserve more praise and acknowledgement for the things they allow for the students to do.

4. The semester classes

. AN UNDERRATED FLEX IN THE SCHOOL!! The fact that we take semester classes is AMAZING to me. I was able to take the US History test in the fall rather than taking it in the spring. I always forget important information from the fall that I will be tested on in the spring. To be able to still have all the information I need and taking the test in the fall is just…I could cry. Like…imagine taking algebra for an entire year again! I couldn’t do it. I love this small, but LOVELY aspect of the school. Thank you for that MSA.

That’s all I’ll give for this post. This is mostly it, but I hold an all around love for the school. I’m so so SO thankful to be able to attend this school and it warms my heart knowing other people get to experience this life. Have a Merry Chrysl-Christmas and a Happy New Year! AHHHHHH 2020!!!!!! 2012 me is SHAKINGGGGGGG (iykyk)

I feel as if the most universal question in the world is “why?” (inserts mini dialogue)

Y/N: Why do you dress like that?

Y/N: Why do you care?

Y/N: Why do you want to know?

Y/N: Why do you not want me to know?

From my award-winning dialogue skills, you can clearly see what my point is. The question “why?” is used so often, I don’t think people truly realize how often they use it. “Why” is one of the words that you just have to know. It’s as useful as “the,” “as,” & “and.” Without this word, many conversations wouldn’t incite. This word is clearly one of the most important word known to man. This word has impacted me in a big way recently. I was in my bed one day, scrolling mindlessly through my three favorite apps (twitter, Instagram, and snapchat of course because I am the typical socialite teenager…) and I was wondering to myself, “why do I do this everyday?” which of course led to me having a long period of reflection over my life. I had millions of questions running through my head. Some questions I rather not say out of fear of being completely stupid (despite of questions never being stupid…I’m being sarcastic here if you couldn’t tell.) Some questions that I will share with you all are more on the rational side of things and can actually be answered or at least given an appropriate amount of time to think over:

“Why am I so addicted to my phone?”

“Why were these apps created?”

“Why do I spend so much time on these three specific aapps?”

“Why don’t I have the energy to do any thing else?”

Why does my phone make me so idle?”

All these questions ran through my mind and it was almost like a switch flipped in me. I realized that I am addicted to my phone. As I took more notice of this, I saw the symptoms of my addiction. For the sake of being clear, I’ll list them for you.

1. My impulse to check my phone every 3 minutes
2. My lingering stare on my phone whenever I’m not on it
3. I constantly have to have my phone with me
4. The first and last thing I do everyday is look at my phone
5. I sometimes kiss my phone when it is super close to my face

Now I know that last one is a bit outrageous, but who am I to lie to you guys? I try to be as honest as I possibly can with you guys and if you say don’t peck your phone for treating you so good from time to time…you’re lying! (ok maybe you don’t but to those who do…I completely understand)

With the new ios 13 update, you can see how long you are on your phone each day. Last week I averaged a usage of 9 hours and 8 minutes each day last week. That is a lot you guys! That’s almost all of the time of the 12 hours I’m awake! I felt so bad over these numbers and I’m determined to get them down. Thank you to apple for being my biggest problem, but also helping with my solution! I’m trying to spend less time on my phone and focus more on the things in life outside my phone. Maybe this will help with the crook in my neck from looking down so much LOL! But for real you guys…look at how much time your spending on your phone. If you are one of those people who can live without your phone, kudos to you BUT if your anything like me…we need to strive to do better!

I hope you enjoyed my little quest with the question “why?” and how it has changed the way I interact with my phone. It’ll be hard for me, but I’m determined to let go of my bad habits with this phone! Hope this has helped anybody under your phones captivating spell…

The post I so vaguely told you guys in my last post isn’t ready. I sort of put it on paused simply because I need to be in a certain mindset and environment  to write it. It doesn’t make sense now, but please bare with me.  I often have trouble writing things when I’m not in the mindset to write it. I have to be in a specific mood or environment. In this case, I need to be in both. I’ve been so worried about school and grades that I haven’t had a chance to sit and write this post for you all. I want it to be good and not rushed, so I will leave you guys with a piece of mine. I wrote this one day out of boredom. It hasn’t been touched or workshopped ever. I have only seen this piece, but now you guys will see it too! I promise to have the long-awaited post in after thanksgiving! If I don’t I owe you a dollar! Enjoy!

(Let me know if I should workshop this piece! Any suggestions or comments LEAVE BELOW!)

