I almost cried, but I had no tears to shed

Instead, I lie on my mother’s arm

She sobs into my father’s loud and sudden.

I cried later, alone in the dark

No comfort for myself.

I almost apologised, though I did nothing wrong

Yet the guilt burns,

as if my body were placed upon the stove.

It knaws in my gut, as if my stomach is nothing but a bone

For a dog to chew on.

I am innocent.

However, the apologies fall from my lips,

before I can stop them

I am sorry.

I almost screamed.

Out of anger?

Out of fear?

Sadness or regret?

Perhaps, to hear my own voice again.

To remember what I sound like.

At night, I almost sleep,

I do not like to dream.

I never dream of peace or simple things.

Like branches swaying in the wind,

Or flying with no wings.

Instead, I get darkness; no images grace my mind.

Just a cold chill that waves behind my eyes.

I almost get lost,

When I wake. I have to remember.

The feeling of a pencil in my fingertips,

The slight red bump it leaves behind.

The scent of my favourite flower.

The daisy is simple, sweet, and perfect for spring.

For each moment, I am almost…

quiet,

found,

forgiven,

proud,

me.

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CARMEN

“I don’t understand. Why the hell would he go back there?” I ask Miles as we speed back towards the manor. “He’s been terrified of that place since Mom died.”

“Then why would you take him there?” Miles says, hitting a puddle of water, spraying up against the windshield.

“Right, because I was supposed to know there was a—” my thoughts flash back to the bent neck and grey eyes. “Whatever the hell that was.”

“Well, now you do,” he says, his knuckles white from his grip on the steering wheel. He sighs deeply. “Look, Carmen, sometimes, it’s easier to tell ghost stories than to face your own.”

A silence lapses over us. I’ve read his work, of course, no matter how angry I’ve been. It’s the only way I’ve been able to reach him, to be close to him without being furious. His work is beautiful, deep, and heartbreaking, as he explores grief, a pain that he ran from when it came to us. However, there was one thing in common we still had.

“What the hell is in that house, Miles?” I ask him point-blank.

“That house it’s not like anything Mom ever taught us. It’s like a predator; it watches, it waits, it tricks, and then it devours. Every family that has lived in it was destroyed one way or another.”

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“It started with the Blacks and their daughter Mekenna; she was murdered. She was like eighteen, I think. Then the parents died a few months later. There was another family after; they had a little boy who died from disease; he was six. Then it was like clockwork, people in and out talking about ghosts and children and death. It was empty for thirty years before Dad bought it.”

“I’ve tried looking into the house records; I couldn’t find anything,” I say, shaking my head. “I even tried asking Dad; he said—”

“Dad was ill.” Miles says, “He kept going to that house to see her. But that’s not her. It’s not even an echo of her.” He looks at me and brings the car to a stop in front of the manor where my car sits. “Mom didn’t kill herself in that house, Carmen. It killed her. It got a taste of our family, and now, like all the other families before us, it wants to finish its meal.”

“So what do we do?” I say, looking up at the manor.

“We get him out and then stay together until we find a way to destroy this damn house,” he says.

“Jas! ” I shout into the house, which looks just as empty and broken as before. “Where would he be? ”

“I don’t know, maybe the cellar.” He suggests moving towards the kitchen.

“Wait,” I call to him, making him turn back towards me. “The astronomy tower. Isn’t that where they found…” His eyes widen.

“Here you go up, and I’ll check the cellar just in case. You were always the fastest up the spiral staircase anyway.” I say, heading towards the cellar, which is empty, just as dusty and dark as before. “Jas?” I ask again. My eyes fall on the rusted furnace in the corner.

Houses from this time period use natural gas. Which is toxic, but at low levels won’t kill you. It’s also flammable.

MILES

The spiral staircase was the only staircase in the house that gave access to all three floors of the house. As children, we all used to race to see who could make it to the top the fastest. Jasper was always scared he’d fall off, but the first time he made it all the way up, he found the last Raven. Carmen whined for weeks about how unfair it was that we didn’t see it first. I’ve never gone up this staircase so slowly, my feet hitting the rusted metal.

The top of the tower is so much colder than the rest of the house; the wind is blowing hard. “Jasper?” I shout over the wind, making it into the tower. And I see him lying on the ground. My heart drops as I rush to his side, pressing my fingers to his neck.

Thump, Thump, Thump

“Miles!” Carmen shouts from the stairs.

“He’s here! I got him.” I shout back to her as she makes her way into the room. Seeing him passed out on my lap, she drops down beside us.

“Is he?” She asks.

“He’s alive,” I say, nodding, and she sobs into her hand. Jasper groans, making us both jump as his eyes open, blinking slowly.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmen says, moving closer.

“What the we’re you thinking, buddy? ” Miles says, tears falling down his own cheeks.

“I had-,” Jasper says, “I had to know if it was really her,” tears falling down his cheeks

“Oh my sweet babies, how you’ve grown.” My mother’s voice sends chills down my spine.

CARMEN

“Oh, how I missed you all.” Mother says to us as she steps towards us, falling to her knees to be on our level. My heart aches, and I find myself torn between moving closer and running away. “My little girl,” she raises her hand to my cheek, and I don’t move. She looks so normal now.

“Mom,” I whisper.

“Carmen,” Miles’ voice reaches me, making me look to him as her cold hand graces my face. “It’s not her.”

“I miss her.” I stare back at her, letting my face settle into her hand.

“We all do,” Jasper says from Miles’ lap.

I look at my brother Miles, who glances back at me and then at our mother. “You look like her,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I know,” I nod. The wind picks up, making us all huddle closer as the chill hits us. “We need to go.”

Miles nods, looking down at Jasper. “Can you walk? ”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says as we all stand together, Miles supporting Jasper.

“No, no, you all can’t leave now,” Mother says. “You’ve just come home. We can have a tea party and play games, and Jasper, I know a lovely little boy who you can play with, Charles.”

“This isn’t our home,” Miles says, closing his eyes as he walks past her.

“You don’t understand. This place is safe. It will take care of us.” She pleads, turning to me. “You know, Carmen,” she grasps my hands in hers; her hands are cold, but still hers somehow.

“I know, Mama,” I say with a smile. “A house is made of love, memories, and the protection of those who come before it.”

“Carmen…” Miles says, turning to me with a new panic in his eyes.

“But this place, it’s not a home, and it’s not ours.” I say, pushing past her. For a moment, I feel a tug on my heart to turn back and let her hold me for just a second. They feel it too. Instead, we run. The spiral staircase shakes as we all rush down it, the smell of the gas reaching my nostrils.

“I can’t be alone again,” her voice breathes into the house. Jasper and Miles reach the front door. I slowly look back; I see my mother at the top of the stairs of the foyer. Something like tears or ink or blood flowed down her sickeningly grey cheeks.

Then other people or spirits begin to drift into the room slowly. A woman in a flapper dress and a feathered headband, Mekenna Black, a little boy holding a stuffed bear with button eyes and a ribbon, and an older man and woman holding hands.

How can a house, a collection of glass and bricks and wood and stone, hold so much power? So much pain? Trap so many?

“What are you doing?” She asks me.

“Not everything can be fixed, Mama,” I say, lighting my father’s lighter, a small flame lighting the room as I step out of the house towards my brothers. The flame catches, and the house begins to screech as if it’s in pain.

“Holy shit,” Jasper says, his eyes wide. “What about the flip?

I smile at my little brother. “I think I’m done fixing houses. I think maybe it’s time I build one.”

“I have some free time.” Miles laughs a little, opening the door for Jasper. “My readings are over for this book.”

“I could use a break from textbooks,” Jasper says from the backseat.

