Blue. When he cried to me about the girl who used him and threw him away, the tears in his eyes. When he smiled and said that his mother had enough strength to hold the entire family together, even when he was falling apart. Green. When he picked blades of grass and placed them in my hair, asking why there was no equality for plants, kissing the palm of my hand before placing a small dandelion in it. Yellow. When we got our first car together, when we drove for 4 hours just to get to a little piece of nowhere that we had never been. When I threw my head out the window and moved my fingers through barley and we couldn’t hear the sound of our own thoughts, over our little taste of forever. Purple. When he introduced me to his roof top, when we talked until the sky turned to purples, pinks and blues. When he first told me he loved me, when he looked at me as I looked at the sky. Red. When he kissed me. When he sighed “I love you” and I pretended not to hear it. When he asked me to meet his parents and I said I had plans. When he showed me his artwork and I just smiled. When. I. Just. Smiled. When I didn’t tell him that all I could see was colours, and all I could hear was his name. When he didn’t realise that he was his own god damn piece of art and I was not even a rough sketch. When I just smiled and told him that he was more. Black. When he kissed me and shouted that he loved me, but I couldn’t see more behind his hazel eyes and I couldn’t see less, and I knew that a life without me would be his destiny, and he had to lose me to be free and he tore his work and he was blue and green and purple and yellow and he was every emotion that I have ever seen and I cried and I shook and I laughed because the only black I had ever seen in his life, was me.
—  Katie Mira

Things do change.

For example,

my first “I love you” I said to you tasted like the million smiles you gave me compressed into a sentence. The last “I love you” was like the million ghostly kisses I still can feel on my face, even months after you left them.

Things do change.

Finishing the final draft...

Just a little message for everyone who is dreading this part… I got towards the end of my novel, I realised that I’d diverted so far from my original plot that I no longer had a plausible ending. For days, weeks actually, I couldn’t work out how to tie it up.

I had four more ideas waiting to be written, that all seemed more exciting to me because they were new! And I considered many times just giving up and starting a new one instead.

But then I remembered a quote that said something like “you learn more from a finished novel, then 100 unfinished.” And I began to worry that if I didn’t finish this story maybe I’d never finish one.

So after a lot of thinking, planning, plotting and stress I pushed forward and when I completed it, it was the best feeling ever.

PLEASE keep going. I know you can finish your novel. It’ll feel amazing!

Now, back to editing…

Written By the Ocean

I breathe with the tides
Filling my lungs as it floods the beach below
Exhaling as it draws back from
Wet stones
Which have no time to dry before I
And the ocean
Breathe again.

As the sun descends
And the blue green water-color paint
Leaks out of the ocean
Replaced by spreading night-time shadow
Like a phantom oil spill
The tide rushes in with an increasing roar
Faster and faster
As if the ocean’s respiration has quickened
I wonder if it’s because she, the sea
Is afraid of the dark.