Welcome to the party

The blood pumping through my veins have a pulsating rhythm
A steady tempo with the occasional crescendo as the music runs through my ears
The sweat pours down my face and pools around my neck
I furiously wipe my forehead as I jump faster in tune with the beat of the music
The hot, sweaty bodies continue to merge closer and closer as the fluorescent lights cut on
The laser lights spread across my face giving me a shiny red cast on my body
I sway my hips and move my lips to the lyrics of the music

Free.

The beats get slower and more sensual
I look around and see the obvious couples stare at each other with lust in their eyes
The energy in the room grows as gravity pulls us together
Is it lust in his eyes? Desire?
I sway my hips a little bit faster now
We’re close now
His glazed eyes take me in as he raises an eager hand to my hips
We start to move in sync
The music starts to get slower and slower
The rest of the room fades into oblivion
It’s just us now
I’m his now

Captured.

My heart beats faster as we get closer
His grip gets tighter on my waist as if he doesn’t want to let me go
I don’t want him to let me go
My body responds quickly to his
I get hotter and hotter but there’s no sweat anymore
The beats fill my body and it fills him too
I feel every inch of him as he feels every inch of me
We are one

His.

His light brown eyes lock with mine as the people fade back into our view
His lips move but I can’t see or hear the words he is saying
The feel of his smooth, dark skin suddenly isn’t on my body anymore
As I slowly walked away from him, he starts to disappear slowly allowing me to take in every part of him until the last thing I see is his eyes staring back at me
He’s gone

Awakened

I sit up drenched in sweat
My heart beat imitates the beat of a marching band
I look around confused and in a daze
He wasn’t real
As I lay back down, I remember the look in his eyes before he faded away
He wasn’t real⸺but it felt so real
I close my eyes and try to remember every detail about him
I slowly drift back into a dreamless sleep
When I awaken the next morning I can’t remember him
He wasn’t real.

Hey y’all! I’m still working on a post, and I didn’t want to rush it for you guys, so I’m going to share the short story I had to write to get into MSA. This story was the very first short story I ever wrote. I don’t want to say too much, so enjoy! Let me know what you think! Should I revisit this story??