“That is, if you don’t mind working with family,” Miles says, turning the car on.

“Why not?” I say, looking at the side mirror as the rain begins to fall again on the flames. “What could go wrong?”

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JASPER

The ride to the motel is nearly silent besides the rain clawing at the window. Carmen is fuming, her hands clenched in her lap.

It’s just a house.

He pulls into a motel just inside the city. It’s small and obviously cheap. Probably the only thing he could get on such short notice. Miles gets out first, running through the rain to get the door open. Carmen follows, slamming the door behind her. He left the keys in the ignition. The car is still running.

I open my door, stepping out, letting the water cool my skin.

“You knew,” Carmen shouts. “You left knowing what was in that house! ”

“There were a lot of reasons I left Carmen,” Miles says, shaking his head at her. His hands shake as he holds a towel to his face

“Don’t you think we had a right to know? ” ripping the towel from his grasp.

“It wasn’t exactly the easiest topic to bring up, Carmen,” he yells back at her.

“She was our mother!” She screams, voice raw, tears filling her eyes, cheeks red from the cold or the anger. I can’t tell.

Our mom.

“A house holds memories of the ones that lived in it.” My mother’s words flow out of my mouth like a sob.

MILES

“She was our mother!” Her voice cracks, making my heart squeeze, and for a moment, I see her not as the grown, capable woman she has become but as my little sister, whom I had to carry home after she scraped her knee when we were children. She was six then, sniffling in my arms as she held my shirt tightly, begging me to make the pain go away. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to calm myself before I respond.

“Carmen, whatever that thing is,” I say slowly, meeting her eyes as tears fall down her cheeks. “It’s not our mother.”

“You don’t know that,” Carmen says, shaking her head.

“I’m the only one who knows that,” I say. “And whatever that house did to her, it will do to us too,” I say, looking back towards the window, the storm finally beginning to back off now.

“So, everything Dad said?” Carmen asks, and I can hear her voice begin to lift again.

“Dad was unwell,” I say.

“You weren’t here,” Carmen yells at me, her voice still shaking. “You weren’t here for the chemo or the late nights or the ramblings. You left Jasper and me to deal with him. You abandoned our family.”

“I was hoping you’d both follow,” I said, looking down at her. “There is nothing left for us here, Carmen.” She shakes her head, face twisted in anger.

“Our father was here. Jasper is here,” she says, turning to face our younger brother. Dread falls over us both as we see the door wide open behind her.

“Where is he?” she whispers, eyes wide.

“He went back…” I say, and she looks up at me, a new terror reaching her eyes.

JASPER

I found the last Raven a week before she died. It was carved out of stone and hidden behind the roof; the only way to see it was through the window of the observatory tower, which you could only find by following the spiral staircase all the way to the top. The three of us would have competitions to see who could get the furthest without getting scared and coming down. I made it first.

It’s just a house.

My chest doesn’t squeeze this time as I walk up the stairs. The door opens more easily, and the screeching is not loud. Entering the foyer feels brighter despite the clouds still moving above us. The floor looks cleaner; the vines have shrunk away like rats, and there’s no water on the ground from the broken skylight. The static fills my ears like a familiar music.

At the top of the stairs stands not the graying, broken woman we saw earlier, but instead my mother. Her skin is flushed and alive, her bright eyes are looking down on me, and the grin is slightly crooked in the way I remember from when she would look at us when we were young. “Oh. My sweet boy, you’re home! ” She rushes down the stairs to stand in front of me, her hand brushing my cheek.

“Ma?” I whisper.

“Oh, my love,” she says, whipping the tears I hadn’t realized were falling.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “How? What is this?”

“Oh my dear, this is our forever home…” she responds. Then everything goes black.

MILES

The last time I came to Ravencrest, it was the week before my high school graduation. My father invited me on a drive. There was something he wanted to share with me. The ride was long and quiet. I didn’t recognize it at first.

“Your mother and I were together twenty years, you know?” He said, at the time, it gave me whiplash. To say he avoided the topic of my mother would be an understatement. “She’s always saying that I was like the daytime. I was bright, and steady, and safe, and focused,” he said it with a fondness that still makes my heart lurch. “And she was like the night; she’d wander and dream. A free spirit that dreamed and loved and drifted from moment to moment. She’s my star, Miles.”

The gates were opened. He told me he came here every morning after he took us to school. Some nights, while we slept, he’d come just for the glimpse of her. The house was as dark and gloomy as it is now. He hadn’t been fixing it or cleaning it. He’d been living in it. With a ghost? A memory? An echo? Whatever it was, it greeted us with my mother’s voice, her face, and her words. She placed a hand on my father’s face, and he melted into it like she was real. She hugged me, but all I felt was a hollow coldness. They spoke lightly as my father made us tea that she did not drink. We sat in the family room. I watched as he told her about my life, my upcoming graduation, and my college applications to Boston University and Brown University, saying. She was thrilled. “Thank goodness, not too far from home,” she said, her eyes. They weren’t the soft blue I had grown up with; her smile was not gentle, and her warmth was not present. This wasn’t my mother.

On the ride home, my father was delighted, as if a weight had been lifted off his chest so he could breathe again. He was already talking about how we could see her after I walked. Maybe bring Jasper and Carmen, or maybe wait till they’re older. “I don’t want to scare them. Your mother would be devastated.” He said.

The next morning, I received my acceptance letter from the University of Chicago, and I accepted it. I packed my belongings quickly when Dad wasn’t home. My graduation ceremony came slowly; as I walked across the stage, my eyes landed on Carmen and Jasper, cheering and smiling.

The night we left that house, I held them in the backseat as my father sped away, calling the police and yelling for their help.

“Where’s Mommy?” Jasper asked me, tears flowing down his cheeks, as Carmen sobbed louder into my shoulder.

“I don’t, little buddy,” I say, pulling him closer, “but we’ll be ok so long as we’re together.”

“Together,” Carmen repeats, holding me tighter.

I look at my father, a smile on his face, but a distance in his eyes that I never noticed until now. It’s like he’s dreaming, a haze over them like a wall separating him from the world. That night, I walked down the stairs as I heard him begin to leave. “Are you ready? I’m sure your mother will be ecstatic to see you again,” he says.

“No, Dad,” I place my acceptance letter on the table. He looks at it confused.

“I thought we agreed you wanted to stay close to home,” he shakes his head. “Chicago? What about Carmen and Jasper?” I feel my heart sink a little at the thought of my siblings.

“No, Dad, you and the ghost agreed,” I say.

“Hey, don’t say that about her.” I feel my eyes begin to burn.

“Dad, that’s not Mom,” I say.

“Miles,” he says, standing, “I understand it’s confusing and impossible, but—”

“Dad, if you care about us at all. If you trust me as your son,” my voice cracks, “you will never take Carmen and Jasper there. They deserve to remember Mom as she was. He stares back at me, tears in his eyes, shaking his head at me. “As the wonderful, warm wanderer she was. Not that, never that.”

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JASPER

“We’ll be quick,” she says. “Just check for damages,” she says. I grumble to myself as I make my way across the foyer. “Ok, Jasper, there was a library. Where was the library?” I ask myself. Across the foyer lies another door. Another sitting room. Probably the first of, like, six, if I remember right. I never understood why people needed so many rooms. Then again, I live in a two-hundred-square-foot dorm, so it’s all about perspective, I guess.

God, this place is loud.

The air is thick with dust, making me sniffle. My ears are stuffed; like they’re adjusting, it feels like static. I remember when I was a kid, I used to sleep with my pillow curled around my ears. My mother hated it; she would always say it wasn’t safe, that I could cover my face by accident. Every night, she’d come check in on me and settle my pillows down, pulling the cotton sheets from my face.

