Beautiful illustrations by Anna Dittmann aka Escume

Anna Dittmann aka Escume is a digital illustrator from San Francisco currently studying in Georgia who primarily draws portraits in beautiful translucent ways.

(via lambofomg)

“… Her body full of sentences and moments, as if awaking from sleep with a heaviness caused by unremembered dreams.” Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient (1992)

(Source: misswallflower, via breathing0ut-psychedelic-air)



This is an ultimate masterlist of many, many resources that could be helpful for writers/roleplayers.
Improve Your Writing Habits Now
5 Ways to Add Sparkle to Your Writing
Getting Over Roleplaying Insecurities
Improve Your Paras
Why the Right Word Choices Result in Better Writing
4 Ways To Have Confidence in Your Writing
Writing Better Than You Normally Do
How’s My Driving?
A Description Resource
55 Words to Describe Someones Voice
Describing Skin Colors
Describing a Person: Adding Details
Emotions Vocabulary
90 Words For ‘Looks’
Be More Descriptive
Describe a Character’s Look Well
100 Words for Facial Expressions
To Show and Not To Tell
Words to Describe Facial Expressions
Describing Clothes
List of Actions
Tone, Feelings and Emotions
Writing Specific Characters
Character Guides
Writing Help for Writers
Ultimate Writing Resource List
Lots of RP Guides
Online Writing Resources
List of Websites to Help You Focus
Resources for Writing Bio’s
Helpful Links for Writing Help
General Writing Resources
Resources for Biography Writing
Mental Ilnesses/Disorders Guides
8 Words You Should Avoid While Writing
  Body Language
Body Language Cheat
Body Language Reference Cheat
Tips for Writers: Body Language
Types of Crying
Body Language: Mirroring
Words Instead of Walk (2)
Commonly Confused Adjectives
A Guide on Punctuation
Common Writing Mistakes
25 Synoms for ‘Expession’
How to: Avoid Misusing Variations of Words
Words to Keep Inside Your Pocket
The 13 Trickiest Grammar Hang-Ups
Other Ways to Say..
300+ Sophiscated and Underused Words
List of Misused Words
Words for Sex
100 Beautiful and Ugly Words
Words to Use More Often
Alternatives for ‘Smile’ or ‘Laugh’
Three Self Editing Tips
Words to Use Instead of ‘Walk’, ‘Said’, ‘Happy’ and ‘Sad’
Synonyms for Common Words
Alternatives for ‘Smile’
Transitional Words
The Many Faces and Meanings of ‘Said’
Synonyms for ‘Wrote’
A Case Of She Said, She Said
Writer’s Block
How to: Cure Writer’s Block
Some Tips on Writer’s Block
Got Writer’s Block?
6 Ways to Beat Writer’s Block
Tips for Dealing With Writer’s Block
Application (Itself)
How to: Make That Application Your Bitch
How to: Make Your App Better
How to: Submit a Flawless Audition
10 Tips for Applying
Para (Sample)
Para Sample Ideas
5 Tips on Writing an IC Para Sample
Writing an IC Sample Without Escaping From the Bio
How to: Create a Worthy IC Para Sample
How to: Write an Impressive Para Sample
How to: Lengthen Short Para’s
Drabble Stuff
Prompts List
Writing Prompts
Drabble Prompts
How to Get Into Character
Writing Challenges/Prompts
A Study in Writing Prompts for RPs
Para Prompts & Ideas
Writing Prompts for Journal Entries
A List of Para Starters
Bad Asses
Bitches (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7)
Emotional Detachment
The Girl Next Door
Introverts (2)
Mean Persons (2)
Party Girls
Rich (2) 
Serial Killers (2)
Shyness (2, 3)
Villains (2)
Disorders in general (2, 3, 4, 5) 
Attention Deficit Disorder
Antisocial Personality Disorder
Anxiety (2, 3, 4, 5) 
Avoidant Personality Disorder
Alice In Wonderland Syndrome
Bipolar Disorder (2, 3)
Cotard Delusions
Depression (2, 3, 4, 5, 6)   
Eeating Disorders (2, 3)
Facitious Disorders
Histrionic Personality Disorder
Multiple Personality Disorder (2)
Narcissistic Personality Disorder
Night Terrors
Kleptomania (2)
A Pyromaniac
Posttraumatic Stress Disorder
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (2) (3)
Sex Addiction (2)
Schizophrenia (2)
Sociopaths (2)
Aspergers Syndrome
Someone Blind (2)
Cancer (2, 3)
Muteness (2, 3)
Ballet Dancer (2)
Alcohol Influence (2, 3, 4, 5)
Cocaine Influence
Ecstasy Influence (2)
Heroin Use
LSD Influence
Marijuana Influence (2, 3)
Opiate Use
California (2, 3)
England/Britain (2, 3, 4, 5)
New York
The South (2)
Females (2)
Males (2)
Transgender People
Witches (2)
A Death Scene
Loosing Someone (2)
Old Persons
Physical Injuries (2, 3)
Sexual Abuse (2)
Fight Scenes (2, 3, 4)
Biography Writing
Components of Your Biographies
Character sheet (2, 3)
Need Help With Character Creation?
How to: Draw Inspiration for Characters From Music
How to: Write a Biography (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11)
How to: Write a Fully Developed Character
How to: Create a Cast of Characters (2)
Writing an Original Character (2, 3)
Creating Believable Characters (2, 3)
Bio Formats (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10)
Little Things You Can Add To Your Bios
Connections (2)
Bio Twists
Female Names (2, 3, 4, 5)
Male Names (2, 3, 4, 5) 
Last Names  (2, 3, 4)
Jung’s 16 Personality Types
Underused Character Personalities
Birth-Order: Personality Traits
The Difference Between Personality and Behavior
How to: Show a Characters Personality In a Paragraph
16 Character Traits
Underused Personalities
Personality Traits