Veronica was always the type to do what she wanted. I told her that, one day, her outgoing personality would kill her. She never did listen. She would hear one thing and it would go through one ear and out the other. She was just like that; it’s what made Veronica who she is… well was. The day I got the call that Veronica killed herself… that was the day I lost a piece of myself. Not many people know, but Veronica was the love of my life. The way she conjured apart of myself that I never knew I had was the reason I was completely and utterly in awe of her. I would stare into her eyes and see our entire life planned out. Twins, both girls, living in a suburban house in Utah with a dog named Roxie. We would be the family who color-coordinated whenever we went out. I loved her, better yet, I was in-love with her. But… she didn’t know and now I never have the chance to tell her.
I knew she saw the way I stared at her and the way I would try to touch her body whenever I had the chance. I knew she knew, but she never said it. Veronica never voiced her thoughts when she didn’t have to. And what she knew was not hers to tell, it was mine. I had planned to tell her on her birthday. It was next week, October 31st. She was going to be 18 and I had the perfect plan to make her mine. It’s rare to come across many people like her, and I had the pleasure of being her neighbor. The day I met her was on her birthday 5 years ago. I came home to see her unloading boxes from a truck.
“Hey! Are you my new neighbor?” I asked.
“Well, I am obviously bringing boxes to the house beside yours,” she sassily replied. “ What do you think?”
I was taken back by her spitfire personality. I never had someone talk to me the way she did.
“You’re right, but you don’t have to be such a jerk about it,” I angrily replied.
The look on her face at that moment was the first and last time I saw that expression appear. She looked broken. A look so bleak, devoid of any emotion appeared on her face and then she started talking again but not with the same confidence as before.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ve had a real crappy day, and you took me off guard for a second.”
I couldn’t help but take notice of how her golden, flawless skin glistened in the sun. She was the epitome of beautiful in that moment. From that day, I knew I was in-love with her. I knew I had to protect her from the biggest evil in her life… herself.
The rumors are flying around on why she did it. Some said depression, some say she was pushed, some even say it was an accident. It’s all false. She wasn’t depressed, no one would want to murder her, and she wasn’t dumb enough to accidently jump off a building. She wanted something. She needed answers for something and whatever it was, I am determined to find out.
I called her parents, but they weren’t in any condition to figure out why their daughter committed suicide. I called the few other friends she had, and the most they had to say was, “She was acting different.” I didn’t know how to approach this investigation since my only lead was to talk to the people she talked to. I failed. I am a failure. I failed Veronica, I failed myself, and now I’ve failed an investigation.
That night, I got a call. The blaring sound of the iPhone Chime woke me out of my sleep. It was 3 A.M and the only person to ever call me at this time was Veronica. I checked the caller I.D and it was an unknown number. I would usually ignore calls like this, but something told me to answer.
“Hello?” I asked.
“It was a mistake,” a frantic voice said, “It wasn’t supposed to be her.”
“Who is this?” I asked, “Who are you talking about? Veronica?”
The voice replied, “I was a… friend of Veronica’s. I was there when it happened.”
I was confused. The police reports didn’t say anything about a witness.
“Is there any way we could meet and talk about this? I asked.
The voice replied, “Sure, meet me at Martha’s Café in 20 minutes, I’ll be wearing a red sweatshirt.”
I hurriedly ended the call and threw on jeans and a sweatshirt. Once I arrived at the Café, I walked in and searched for a red sweatshirt. Once I spotted my target, I walked to the table and rapidly started to fire questions at this person.
“Who are you? How did you know Veronica? Why were you the only one with her when she died? Answer my questions now!”
The person looked at me and in a calm voice answered my questions in the same order that I asked.
“My name is Nick, I knew Veronica from therapy, and I was the one going to kill myself and she was there to stop me.”
I sat back in my seat and pondered over the information I just learned.
“What do you mean she was the one there to stop you? Over the phone you said it was a mistake. What was?” I was eager to get the answers I wanted.
“She knew I was going to do it. At first she supported me, but when I actually got serious about it she started acting differently. She started trying to talk me out of it. I didn’t want to listen to her, I already made up my mind. The day it happened, I told her I was going to do it on top of the Trademark Center building. She followed me the whole way and kept trying to talk me out of it. We started arguing after that. I tried to tell her to respect my wishes just this one time… but she never did take orders well, huh? When she started getting closer to the edge of the building, I realized she was never trying to stop me… she was trying to stop herself. It all clicked in my head that she always saw the actions of others as a reflection of her actions. She never truly thought my death would end me, but it would end her. She started rambling about how she couldn’t stop thinking about it, how she wanted to do it. Before I could stop her she just… jumped.”
In that moment, I think I stopped breathing. Veronica wasn’t who I thought she was. The Veronica I knew would never do that to herself; she loved life. She lived everyday like it was her last and in the end… I guess she was the only one to know which day was going to be her last. I got up and said a quick thank you to Nick. I heard all I needed to hear. I went home and just cried. I cried over how stupid I was to think I was inlove with this stranger. I thought I knew who she was, but again I failed at that. The Veronica I knew will forever be in my mind, but the Veronica I know has made a lasting mark on my life. From this moment, I vow to always remember where I came from. I vow to always remember Veronica.

So, yes. The title is true. Way back when Wattpad was popular amongst us fanfiction enthusiasts, I attempted to write a book. For those of you who don’t know what Wattpad is, it is an app/website of writers from all over the world who make stories on just about anything. Some of the genres listed on the app are: Adventure, Fanfiction, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Horror, Humor, Mystery, Non-fiction, Poetry (a new genre to the app), Romance (of course), Science Fiction, Short story, Teen fiction, and Thriller. It’s a pretty diverse range of stories you can read. Personally, when I was younger, I loved reading fanfictions. Yes, I used to read stories about one direction and mindless behavior (don’t judge because I know you or a family member has too!).

Though I would love to reminisce on all the stories I read, I won’t…or will I? Yes, yes I will actually. This will lead up to what possessed me to try to write a book.

My taste in stories was quite broad on Wattpad. I’ve read almost from every category, though I didn’t read to much out of the horror/thriller genres. I mainly kept my interests in romance, teen fiction, and supernatural. I read some stories that would blow a lot of mainstream novels out the water. There is something different about these stories, something that mainstream novels don’t have. They’re raw and unfiltered; they hold nothing back, and they explore worlds never thought of. One of my favorite books, surprisingly, falls under historical fiction. It followed the story of a man and woman falling in love during a time where woman were to be married off rather the modern day exploration of love by free will. This story was a series (thank God!) and I hope it is adapted into a physical book one day. By any chance the author of this book, Robert Their, sees this post (which he probably won’t) just know that your books are amazing and deserve more recognition! If you are interested in reading, the entire series is still on Wattpad and they’re free!