“Honey, the house is trying to tell you something. A brush of a branch on the roof, a creak in the wood floors, a breeze that shifts the curtains. It’s all a story it wants to share with you,” she’d say.

I never understood what she meant. I could never feel the houses the way she and Carmen can. It’s like they speak a language I don’t. Like I’m reading a code with no cipher.

The library is wall-to-ceiling with leather-bound pages, each novel the size of my chemistry textbook and covered in a thick layer of dust. There are a couple of leather couches and small tables with more book stacks. A mantel with a brick fireplace and a line of antiques, a clock of tin that’s painted gold, a black typewriter, and an oak-finish radio. A flash of lightning strikes outside, causing the library to light up with shadows. Without thinking, I set back a light squeeze under my foot, causing me to look down. A light brown teddy bear with button eyes and a red ribbon stares back up at me.

“I don’t remember you, little guy.” I kneel to pick it up.

All of a sudden, the static feels louder. I hear footsteps; a door closes somewhere, and I feel something cold. I close my eyes. “It’s just a house. It’s just a house. It’s just a house.” I whisper as the panic begins to rise. A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I let out a shout.

“AH!”

“Hey, little bro,” a familiar voice reaches my ears.

“Miles,” I sigh. “Shit, man, you scared the hell out of me.”

“I can tell,” he says, helping me to my feet. “I’m glad you called when you did. I was just about to head back to New York.” He’s in a white button-down and dress pants; his hair is still wet from the rain.

“Jas!” Carmen shouts from the other side of the house.

“But she’s not going to be,” I say. Quickly, I make my way back to the foyer just as Carmen stumbles out of the family room, my flashlight pointing up at her, making her squint.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, pointing the light at the ground

“What happened?” she asks, stepping closer, her eyes roaming over me.

“A family reunion,” Miles says from behind me. Carmen’s face shifted from concern to fury, making me shrink back. Praying that maybe it won’t be as bad as I think it will be.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she says through gritted teeth.

Yeah, no, this is going to be bad.

MILES

“It’s nice to see you too, sis,” I say, standing; it’s the first time I’ve seen Carmen since her high school graduation three years ago. It wasn’t a surprise when Jasper told me she had gone to trade schools, trying to learn as much about the hands-on housing practice our parents began. I looked at some of the houses she’s worked on. They’re good. Simple family homes. Nothing like this. She still looks like a kid to me, her nose scrunched up in anger as she silently fumes, her hair pulled back, cobwebs hanging on her skin.

Jasper pulls away from Carmen to hug me properly. He’s as tall as me now, and even with that quick squeeze, I can tell he’s a lot stronger. I missed them. I pull back, finding his eyes. There’s an anxiety there I recognize. It’s the same that’s been buzzing in my chest since I got the call that Dad died two days ago. “Though I would have preferred to talk funeral plans over dinner.”

“Didn’t answer my question,” she says, folding her arms across her chest.

“I’d ask you the same question, but unfortunately, I know you too well,” I say, turning away from my siblings to examine the house. Broken skylight, probably some faulty wiring, and the nature would have to be cleared out, assuming there’s no water damage or rotting. “A place like this, all fixed up, would make you what? 1.2 million on the low end? And that’s not even counting the antiques that you could restore and sell.” I ask, brushing my fingers across the dust and dirt collecting on the wooden railing.

“Why would it matter to you? Aren’t you some sort of famous writer set for life?” Carmen says her voice is tight with anger. She should be angry; I know that. Doesn’t make it easier. Just get them out, Miles. I remind myself. Explain later; get them out now.

“Our father just died, and you’re already making a move on his assets.” I turn towards Carmen. Jasper flinches away from us, tugging on the sleeves of his college hoodie, the red and gold of Boston University, a nervous habit he’s had since we were kids .

If he hadn’t called…

“Dad left it to us. Jasper and I came to assess it.” She steps toward me, fists clenched at her sides. “That’s all.”

“Come on, Carmen, I know you better than that,” I say.

“Why are you here?” She asks it more slowly through clenched teeth.

She already hates you.

“The exact reason you think I am.” I tell her, “You can’t fix this, and you shouldn’t be here. Go home.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. We aren’t children anymore.” She says another crash fills the room. Not thunder but glass. We look over to Jasper, the vase shattered on the floor, his eyes wide and no longer on us, his chest heaving.

“Jas?” Carmen asks him, watching as his body begins to tremble. I follow his eyes. A shadow, no, a woman on the top of the stairs. Her head bent oddly, like a jagged angle against her shoulder, as if it had been snapped. A flash of lightning gives me a glimpse of her grey skin, white hair, and inky eyes, a shiver traveling down my spine as I see the dress that falls on her form. The same dress she was wearing that night, with a thin veil around her.

Get them out.

Then I’m moving, wrapping my arm around Carmen’s waist and grasping Jasper’s arm, dragging them towards the now open door. We make it to the stairs before I trip, sending us all down the few steps in a tumble. I feel the cold drops of water soaking my clothes and skin, and mud beginning to stick to my fingers. I glance up, catching a glimpse of her before the door slams shut again.

“What the hell was that?” Carmen asks softly.

“The reason Dad never flipped the house,” I say, wrapping my arms around both of them. Holding us together. For a brief moment, as lightning strikes again, I see her shadow looking down on us.

“Mom?” Jas whispers, tears falling down his face.

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The Ravencrest Manor stood alone, surrounded by iron gates, with thick woods forming walls and vineyards spread like veins. Only one path leads to this home. It was built in the 1900s by the Black family as a fortress to contain their daughter, Mekenna.

A home. That’s what we were told it was. A house made of brick and plaster, memories and pain, wood and paint. It was not home to us. Nor was it a home to the families that came before. They were all birds trapped in a cage that was designed to protect them.

It is just a house.

But how could a house haunt you from where it stands? No matter where you go, it follows like a shadow covering your skin.

What would you do to face it?

CARMEN

A house is never just a house. It breathes with the lives that lived in it before.

My mother’s words whisper like an echo in my mind as Jasper and I follow the familiar driveway. As we return to our childhood home, the iron gates getting closer; they were left open for us. The foliage has grown past the gates, wrapping the rusted iron in vines, and the grass is growing between the gravel. The first time we were traveling this path, we were young, bright, and excited. Our family on a new adventure. To fix this home so we can create our own.

That’s what our parents did every few months. Father buys a house; he and Mom fix it, with the promise that one day we’ll have our own house, not to fix but to live in. This was the house they left unfinished.

I hate this house. A loud clap of thunder jolts through us. Jasper jumps a little beside me, sitting up in his seat.

“Have a nice nap?” I ask him.

“Forgot how far this place was,” Jasper says through a yawn. Leaning forward towards the windshield. “A storm’s coming.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” I say, the old fountain with the large stone raven that perches on the top looking out towards us.

“I remember that,” Jasper says, opening the car door and letting in the cold, wet air, making me shiver. Jasper stands in front of the raven; it was the namesake of the manor. Ravens were hidden across the property, a symbol of the original family that lived here. The first of many.

The Blacks built the home, then came the Irivines, and then the Sterlings, who only lasted a few months, and then it was a mix of ghost stories and thrill seekers until we arrived. The first thing our mother had us do was go around and find them all, a sort of scavenger hunt for us as they worked on the house.

It took us three weeks to find all the hidden Ravens.

Another boom of thunder, this one louder and closer, makes Jasper look at me. I never asked him how much he remembered; he was four when it happened.

“Don’t worry, Jas. I know what I’m doing. Has your big sister ever led you wrong?” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder with a soft smile.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he says, looking up at the towering house before us.