Positive (2)
Negative (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8)
Both (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8)

Addictions and Bad Habits
Bad Habits
Character Habits
Character Quirks
Phobias (2)
300 Possible Secrets to Give Your Characters
I Bet You Didn’t Know..
Character Plots And Secrets (2)
Celebrity Secrets
Secret Masterlist
Song Lyrics Masterlist
Songs for Biographies
Favorite Quotes: TV and Movies
Favorite Quotes: Notable Authors
Favorite Quotes: Celebrities
Favorite Quotes: Popular Books (2)
Quotes From Songs
Character Quotes
Masterlist of Bio Lyrics
Masterlist of Bio Quotes
Masterlist of Song Lyrics
Biography Lyrics
A Masterlist of Quotes
The Quotation Garden
Mary Sue’s

A Mary Sue In The Inbox
Your Character Is A Sue, Not Just A Mary Or Gary
Not Writing A Mary Sue

Para Titles
100 Paragraph Titles
Para Titles - Song Title Edition (2,3)
A Whole Ton of Para Titles
350+ Song Titles
Para Titles For You (2)
How to: Create an interesting starter
How to: Make an Interesting Starter
Gif Conversations: A Guide
A Brief Guide to Starters
Interesting Gif Convesation Starters
Starters Masterlist
Gif Starter Posts
46 Interesting Gif Chat Starters
Ideas for Gif Chat Starters
Masterlist: Jobs
Possible Careers for Characters
Artistic Occupations
Martha’s Vineyard Job Masterlist
Interesting Jobs
Para Ideas
Masterlist: Para Ideas
Top 50 Places for Starters
Writing Topics: Para Ideas
101 Date Ideas
68 Date Ideas
22 Date Ideas
Popular Places to Eat
Character Developement
Character Development Questionaire
Character Surveys
C.D. Questionaire
30 Day Character Development Meme
Character Development Questions (2)
100 Pt. Questionaire
IC and OOC Surveys
Online Test for Character Building
30 Days of Character Development
How to: Develop Characters
Get To Know Your Characters
Romance (in general)
The Little Ways a Ship Gets Build
Roleplaying Relationships
8 Ways to Say I Love You
How to: Make a Set Ship RP Work
How to: Write a Romantic Scene
Do’s and Don’ts of Writing Relationships
Putting a Label on It
Synonyms for Love
Pregnancy (2, 3, 4, 5)
Smut Guide: Casual Sex
Smut Guide: For Beginners
How to: Write a First Time Sex Scene Romantically
How to: Smut - The Bare Bones
How to: Smut (For Virgins)
How to: Write Lesbian Smut
How to: Write Smut (2, 3)
How to: Write a Blowjob/Prepping for Smut
Smut Guides of Tumblr
Tips on Writing Sex Scenes
A Guide to Language in Smut
Domination and Submission
Making Love
A Smut Guide
How to: Write a Kiss (2)
Different Types of Kisses
Writing Out the First Kiss
Plot Writing
How to: Create the Best Plot for Your RP
How to: Create A Plot Outline in 8 Steps
How to: Write A Plot in 12 Steps
How to: Write A Quality Plot
How to: Spice Up Your Roleplay Plots
Components of Your Plot Page
Writing Up A Plot
Basics of Writing A Plot
Links for Plot Writing Help
Eight Unique Plot Ideas
Plot Twists
Situation Ideas (2, 3)
Guide to Plotting
Eras Masterlist
Everything You Need to Know Abut the 20’s
20’s Slang
Primary Sources on Ancient Civilizations
How to: Play the Greek Goddess ‘Harmonia’
How to: Roleplay In the Victorian Era
Victorian Dialogue


