Anyone else sad it’s all over? What an amazing weekend at Reading and Leeds Festival. Here’s a photo of BRING ME THE HORIZON playing main stage at Reading on Saturday night. Can you see our Psyched Out Tank on the big screen?
Shout out to Valnixyrie again for the idea for this fic and beta work. Sometimes I don’t write in coherent English and she has todeal with that. She probably deserves a medal.
Beca huffed and crossed her arms.
She didn’t want to be here, but she had to kiss enough executive ass to get a
promotion sometime this fucking century. She didn’t want to stay an associate
producer forever. But still, she didn’t understand why there had to be this big
banquet, party, whatever the fuck this was, just because they were working with
an up and coming movie studio. Then again it seemed like everyone in LA was
just looking for an excuse to have a party, so really she shouldn’t be
She snagged a glass of champagne
off one of the trays circulating and took a long drink. In order to actually
come out of the corner she was hiding in she was going to need some alcohol to
make herself less socially awkward. But while that was kicking in she looked
around the room again. Several of her coworkers were already on the way to
being very drunk. Beca sort of hoped that they would make complete fools of
themselves. Not only would that be hilarious to watch, but it would probably be
in her favor for that whole promotion thing too. If that made her a horrible
human being for hoping something like that happened, well so be it.
Beca looked towards the door to see
one of the guys from the film company coming in. Beca thought he was the
composer of the score they were going to produce. He wasn’t particularly
interesting, he just looked like a regular dude and so she almost looked away,
but then a tall blonde was walking over to his side. She almost lost her grip
on her champagne glass. Holy. Fucking. Shit. No one had the right to look that
fucking good. Beca had the urge to stomp over there and yell at the woman about
just how attractive she was, but she managed to reign it in.
So it is September 1st, which means there are 30 days left to submit your work to Nightlight’s first-ever issue. As a reminder, all of the information about our submission guidelines and submission themes can be found on our Guidelines and Issues pages, also accessible via buttons in our header. For our first-ever issue, Nightlight Magazine wants stories of hope, collected under the prompt and title Lies My Illness Told Me.
detail, we want stories either written by a person with mental illness
or about people with mental illnesses, and for this issue, we want those
stories to go deep into the jungle of the psyche and back out again.
Thank you so much to people who have boosted the previous post with this information! We already have one submission, which is exciting, but one submission does not a lit mag make, so please, if you’re even vaguely thinking about submitting something, please do!
Please continue to boost the submission call post and this post, if you can, and let’s work to make Nightlight’s first issue a success!
Laura was in a very similar situation as she was at this time last week. On third. Sarah at bat. Down by one. Two outs.
Except it was the bottom of the eighth inning this time. So if Sarah fucked it up again they’d have another chance. But, she has her fingers crossed it won’t come to that again. Literally crossed as she waits to make a run for it.
She’s getting antsy, the pitcher is taking forever to throw the ball, no doubt trying to just psych Sarah out.
But she finally threw it, “Come on, Sarah.” Laura mumbled to herself as the pitch was thrown. Sarah swung and Laura heard the impact of the ball on the bat echo through the park and watched as the ball went sailing outfield.
She stood still, anxious as she watched the left fielder run after it, “Come on come on.” She repeated quietly to herself as she wasn’t sure it had enough behind it to make it over the fence.
Holy hell am I freaking out. There are only three working days until opening night and I can’t decide if I’m ready and psyching myself out or if I’m actually nowhere near as ready like I feel. Either way I’m excited and I might puke from nerves. Gotta love Broadway, right?
“i don’t blame you, shawn. i want you to know that if i had a chance to do it all over again, i wouldn’t change a thing. you’re my best friend and we had a chance to live out a childhood dream. i don’t blame you, okay?”