After reading all of these books, I drifted onto the dark side of Wattpad, this being the land of mafia books. I’m not going to be ashamed of reading them because those were some of the greatest stories I ever read, but it led me down a dark path. I’m totally being dramatic, but I did have a sort of infatuation for the Italian mafia for a while. The glorified romance, nail-biting drama, and heartbreaking deaths had my head in phone for weeks. I caught multiple neck cramps, but it was worth it. I fell absolutely in love with these stories. My all time favorite, Luciano, brought me into the world of Faith, Liam, and Rico. I won’t give to much away, for I want you to go an explore this world for yourself, but just know these three characters were my entire life at one point. Before I dive more into that, I’ll talk about why I thought I could write a mafia book of my own.

My love for these stories out ruled the rational part of my brain that knew I couldn’t write an entire book. My tween heart ached for this story, but I had absolutely nothing to write. I couldn’t copy the other books, so I had to come up with a concept cool enough to read. Truth be told, if your story doesn’t have over one million views…it was less likely to be read. Now, I didn’t care TO much about the views, but I did want people to read my story. This plagued my mine for so long. I had the perfect title, The Don. I figured I would write a love story between the don of a infamous mafia family and a lonely girl seeking for revenge of the murder of her parents by a rival family. But, if you haven’t guessed already…that idea had already been done and executed. I was so frustrated that I gave up on the story and threw away my dream of becoming a writer. Little did I know that one day I would be at an arts school for writing!

I thought this would be a cool little post about me and a part of my life that I never really shared with the world. Wattpad was my safe haven for the longest time, and even now when I need a little escape I will turn to the app. I hope you enjoyed reading, and if you have ANY story suggestions on the app, please let me know!

Today is my birthday!!!!! Ahh yes, the day I’m reminded of me getting older. Though some people don’t dwell on their birthday, and see it as any other day—I am not one of those people. I love my birthday, and it isn’t anything selfish hearted. My birthday is the only day out of the year that I ever feel truly loved. I know how it sounds, but it is the only day where I’m reminded that I am loved. I want to explain myself here, so sit back and enjoy this very long explanation. Warning!! I tend to tell a thousand stories while trying to tell just one.

So, I’ll start by explaining my love language. I know you’re wondering what that has to do with my birthday, but it will make sense in the end…I promise. My number one form of love language is reassurance; I need reassurance.

I often overthink and make scenarios in my head when things happen. Someone could bump into me by accident, and I will think about it all day and ask a million things about it; Did they not like me? Do I know them? Have I met them before? Did I do something to them? Was that revenge for something I did? What did I do? Did I bump into their shoulder? As you can see, I overthink everything, even the smallest of things. I’ve been burdened with this for quite some time now. I think it may have derived from years of bullying, but it honestly could have been from anything. I lost a lot of confidence and gained a lot of insecurities during that time in my life. I didn’t feel wanted; I didn’t feel loved. It took a while to come from such a dark place, but I can happily say that my confidence is fully restored, and those insecurities are no longer present in my life. But, today isn’t a time to reminisce on sad memories, but to embrace a life celebration.

Back to my love language, I need reassurance. It is simply for peace of mind. I will run my mind to many places when a simple act of reassurance will soothe my mind. I am a complex person of sorts. I often feel I only experience true love from my family. I’m not complaining over that because I love my family with everything in me, but I desire love from outside my family. I’ll admit that I’ve never had a real relationship with anybody. Love of any intimate kind is completely foreign to me. With friendships, I’ve had many fail, and when those failed I realized that I was never truly loved by those people. The amount of people who “love” me is very limited in my life. Now, I don’t want to negate the people who do love me, and trust that I love them with all my heart. I just feel sometimes that I only have myself, and no one truly loves me. It’s sad to say, but I’ve learned that it’s best to own up to my feelings and realizing that they’re valid. I’m learning to embrace every aspect of my life.  I’ve felt this way for as long as I can remember, but I’ve always suppressed my feelings. I’ve come to realize that as I grow older, I don’t want to feel this way. This is why I value my birthday so much. I get messages from some of my closest friends and family that remind me of how much I mean to them, and it just dawns on me that even when I feel the least loved, there are people who love me dearly. These messages remind me that love surrounds me no matter where I am. One of my goals for this new chapter in my life is to learn to love myself. I no longer want to live in fear or absence of love. I want to surround myself with nothing but love; love from myself and from my loved ones. I manifest this onto my life!