This is an ultimate masterlist of many, many resources that could be helpful for writers/roleplayers.





  Body Language


Writer’s Block


Application (Itself)

Para (Sample)













Biography Writing



Personality Traits



Mary Sue’s


Para Titles




Character Developement


Romance (in general)




Plot Writing


(via yung-maple)

“There are poems
inside of you
that paper can’t
handle.” Y.Z (via rustyvoices)


“Writers end up writing about their obsessions. Things that haunt them; things they can’t forget; stories they carry in their bodies waiting to be released.” Natalie Goldberg  (via middecember)

(Source: writingsforwinter, via sandrellae)


A Second Chance (expanded)

I once read, in my college years, a story for one of my classes that really crept me out. It said that there’s a certain type of blood that isn’t meant to be disturbed. It’s the black red blood that sits in your very core, that can ooze out of a gash deep enough that moans softly escape from the torn flesh. You know what I’m talking about, right?

But you know what, Doc, I don’t know if blood was meant to stay behind skin. I mean, think about it. If it is then God wouldn’t have made the barrier, our skin, so permeable. Blood—it’s a healing agent, it clots over violated skin and pieces together a new, slightly raised scar that eventually flakes away and becomes almost invisible unless you squint your eyes or really concentrate on trying to see it.

Doc, I backtracked yesterday. I didn’t mean to but I also couldn’t help it. It’s become a lot more difficult to resist. The medication doesn’t help me that much, maybe I need a different prescription but the thoughts I’m beginning to have are starting to scare me. You told me to record some of the thought’s I’ve been having and I have been.

Can I read you something?

Haha, yeah I actually found the little thing inside of Margaret’s dresser. It was empty so I figured that she wouldn’t miss it.

I never know what to write in journals but I guess it’s ok to keep one especially if you’re a nutjob like me haha… Seriously though, I haven’t been feeling too good recently but I can’t actually figure out why. I mean I always hear about other people’s sadness and see remnants of it on their faces but I always considered it an instance of them being dramatic. Like, oh my god this guy is such a bummer he needs to suck it up and take it like a man.

But I’ve realized what a terrible way to think about others battling this sadness. I mean, it hurts. It hurts in places inside you that you didn’t even know you can hold pain. And there are different levels and depths that resonate—no that shakes, that vibrates in your bones. It makes me feel weighed down, I’m so tired. Even your eyelids beging to sag and your eyes are too drained to put in the effort of moving your eyes from one object to the other so you end up staring in one place for hours until you look at the time and realize fuck it’s 4 a.m.

It’s such an invading feeling, that it occupies the spaces between blood vessels and pushes harder against your bones, building up so much pressure it makes you wish your ody could collapse in on itself just to feel any fucking relief.

But what pisses me off the most about all this bullshit, what fucking frustrates me the most is I can’t pin down where it’s coming from That inability feels like a mental disability in my brain like You’re so fucking stupid that you don’t even know yourself that you can even explain why you’re sad.


Haha, yeah I guess. It did come out a lot more poetic that I expected it to.


No, I don’t feel like I’ve made any progress. Doc,

No, I don’t know want talk about that.

No, I can’t talk about that either.

What about Margaret?