“We’re just going to look around to see how the damage is,” I say. The stone stairs are cracked as if they would crumble with a single step. The red brick is now covered in a charcoal-like black dust; the vines have twisted like snakes up the stairs around the handrails.

“And your plan for Miles finding out you’re flipping it is?” Jasper asks, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Miles is probably halfway around the world right now on one of his book tours. We’re probably the last thing on his mind, Jas.” The oak door still towers over me. Images of my mother fill me as my hand hovers over the brass knob.

“Brass and oak are a warm combination, Carmen. A perfect finish for a forever home.” My mother’s voice enters my mind suddenly, a memory of holding the door handle as she screws it into the door. My father used to say I was her little shadow, never straying too far from her.

“We’ll be quick,” I say to myself, pushing the door, which opens with a loud screech. “Note to self: put new hinges on doors.” The inside is covered with dust, making the air thick. The large stairwell in the center with the maroon rug, I remember, has now turned a dull grey. Vines flow through the skylight, and old sticks and leaves decorate the floor. “Ok, so we’ll have to replace the skylight, but the wood doesn’t look too bad; one of the positives of oak,” I say, running my fingers across it.

“Can you give me that flashlight?” I ask, turning back to Jasper. He’s still at the bottom of the stairs, looking through the open door.

“Jas?” I ask. “You good?”

Jasper gives me a slow nod, holding my backpack to his chest as if it were a shield. “It’s just a house,” he says.

“It’s just a house.” I nod back at him, holding my hand out to him slowly. He comes up the steps, placing his hand in mine. He stops suddenly just before the doorway, looking down at the wooden flooring that’s covered in leaves and dirt.

“It’s just a stupid house,” he says again, squeezing my hand tightly, finally stepping through the threshold.

“Are you okay now?” I ask him again; he shrugs, pushing my backpack into my hands.

“It’s somehow bigger and smaller than I remember it being.” He says, stepping toward the staircase and looking up at the skylight. The clouds overhead are shifting as the storm gets closer.

“Guess we’ll get to see if there are any leaks,” I say, offering him a flashlight before clicking mine on. Scanning the walls, I find an old light switch, flipping it and causing the lamps against the walls to flicker. “Well, I expected that.”

“So this was the foyer, right? ” Jasper asks, glancing at the wooden dresser against the wall that holds a vase of dead flowers. A framed photo of the Black family by the door. It was screwed in just above it.

“A house’s history is like a story yet to be written,” my mother would say. The photo is an elegant black and white. A man and woman standing side by side, dressed in a suit and a dress. In the center is Mekenna Black with short midnight hair, blue eyes, and a smirk that screamed mischievous trouble-maker. Miles used to say we looked like we could be related, especially after Mom cut my hair that summer when it got so hot Jasper nearly passed out while searching for the raven carvings. A shiver runs down my spine that I shake off, turning back to Jasper.

“Yup, which means the family room should be here,” I say, opening the door to a room with a couch and chairs with a circular table in the center. A deck of cards was still spread across the table from our family game nights. “The dining room, then the kitchen and wine cellar, are on this side of the house.”

“I’m not going to the cellar, Carmen.” He glares at me. I can’t help but remember Miles and me scaring him down there during a game of hide-and-seek; he swore off the room after that. “Alright, alright. You check out the sitting room and library for damage. Just don’t go upstairs without me.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, wandering away as a flash of lightning lights up the room, casting shadows of the antiques that decorate the space. A grandfather clock sits in the corner, still ticking through the times off; Dad loved that clock.

Making my way through the dining room, a long table and chairs sit frozen in time. The table placements are still in their proper space. The windows are covered in ivy-like vines. “The dining room is the heart of our home, Carmen. That’s where we’ll spend the most time eating dinner together and telling stories.”

The kitchen has shelves of delicate china with a blue floral pattern covered in a layer of dust. The wooden oven still had a cast-iron pan on the burner, with utensils sitting on the counter next to it as if breakfast were about to be prepared.

The wine cellar is in the corner, a large wooden door carved into the ground with wooden steps that screech with my every move. The walls are cobblestone with wooden shelves of green wine bottles filed away. Cobwebs stick to my skin as I search the walls for the dark hints of mold or rot. I pull out the torchlight my father gave me for my eighteenth birthday. The little additional burst of light catches the cobwebs, turning them to light embers.

“A house is like a body. It breathes; it lives. It has bones, eyes, skin, and a heart. Like a body, it can grow ill. If we are to help the house, we need to know what ails it.”

A loud crash from upstairs makes me jump. “Jas!” I shout, racing back up the stairs to the foyer.

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But how? Well, that’s what I’m sharing with you all today! I have a bookstagram that helps me to keep track of my reads and engage with other readers. This is a double-edged sword, as for each book it motivates me to read it, and also adds another three to my TBR. That being said, if you want to create and interact with a community that helps motivate reading, I would highly recommend giving a bookstagram a shot just for fun. Now on to the challenges:

26 Reads for 2026

This challenge is a classic in the bookish space. You simply select twenty-six books from your TBR as reads that you want to prioritize for the year. I love this challenge because it spans the entire year, so it gives you a lot of time to work with.

If you're a mood reader, however, it can become a challenge. I personally am a mood reader that loves making list so I often make monthly TBR’s and hopefuls lists and rarely follow them.

I recommend that if you're a mood reader who struggles with following lists, fill your selection with a mix of books from your TBR, new releases that you're excited about, and series you want to start or finish.

So far, I’ve read one of selection and have started reading three others. Which, for me, is a lot more progress than last year’s 25 for 2025.

My 2026 Bingo Card

This one is probably my favorite challenge that I’ve started this year. The bookish bingo card is one of the most verstile challenege for any reader. This year, I created my own, keeping it simple and selecting spaces that I knew would help me work on my TBR.

If you don’t want to create your own, there are so many that you can find on apps like Instagram or Pinterest. I do recommend finding one that works with your reading style. Challenges are supposed to be fun and not impossible. You can also choose how you want to play, fill out the whole card for a blackout win, or a traditional 5 across (or in my case, 6 across)

So far, I’ve read seven books in 202,6 and each has given me a space to fill, no bingo yet, but I’m close!

The 75 Booked Challenge

This challenge is by far the hardest I’ve encountered this year. Inspired by a workout challenge under the same name, this challenge is meant to have you read for seventy-five days straight. A great way to build a reading habit, a very hard challenge if you don’t already have one.

The nice thing about this challenge is that you select your rules. The goal is to make it to 75 days, and if you miss a day, the clock resets. Those are the must-haves; everything else is up to you.

A lot of readers add things like a book-buying band, all reads have to be off your physical TBR, and you have to drink a glass of water while you read.

For me, it was important to me that my challenge remain flexible and keep me accountable for not just my reading but my reviews and other hobbies. I am two weeks in with no resets, and it’s been hard but also very rewarding.

This is a brand new challenge I came across and decided to add to my list for one reason only. I am a mood reader who also loves making TBR lists; this is an oxymoron. Choosing a next read is incredibly hard for me, even when I have a TBR filled with books that excite me.

This challenge, like the bingo card, can be customized to the reader’s needs and goals. The original I saw had each number assigned a letter, and the book had to start with the letter. You could also just label the books in your library with a number physically, rather than have a full card, or count the books on your shelf, randomly stopping at the rolled number.

For me, I filled the card with books that have been on my TBR for longer than six months and that aren’t likely to appear in the other challenges. This way, all of my challenges are hitting different sections of my home library.

I haven’t used this card yet, but I’m sure the day will come, and I will be glad to have it.