This post, though it isn’t much, means a lot to me. I’m slowly learning to admit my feelings and let them out my mind rather let it sit there and burden me. I know some might not read through it all, and that’s perfectly fine, but I do ask that you read this next part.

To Morgan,

on this day 17 years ago…a star was born. A beautiful, bright star who was created to bring light to those around. This star has seen darkness, but has also seen the brightest of days. For as long as this star shines, peace and love shall remain in its life. This star will point its points in all directions and reach for those around. This star will warm the hearts of others and continue to do so for as long as it shines. When that star doesn’t shine anymore, be reminded of its warmth in those that it reached. Take this into the new journey ahead, and be reminded of it daily. You are beautiful. You are happy. You are loved. Forever and always.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes! I’m glad to be at MSA during the next chapter of my life, and I hope that for anybody who has felt this way, you find peace and happiness. Remember that you are loved and will continue to be loved, Forever and always.

• I will drop this lovely picture into the post. This was my favorite picture I took at 16! I wonder what pictures will surface at 17…hopefully no bad ones…LOL WHO AM I KIDDING??? I DON’T TAKE BAD PICTURES HAHAAAAAAAAAAAN! (totally kidding here guys…or am I?…)

Hey guys! I was planning on doing another short film review, but I came across this piece and remembered how much fun I had writing it. This was one of the first flash fictions I wrote since being at MSA, and it happens to be my favorite actually. Give it a read, leave some feedback, comment what you think! I’m pretty sure I’m going to revisit this and work on it for submissions, but for now enjoy!

Her last memory

The desolate building slowly started to cave in on me. Since the first day of my sentence, I’ve felt the room getting smaller and the walls getting closer. Today is day 129 or 139⸺I can’t really remember. I lost count around the 100th day when they took the chalk I was using away because I was “making a weapon.” Whatever day it is, I haven’t heard not one sound in the building today. Not the hard footsteps of the guards, not the loud guffaw of the vicious commoners coming to make their daily attacks on me, not even the birds, who chirp a song to me every morning. The place is void of anything living it seems. I know for a fact is isn’t Sunday, the smell of stale white bread and red wine hasn’t invaded my eager nostrils yet. No one is here. I guess I’ll try to make the most of the lack of people today. I haven’t had peace and quiet in a long time. A ghost of a smile appears on my face as I recall the last memory of me being alone. It was on the day I was taken. The flowers had just started to bloom. The roses emitted such a fragrance that with each breath I took, it was like breathing air for the first time. The grass shined brighter that day. Whether it was the dew or just the pure happiness I felt, I was at such peace. My ignorance was bliss. I had no idea what was in store for me that day but I always lived my days as if they were my last. I remember walking down to the river that day. The sheer white dress flowed around my body and danced with the blades of grass as I walked. The water was extra warm that day. It was a contrast to the slight breeze in the air. I walked knee deep in the water and just breathed. That moment was pure ecstasy but in a heartbeat⸺it was taken from me. The town went into an uproar over me being in the river. They said I was “tainting the water.” I should’ve known they were going to say something about me⸺they always do. I was the black sheep in the community. Unlike everybody else, I wasn’t native to the land. As a baby, I was left in the middle of the town to be taken care of by someone else. By law, any child under 16 must be in the care of an adult. No one wanted me so I had to be taken care of by the local animal shelter. These people were unkind to those who aren’t native. They claimed me as “impure” simply because I wasn’t one of them. I was always subject to be the blame for anything wrong here. The rain hasn’t come for days? I pleaded to the Gods to kill them by dehydration. Harvest was late? I poisoned the crops. The animals started being aggressive? I provoked them. Everything was my fault. It’s been like this for years, since I started to talk actually. I found myself slowly starting to believe their words but I always knew I was never the problem. Me being in the water set it off for them. The river was used for baptisms and I was drowning my sins in them by standing in it. They rinsed themselves in the water to purify it again while I was taken to the jail so they could control my behavior once and for all. Since that day, I haven’t seen the light of day. The people come to tell me of the misery I caused them. Some of them I’ve never talked to before, some I’ve known my whole life. Sitting here, in this cell, I recount all the times I’ve had the opportunity to leave. Why didn’t I leave? The walls are pushing against me now. I can’t take it anymore. The silence is killing me. I can’t breath. Why didn’t I leave? The river, the animals, the words, why didn’t I leave? Suddenly I feel it. The breath was being taken from me.The air around me was lighter. My life was slipping through my pores one by one. My last thought ran through my head as the lights were turned off. Why didn’t I just leave?