A Writer

I’d love to call myself a writer.

But I won’t do that until I actually write something that gets published.

So for now, I am someone who likes to write. Someone who likes stories – reading them and creating them. Someone who can write a grammatically correct and enticing sentence. Someone, for some reason, who doesn’t attempt to publish anything she writes.

Yet.

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How does that relate to fashion? Fashion (or style) isn’t always concerned with what you wear, but more importantly how you feel in what you are wearing.  What I mean is, I could take the literary world by storm in the comfort of these genie pants. With these black wedges, blush blouse, and gold accessories, I could go to a meeting or on a date. A shopping spree. A girl’s night. A book signing.

I feel confident.

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I feel chic.

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So with that; I will leave you with a little piece of my writing.

A slice of my soul.

I know that sounds dramatic, but when you create something from nothing you become vulnerable; you leave a little piece of yourself in the creation.

So, read below -a few lines from a short story I wrote.


 

Cass lowered the paintbrush and stared into a distance Gabby couldn’t find.

“You know, I’ve never been terribly fond of the truth.”

Gabby crossed her legs, settling on the hardwood floor. “You prefer lies, then?”

He looked at her, pointedly. “Don’t you?”

“Depends on which me you’re asking.”

“I’m not, really.” Cass turned back to the painting, dunking the brush in a cup of neon pink slime. “You seem awfully bothered by that.”

Gabby looked up from the pages of Elle, “It’s usually me.”

“Me, what?”

“The one you prefer lying to.”

He drew lines of swirled nothing, stopping every few beats for a direct jab at the canvas, nearly popping the brush right through. “Only when I paint, Gab.”

She lifted her brows, never taking her eyes off the models in the mag. “You’re always painting,” she mumbled.

“Hmm?” Cass pretended he hadn’t heard.

“I said I love when you paint.”

Cass didn’t miss a beat. His brush stroked the canvas as he spoke into the room, “I love you too.”

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VINCE CAMUTO TRACK PANTS FROM NORDSTROM RACK <> BLUSH PINK BLOUSE FROM ROSS (SIMILAR HERE) <> GOLD CUFF I STOLE BORROWED FROM MY SISTER <> GOLD GEOMETRIC NECKLACE FROM BEALL’S OUTLET (ETSY OPTION) <> BLACK VELVETEEN WEDGES FROM EBAY <> COACH SUNNIES

I know this post is a little different. The outfit aspect may take away from the writing, and vice-a-verse. But I want my blog to be a place where my writing is shared. This particular story gets a little bit risque, and I’m not ready to go there just yet, but hopefully as I grow bolder, I will be able to post what I want, how I want.

Cheers to boldness! We could all use a little more!

 

-♥♥♥-

Amy

 

 

5 thoughts on “A Writer

    1. Thank you, Dana! If I’m being honest, you helped inspire me to be more creative with my posts because your writing is so raw – it draws me in. I want to be bold like that!

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