There you have it, four reading challenges to help you tackle your ever-growing reading lists in 2026. I hope that there’s something here that speaks to you as a reader, and if you end up creating your own challenges or bingo cards or anything, please share them with me. I love inspiring others when I can.

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In recent years, I have found myself with a new favorite creature alongside my normal love of dragons. Dinosaurs! Of course, I saw the original Jurassic Park films when I was young and watched the recent films; however, my obsession solidified in the fall of 2020 when Netflix released Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous. I remember watching each episode with my little brother and with five seasons plus another four in their sequel show of Jurassic World: Chaos Theory.

For the last five years, my adoration of the creatures has only grown, and finally, I managed to get my hands on the books. In my exploration of audiobooks, I found both available, and my excitement was through the roof. Anytime I had a spare moment, my head phones where in and notes were out.

Now, Jurassic Park is the classic novel I’ve read since high school, and it did not disappoint. What I love about this read is seeing the glimpses of what I’ve seen in film come to life on the page. Having seen so much Jurassic Park & World content, I’m suprised at the amount of tension I still felt with every minute of the novel. The beginning of the first book, leading off with the animals being somewhat of an unknown, made their appearance all the more terrifying. Even though I knew they were dinosaurs, I was still glued to the page with the wonder of the creatures.

The narrative window that Michael Crichton uses, where he shifts between the characters, makes the tension all the more unbearable. For example, when we cut away from Tim & Lexi after the first T. Rex attack, I sit up gasping, fully thinking they had died. I actually had to look it up because I wasn’t sure if the movie had changed from the book, and whether they were actually gone. Of course, a chapter or two later, it was revealed that we’re alive, but the fact that I questioned myself so deeply speaks to Crichton’s talent.

I don’t read a lot of thriller content, and the description of each death was visceral in a way that was disgusting but also oddly satisfying to read. The tone and tension were definitely darker as Alan and the kids found themselves in more danger than we got to see in the film. The swimming T. Rex scene that originated in the first book, which we got to see in Jurassic World Rebirth, imagine that between a scene with the horrifying pterodactyls and then the raptor in the kitchen. Those kids do not get a break at all, and you feel that terror and exhaustion.

I began The Lost World right after finishing Jurassic Park, and I think that colored some of my opinions. I found the beginning of this book to be a lot slower. It was clear that this book had a larger focus on the observation and science of the dinosaurs rather than the thriller aspect. Though there were a few elements of that with the baby T. Rex and the van. As well as the raptor attacking their lookout tower. However, the scariest moment for me was Sarah’s moment in the sea, trying to make it to land. Which didn’t have any dinosaurs…

The other part that made this read on the more challenging side was Dr.Levine, a character that I absolutely hated and who should have died. While I think my dislike was by design for Crichton’s story.

While looking at other reviews, I noticed many were bothered by Ian’s return after his “death” in Jurassic Park. I personally enjoyed Ian Malcom’s return. I enjoy his personality as a contrast to the naturalist and the dinosaur expert characters. He provides the logical reasoning that the readers are feeling, and he is just an entertaining character.

Throughout this book, I was honestly missing Alan Grant, mostly because I found his character very endearing, especially with his relationship with children. I would have loved to see him interact with Kelly and Arby. I think the dynamic between two bright students as opposed to two young children could have been an interesting contrast.

Speaking of Arby and Kelly, when they were introduced, I was worriedend up being more of cannon fodder or plot devices for conflict. However, I really enjoyed their characters, and they were useful in ways that made sense. Like Arby’s moment with the Raptors and his ability with the cameras proved to be real assets. I also loved Kelly and Sarah’s dynamic, and her revelation at the end to save everyone felt incredibly earned.

My final note for Lost World is that EDDIE DESERVED BETTER!! His death made me so mad. He was so nice to the kids, and he saved a baby dinosaur. Yes, that resulted in the T. rex attack, but he was one of the few that seemed to understand the stacks and had some morals that I appreciated.

Outside of the novels, I have to plug the two shows I mentioned earlier again, Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous and Jurassic World: Chaos Theory, both of which are Netflix shows that take place during the most recent set of films. These were a surprise favorite for me for the past five years. The excitement when each season dropped is kind of embarrassing, given it’s technically a kids’ show.

They set up a unique story of six children left behind during the Jurassic World evacuation of the first film. They are kids’ shows, so the death rate and gore are significantly lower than in the films and books, but the characters are so complex and unique. You also get to see more interaction with the dinosaurs, both on Isla Nublar and on the mainland, during Chaos Theory. If you were one of those people who wanted more dinos in your dino movies, go watch these shows.

While the Jurassic Park novels were not on my planned to-be-read list for January, I have to say I was not disappointed in my choice to read them. If you love dinosaurs as much as I do and are on the fence for whatever reason to return to the books that started it all, I can tell you they are worth the read.

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Anime, in a lot of ways, is a very daunting community, but I have found the storytelling alone to be largely influential. I began my anime journey in 2015, and I had no idea where to begin. So if you’re looking to get into anime or just want to explore new shows and forms of storytelling, here are my recommendations for new watchers that aren’t the “BIG THREE”. These are bite-sized anime with lots of impact that won’t take a million years to finish.

Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood

When two young boys try to use alchemy to bring their dead mother back to life, they pay a steep cost. Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood is their journey to restore what they lost as they uncover the deep truth about the country they live in.

This is my personal number one anime. The animation is of great quality, and the characters are well-written and tragic. The relationship between brothers Edward and Alphonse is the heart of the narrative.

This is one of the few anime and shows in general that I believe you can’t skip a single episode. There is no filler to be had here. Every detail and plot point is accounted for by the end of the story. It’s such a perfectly told story; it’s an inspiration to me to be that detailed so that not a single plot thread is left unaccounted for.

With only sixty-four episodes total, it’s one of the shortest anime I’ve encountered, and I assure you, every moment is worth it.

Ferien Journey’s Beyond End

If you are a fantasy reader or D&D lover (or both) this anime is perfect for you. Ferien Journey’s Beyond End follows an elf over 1,000 years old as she wrestles with the reality that her adventuring friends are dying around her.

The anime is heartbreaking in its presentation of a dual perspective of her past experiences with the adventuring party. Including the yearning of Himmel, which Ferien was oblivious to.

In the present, as she travels with another young mage, Fern and Stark, a young warrior, these moments of the past show her growth.

It’s beautifully heart-wrenching to see her begin to realize Himmel’s feelings and her own, knowing he’s dead. Her final goal is to reach him for a final conversation in their version of heaven know as Aureole.

While this fantasy anime has deep meaning and themes. It’s also perfect for cozy viewers as it has a very episodic nature, as the present adventures travel and help others along their journey.

It also has some amazing visuals, and the magic is otherworldly to behold. Currently containing twenty-eight episodes, and with season two beginning on January 15th, it’s a perfect time to start this amazing show.

My Hero Academia

My Hero Academia is a great starting anime if you already love comic books and superhero media. My Hero Academia follows Izuku Midoriya in a world where everyone has a super hero-like power they call a “Quirk,” except him. After meeting his hero idol and getting his own power, the story follows him on his journey to become a hero at UA High School

This story, I think, is great for younger viewers as well. In a lot of ways, it reminds me of the Marvel cartoons I grew up watching. There is a large cast of characters, and the attention to detail in terms of world-building, with all the different quirks and characters, is something I’ve rarely seen in other anime.

This anime also grows darker as it goes on, as we’re introduced to villains and eventually a war. The villains are complex, and I have found that they are lots of viewers’ favorite characters.

However, this is by far the longest anime on this list, with a total of 8 seasons, which wrapped at the end of 2025. In total, one hundred and eighty-one episodes, along with four films.

If you are trying to shift into anime or wanting to explore superhero media outside of Marvel and DC, this is a lovely introduction to the genre.

Jujutsi Kasien

If you are one of those people who love to dive into the deep end of the pool and want to enter the anime scene, I would recommend Jujutsu Kaisen. It follows the story of Yuji Itadori, a normal high school student whose life gets turned upside down when he encounters sorcerers whose goal is to defeat curses. After getting caught up in the middle of a battle, Yuji becomes a host for the most powerful curse known to man, Ryomen Sukuna.

This anime is one of the biggest in terms of mainstream media, with dark themes, epic fights, and glorious animation. Jujutsu Kaisen has become a cornerstone for modern anime. While the first season began slowly for me, each new arc has become better and better, and with season 3 currently releasing new episodes, it’s a great time to catch up. Though season one and two clock out at forty-seven episodes.

It also has a prequel film to the series that I saw three times in theaters. It introduces a character that’s being introduced this season, and who was originally meant to be the main character of the series. It is one of my favorite films of all time.

Dr. Stone

The final addition to my list is Dr.Stone, which I forgot how much I loved until I watched the third season this past weekend. This anime follows 16-year-old prodigy Senku Ishigami after a mysterious green flash petrifies the entirety of the human race into stone for 3,719 years. After escaping his petrification, he is met with a stone world with no modern technology. Senku’s goal is to return modern society technology to the world using modern science.

This anime really hits in terms of the stakes and conflict. The first episode is downright terrifying as we watch the entire world population get turned to stone. Post the first episode, I find it’s also an oddly charming concept with the idea of bringing back modern science in the Stone Age.

I found the science moments both informative and a revelation in terms of how dangerous science is, and just the world at large. With a large cast of characters, each plays an excellent role, and how they separate into groups to play to people’s strengths shows how smart the writers are, considering every detail and dynamic. Over time, it really starts to lean into a found family dynamic, which I adore.

The anime is close to finishing with season 4 planned to end in April of 2026. In total, there are eighty episodes along with an hour-long special.

With that, I hope you consider watching some of these amazing stories along with me. I’m hoping to continue to expand my anime catalog this year, so I’m sure I will add more to this list soon enough. If you have any recommendations or thoughts on these animes feel free to leave some notes in the comments down below.

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To dream is a divine spell

A way to glimpse our wishful fate

However, it is a powerless gift

It leads you here. It always will.

The moon is full and bright.

Beneath your feet, an endless fire burns.

A desire to change.

To become more.

To challenge the keeper of fates.

With what fragile threads of power you can muster.

You walk.

There will be no more dreams.

There will not be another sunrise.

The fire below will consume you.

You fear the rising flames.

Yet, you stand.

You know.

This is the only way to rewrite your fate.

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In 2025, I discovered my favorite sub-genre of books and possibly any media ever. Cozy fantasy with a touch of wholesome romance. I can not state enough how this genre has a hold on my heart. I haven’t read a single cozy fantasy that has earned anything less than three stars. Here are my favorite cozy fantasy reads from last year.

#5 A Fellow Ship Of Librarians & Dragons by J. Penner

This year, I began J.Penner’s fellowship series, having read the first three; this one quickly rose to the top for me. This book follows Dotti, a character, a joyful and warm dwarf, who was introduced as a competitor in the Fellowship of bakers and magic.

There’s a lot of conflict in Doli’s story between receiving the dragon egg from her uncle and her overbearing parents. The tension is clear. Speaking of tension, there is a lovely, slow-burning romance element with the Gargoyle librarian, Sarson. I think that the balance between romance, conflict, and growth for Doli was well done.

In this book, we have more world-building in Adenashire, both in the further exploration of the town and also the magic through Samson and the dragon. I also found the dynamics of all of our former competitors post the baking competition to be very wholesome. Jez and Doli as roommates provided an unexpected and wholesome dynamic that gave us glimpses into both characters’ backstories. J. Penner has a lovely way of dropping pieces of her future books, and her work setting up Jez in this novel was perfect in giving enough without overshadowing Dolli

On top of that, it’s a warm, cozy, whimsical romance with a baby dragon. I mean, what more is there to ask for! If you’re looking for short (under 400 pages) cozy reads, that connect the Fellowship series is at the top of my recommendations list. It’s also available on Kindle Unlimited.

“And I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. I am a cheerful person, but not always. Sometimes I’m frustrated and angry. And I don’t want to pretend that I don’t care when you or anyone else puts me down, or underestimates me.”

― J. Penner, A Fellowship of Librarians & Dragons

#4 Myths and Manuscripts by Pandora Perice

Pandora Perice was a surprise author added to my 2025 lineup. With my end of 2025 reading goal of 50 books looming, I went to my Kindle in hopes of finding some cozy fantasy to escape in, and she did not disappoint.

Myths & Manuscripts is a sequel to her Legends & Librarians novel, which I also highly recommend. It follows Willow, an aspiring writer, as she struggles to decide if she wants to write after receiving a less-than-savory review. Pierce also provides a Romance element with the “story spirit,” the Demon King. A character who can leave his book due to the magical library and whose novels were never completed. When he asks Willow to write his final novel, chaos ensues as they are both sucked into his book.

As a fiction writer, this book had a profound impact on me. If you have ever dreamed about writing, this is the cozy fantasy for you! Willow is a relatable portrayal of a writer, and I found her character arc amazing to read. Also, she has a sentient quill!! Oh, and gets to go into the world of her favorite childhood series to write the final installment. All while falling in love with Thorne, the “Shadow Daddy” of the series. I mean, a writer’s dream if there ever was one.

I hope that Pierce continues this series. I could see Orion developing a romance with Jade, but also the story spirit of Linda could provide a lovely parallel romance, similar to the one we got from Nyssa in the first book. I’d be ecstatic for either or both! I would recommend reading both novels for the sake of world-building, but I think they can both stand alone in terms of concept and character arc.

“Writing a book was like sharing your biggest dream with a stranger and hoping they didn’t crush it. There was no control or defense. You just had to accept whatever people thought, even if their thoughts were like a dagger to the heart.”

—Myths & Manuscripts by Pandora Pierce

#3 Guard in the Garden by Z.S. Diamanti

Another Kindle Unlimited find that I adored. I could not have picked a better final read for the end of 2025. Guard in the Garden is a wholesome, warm, cozy, and just beautifully written. It introduces us to the fantasy world in a way that feels like you’re entering a field of flowers. Slow and curious, each discovery exciting.

Very rarely do I stumble upon a cozy fantasy written from a male perspective, and I was very pleased with how the character was written. Especially in how the romance was handled, it was always warm and gentle, and each moment felt intentional. This book also had lots of deliciously described food moments that made me feel like I was at the best grandma’s house-themed restaurant.

The characters were all very endearing and realistically written. How Felton interacts with the Marigolds (mother and daughter) is so wholesome. My favorite moments are when they are in the garden together.

It’s a cozy fantasy that also tackles the real struggles beings would have in a magical world, like war, PTSD, loss, and uncertainty. Felton’s story is one that I think everyone can take something from.

Quote: “Never believe that your best days are behind you. It’s easy to feel buried under the burden and think you’ll never be able to crawl your way out of the hole. Don’t believe it for a second. I can sit here and tell you, it’s just not true. There will be brighter days to come.”

~Guard in the Garden by Z.S. Diamanti

#2 The Spell Shop by Sarah Beth Durst

I started my year off the right way with this one. The Spellshop by Sarah Beth Durst follows the antisocial librarian Keila as she is forced to return to her island home to escape an ongoing conflict in the city. With her plant companion, Kaz, they have to build a new life. However, in a world with magic that has been mostly banned from daily use, her hometown is suffering, and she’s the only one who can help.

This story is so cozy it fills you with just a safe, warm, fuzzy feeling. The pacing and descriptions make you slow down and enjoy every moment. The romance is a lovely slow burn with one of the sweetest male characters, Larran, I’ve ever read. He had a lot of layers to him between his past with Keila, his relationship with the animals, and his willingness to help her. I mean, he also built her bookshelves like ADORABLE.

What I love the most is that the romance complements the plot well without taking it over. We got to see Keila develop as much individually as we did with Larren. All the characters are charming. Kaz might be one of my favorite side characters of all time.

When I read this in January, the only thing I wanted more of was the world-building and the magic, which lucky me Durst delivered with the next entry on my list.

“It wasn’t that she didn’t like people. It was that she liked books more. They didn’t fuss or judge or mock or reject. They invited you in, fluffed up the pillows on the couch, offered you tea and toast, and shared their hearts with no expectation that you’d do anything more than absorb what they had to give.”

― Sarah Beth Durst, The Spellshop

#1 The Enchanted Greenhouse by Sarah Beth Durst

In a sequel to The Spellshop, we meet Terlu, the original librarian who created the best side character, Kaz. Years after being turned to stone for the creation of the sentient plant, she finds herself released from her punishment on an island containing a malfunctioning greenhouse that only she can fix. The problem being she’d have to use the same magic that got her turned to stone.

I’m always worried when I go into a sequel or prequel, how it will hold up to the original. Rarely do they hold up in comparison. The Enchanted Greenhouse is an exception. This book is a perfect companion piece to The Spellshop, carrying the cozy and whimsical worldbuilding into a new story with such ease that it was like returning home.

The characters were so painfully adorable and relatable in their ways. Terlu’s inner turmoil about doing magic after such a harsh punishment was so heartwrenching and understandable. Yarrow, as a character, was such a refreshing love interest for me as a large introvert. I want more introverted but wholesome male and extroverted sunshine with a tender heart female book couples. I found it so endearing.

Sarah Beth Durst made me cry about plants dying and not just the sentient ones, but the first time we see a Greenhouse fail, and we see the panic in Yarrow, it was just so effective. I loved how each plant was characterized and unique. Lotti’s story is so tragic, especially because she doesn’t remember it.

The setting was a lovely contrast from The Spellshop. A frigid island of ice with the gem of the greenhouse brings life and warmth. I want a model of all the greenhouse rooms to keep on my bookshelf.

The romance was such a warm simmer, like a broth you’re heating up for a soup just below, creating a boil. Terlu’s inner monologue as she peels back the layers of her feelings was so satisfying, and her upfrontness with Yarrow about her feelings was so shocking and a welcome change from the norm. How Yarrow handles it is the definition of actions speak louder than words. When he asks her, “Who hurt her?” My heart!!! This man gets it. (New book bf unlocked ngl) Sarah Beth Durst is amazing at writing MMC love interests, a queen truly.

I can always tell how much I love a book by how much I want to re-read it after. Not only did I read it twice in 2025, but I plan to read it again at least once in 2026.

“If you’re hurt, you’re hurt. It doesn’t matter if anyone else thinks you don’t have a good enough reason. Pain doesn’t require approval.”

― Sarah Beth Durst, The Enchanted Greenhouse

Well, those are my favorite cozy reads from 2025. If you have any favorites that you think I should read, please put them in the comments below. My ever-growing TBR honestly can never have enough.

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Here are a few of my favorite writing exercises. They can cover all forms of the writing process. Hopefully, you all can find something useful to help build a good writing habit, which is often the hardest part.

The X-Page Exercise

This exercise is amazing for establishing setting and character perspective. You divide your paper into four parts by drawing an X. Each of these four spaces represents the direction of a space the character or subject is in.

Imagine your character is in the center of the X, so in each space, you describe what they see or hear in the direction (left, right, forward, and behind them). I love this because not only can you get a sense of the details, but also your character. What they notice tells us a lot about their character, and no character, even in the same space, would notice the same thing.

For example, two sisters in the same room. One might notice the laundry on the floor, the stacks of books in the corner, and the empty cup on the desk. The other sister may notice the picture of their family on the wall or the feeling of the pages of their notebook as they do homework.

I typically use this exercise for small-scale world-building. In one of my novels, the story begins in the main character’s bedroom. By imagining this space, I was able to think about the little details, what she’d do in the room, and what would stand out as important to the reader. This exercise can result in a lot of extra details you don’t need, but I think it’s valuable in picturing the world.

Writing Sprints

This is a great way to get out of a slump or block for me, at least. It’s also a way to get into a basic writing routine if you’re often short on time. For this exercise, the idea is to break down your writing time into pieces of work versus rest. There are a couple of ways you can do it:

A build-up method: 15 minutes writing, 5 min break, 25 minutes writing, 5 minutes break, 30 minutes writing.

This is a great warm-up route as a way to work out the little bits and let your work even in between breaks.

If you’re already warmed up or just want to work in a routine, you can plan sprints with a dedicated time. I’ll usually do 30 minutes of writing and a 5-minute break.

I’ll do this if I only have a certain amount of time to write. It keeps me mindful of my time and ensures I’m still productive. More often than not, the sprints will lead me into a rhythm, and I’ll forget to take the 5-minute break

I’ve found this exercise is helpful when I have to tackle larger projects. In fiction, I use it for my drafting and world-building research. The breaks allow my mind time to think about what I’ve written and maybe inspire different ideas.

Discovering your Subject

A new addition to my warm-up exercises that I use exclusively for my character building.

To begin this exercise, you list ten “titles” for your character.

Example:

1. Mother

2. Older Sister

3. Teacher

4. Mentor

5. Dancer

6. Reader

7. Wife

8. Cat Mom

9. College Graduate

10. Creator

Write a paragraph about your character in each of their identities. Like in this case, for the mother title, you could think of questions like: How many children does she have? What are their names? How are their relationships? How does she relate to her children? What are some of her favorite moments of being a mother?

This is a great way to see your character through a different lens. Which makes them inherently more complex. We as people wear so many hats, and naturally, we focus on different things depending on what role we’re acting in, or in this case, the “title” were using. This exercise allows you to explore the different levels of your characters. This is just a few of my favorites, so if you like this post, stay tuned for more exercises, tips, and insight into my writing process.

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They thought I was a was just wood. Pieces of wood hammered together half-hazzardly. Old, with chipped paint and faded marker scribbles.

I was not just old wood. To him, I was home.

I was there when he was ignored.

When the yelling got too loud for his ears.

For the mix of letters and numbers of seventh-grade math homework.

I held the tears that dripped on my surface quietly.

Who would beam with pride as his creative spirit burned brightly before me.

I was where he would lay his head and close his eyes when the world became just a little too loud.

Perhaps I am just a desk. Wood. Hammered together half-hazardously. With faded marker scribbles and chipped paint.

But I am sturdy, stable, quiet. I am here.

And that is all I need to be.

She sits in a coffee shop, silent, observing as the line shortens in front of her. A mocha warms her hand as she picks at her muffin with the other. A blueberry muffin, the acid a sweet relief to the deep, rich coffee, and that swirls on her tongue. She listens to the sounds, the voices, and the people’s steps. She listens and watches but never speaks.

She wears a sweater, a sage green one. Jeans and worn sneakers covered in specks of dirt. She avoids black. She avoids the stuffy dresses that make her feel too confined. Her goal is to be comfortable as if her clothes were an extension of her skin. Clean, colorful, and comfortable, so she can be sure of every move she makes.

Her desk is clean with a vase of freshly cut flowers that she replaces each morning. No piles of paper filled with nonsense scribbling or red strings tied to a board like a cold case plot waiting to be solved. A pencil and her notebook, which she carries by her side, will suit her just fine.

When she returns home to her family, she does not get scoffs or eye rolls as she talks about her work. Eyes are filled with wonder as she gives glimpses into the worlds behind her eyes. They ask questions, they encourage her, and they read her work, often leaving with pride.

She worries, of course, as all artists do. But to not struggle, to not try, to not bleed onto the page. She would not be a writer. She would not be human.

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I wish for a dragon to soar above the clouds.

Instead of waving my arms and running in circles.

Kicking my legs, trying to get the swing higher

Reaching for the shifting shapes.

Flipping through pages, a new world.

Filled with whimsy and wonder.

Brought to life in my hands.

Maybe my dragon should be blue!

No, he’d blend in with the sky.

Perhaps a white?

Or would that be too boring?

No no! A green.

Yes, a green gift with flowers.

Small buds decorate her scales with color.

Some twisting vines flow into her wings.

Lastly, some gold shimmering eyes.

However, I’m afraid it’s only a dream.

Of a little girl with a book in her hands.

Lost to the world of reality.

The book closed.

An alarm clock is ringing, as I grab my keys

The grey building of an average workday

But still, as I sit at my desk,

A laundry list of emails and a stack of papers

I glance out to the sky, a bird.

No, a dragon, my dragon, soaring among the clouds.

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As a child, my favorite thing to do outside was to swing. My grandmother had a swing that was chained to a large tree outside her house; it was wooden, built almost like a chair, with one side hanging slightly higher than the other, and it was hung with rusty chains. The wood would stab into our thighs, but my sister, brother, and I would always fight over who got to swing first.

Whenever the fighting got too much, my uncle scooped us up and took us to the park nearby. They had four swings! Enough for all of us. I remember the smell of wooden mulch that I kicked up as I tried to reach higher; as the wind blew through my pigtails, I would raise my hand, trying to reach the trees that felt just a breath too far. It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to flying.

Now, I swing, not as a little girl with pigtails and overalls in front of my grandmother’s house in the summer. Now, I am a college student wearing a cropped fall sweater with squares of cream and orange that’s slightly too short for the upcoming fall chill with blue jeans and tan boots. The high ponytail I threw my hair into brushes my shoulder rather than the short, curled pigtails that my mother adored. And I’m trying desperately to balance my notebook as I write notes for my upcoming class.

I sway softly to the leaves in the trees above, matching their gentle speed. They sound almost like waves crashing into the sand at the beach; they’re still green despite the slight chill in the air. “Fall will be here soon,” I whisper. The sun shines through them, giving a soft warmth to my cheeks.

The swings are a new addition to my college campus, if you can call them that. Truly, they are a thin plank of wood hanging from the branches with braided rope; they hang so low to the ground that you can hardly move without your feet meeting the dirt. “Though they are a lovely excuse for students to get outside and enjoy the nature of the campus.” At least that’s how I imagine the conversation went between the college leaders.

I’ve found myself drawn to them more and more as the semester progresses, the papers pile up, and deadlines grow nearer, my anxiety spiking higher. Sitting and swaying between meetings with advisors or for a brief moment of silence before classes. The simple movement of kicking my legs allows me to move slowly. It’s a small reprieve I’ve begun to allow myself.

Maybe it’s a small sense of freedom, or maybe it’s a new way to procrastinate on my work, or maybe it’s giving in to the desire of some nostalgia, or maybe it’s just simply a way to fill time between classes.

As the semester nears its end, my final moments in college come to a close. I find myself sitting here a final time, swaying back and forth, back and forth. I close my eyes and, for just a moment, the anxiety of what comes next stills.

However, my reprieve doesn’t last as I begin to think, Where will be my next swing? Will I still raise my hand to reach for the sky and the tips of the trees? Will this still be the closest I ever come to flying?

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When did he get so tall? I think to myself as Dorian buttons his hands, shaking, and his foot taps against the hardwood flooring. I noticed it’s a habit he shares with his mother. A lovely woman, her PB&J’s were always delicious.

Dorain stands looking in the golden-framed mirror, holding up two different ties. One is plain black and a navy blue. “I’d go with the blue. It brings out your eyes.” I stand next to him. There’s a joyful nervousness behind them; it’s the same look he’d get when we’d watch scary movies as his parents slept.

“Blue it is.” He says with a slight nod before wrapping it around his neck.

One day, we were playing outside in his backyard. I was pretending to be the biggest T. Rex that walked the Earth. I stomped and bellowed the loudest rawr, making Dorian run so fast he tripped. A large scrape on his knee that was bleeding, and fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he wailed. “What happened, little bubs?” His father asked, scooping him up and away.

Between sobs, he explained, “Riley and I were playing dinos, and I tripped.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, buddy, but it looks like all the dinos are gone now.” He said.

The door opens behind us. His mother was in a deep navy with a silver shawl resting across her shoulders like shimmering snowflakes. Tears filled her eyes as she rested her hand against his cheek.

It was the same way she held him on our first day of kindergarten. Back then, he loved race cars. He got Lightning McQueen light-up shows for the special day. He bounced all the way down the hall as I rushed behind him. Mom took a picture of us that day.

The church is lovely, it’s a rich brown wood decorated with blue floral arrangements. The stained glass glows as the sun begins to set. The piano fills the room, and I look back at Dorian as the bride arrives, a bright smile mixed with tears.

I smile at her. I don’t know her name. Truthfully, it’s been years since I’ve been fading. He must’ve been nervous. He’s not now as he takes her hands.

I take one final look at him. I remember the sticky PB&Js, the late nights of ghost stories and scary movies, and the running from dinosaurs. Looking at his wife, I know he’s safe.

“I’ll be back when you need me again, I promise. ” I whisper.

Three years later, I kept that promise as we met again, as he held his little girl. A room of light yellow and pink. A white wooden sign in the corner reads “Riley June Andrews.” It was her fourth birthday, her friends had all gotten sick and she’s alone. In her arms, a green Triceratops. Our eyes meet, and he smiles.

She likes dinosaurs, too.

Hello! I’m Bree. I am a fiction writer trying to share my work, create a community and begin working as a freelance writer.

This account will have reviews for books, film and T.V. Shows. It will have some of my short stories or snippets from my longer fiction projects. I mostly write fantasy and magical realism, with the occasional thriller or horror. I like to have some variety and keep my readers on their toes.

In terms of books, I’ve been loving cosy fantasy novels recently, but I read a bit of everything! Some of my favourite authors are Rebbeca Ross, Sarah Beth Durst and Nita Prose.

Freelance work, I am a creative writer, so you need someone to proofread your working manuscript? Need someone to help you organise and bounce ideas off of? I’m your girl! I love diving into new projects to explore ideas and help where I can. With my experience in workshopping, editing and mentoring, I am like the workshop partner you always wanted.

I also have a minor in Communications as well as Film & Video. If you have big ideas or niche pitches but don’t know how to get the article on the page, I can help! I’ve written lots of articles covering everything from the trending Five Nights at Freddy’s movie to the epic downfall of Disney’s content, to reviews of anime films like Howl’s Moving Castle. (I’m very cool, can you tell?)

What do I Offer As a Freelancer?

• Reviews

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• Content Editing

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What do I offer as a Writer?

• Prompts

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• Short Stories & Story Snippets

• Writing Experience

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What do I offer as a Content Creator?

• I have a Bookstagram of nearly 3k

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