She grew up in this little town by the lake that’s not even on the map. She loved-

hated that town. She hated how the town had nothing in it. The nearest grocery store was the next town over and the drive was so boring because on one side there was lake and then on the other there was a single row of houses that hugged the empty “main” road. She also hated her the schooling there mostly because she wanted new people to meet and she was getting sick of her familiar friends. Margeret loved to meet new people. Although the town was a bit boring, she did loved this one woman, she would go on and on about this one homeless lady who lived by the one of the only shops, which happened to be a fucking haberdashery. She wore feathers in her hair and this absurd top-hat that all of us seemed to believe that she swooped up from the garbage outside of the shop or maybe the store owner, who was this really nice old man who was stuck, fashion-wise, in the 1930’s but had the mentality of a modern day feminist, gave it to her as a gift. Anyways, she wore feathers and a top-hat and this long doily-looking dress that Margaret and I used to think belonged to someone’s table, but the thing is that she was the most mentally-there woman that I had ever met. She had the wisdom of a woman beyond her age but the memory of a toddler, I guess that’s why she was avoided. Margaret said that she had lived in that one alley by the haberdashery ever since she could remember, she remembered that woman when she was a kid. She said that when she was a young girl, maybe around four or five, she had decided to run away from home because she had drawn on the walls with crayons.

            I know, right?
            How cliché.

            But, Doc, that’s not even the best part. She drew a cake on the wall and decided it needed a more life-like touch so she smeared frosting over the top. Her mother, Helen, was furious, especially because they had just re-painted the walls. So, her mom yelled at her, and she decided to run away from home because she felt like her work wasn’t appreciated. So, she packed up a knapsack filled with her favorite ragdoll and the rest of her crayons and she thought she’d be hungry so she packed a piece of bread—one fucking piece of bread—all in her favorite rainbow blanket and bunched it up in her hands and dragged it out the door.
            She was a quick little thing because she was half way across town within minutes- which I guess doesn’t say a whole lot because this was a small ass town—when the homeless woman saw her and called her over. The funny thing is that Margaret refused to tell me what the woman told her, but she claimed she told her something that resonated with her, in her very being, which amazes me considering she was so young to still remember what she was told. But whatever the woman told her was enough to send her back home. Her mom hadn’t even noticed she had left.

            Her memory was infallible. She remembered things, small minute details that a normal person wouldn’t remember.

            Like she would remember the recipe for a the best lemon chicken that she learned 3 years ago, the exact floor board in our old apartment that squeaked if you stepped on it the right way ,the shade of orange on the parking meter where we had our first kiss.

            Haha well that’s kind of an awkward story, Doc.

            Mmmm well it was our third date. I had stupidly forgotten my wallet at my shit-hole apartment and so Margaret and I were outside the restaurant both a little drunk with my apologetic ass saying over and over again about how I was going to buy her a lobster double what she had to pay for both of us. She was giddy from the bottle of white zinfandel she killed without my help and was throwing adorable sassy remarks back at me and just being so goddamn amazing. And we stumbled back to the car, Margaret hanging on to the sleeve of my jacket trying to keep her composure. She was giggling so much over my stupid jokes about the Transformer’s movies, which I’m not even sure was relevant to our conversation.

            But anyways, we get back to my car and I see that I have a ticket on my windshield and one of those fucking metal shoes attached to one of my tires, apparently I had parked in a no-parking zone. Margaret was losing her shit, she was laughing so hard and I couldn’t help but laugh with her because being with her during this situation just made it ok. And so I called her a cab while I waited for the tow truck to see if I could talk my way out of this and so she was leaning against the parking meter and I was leaning against my immobilized car and we were just talking.

            The thing is that we were just talking about everything and nothing. We talked about why we thought the moon was white, structuralist versus essentialist literary critique, our favorite animals, what we thought the clouds meant to us. Just nonsense. Then she got quiet and looked down at her purple velvet pumps, pushed her amber hair away from her eyes and looked back up at me. I asked “What?” and she said “I don’t know much about you, I don’t know your mother, I don’t know where you grew up, I don’t know if you have any pets or if you had a bad experience with a waitress at a coffee shop you decided to try on a whim, but I like you. You make me feel ok about stuff.” She flashed a toothy smile and looked back down at her feet. Her face had flushed maybe from the wine or embarrassment out of her sheer honesty or maybe a combination of both.

            Doc, I know how incredibly cheesy that sounds. But I loved her there.

            It was a feeling I had experienced before, we talked about my relationship with Cath, it was like that except palpable. It wasn’t cluttered with those damn butterflies you feel in your stomach or the rush that explodes and clogs your throat if she brushed your arm the right way. It wasn’t filled with adrenaline, it was homey and familiar.

            But yeah the rest I’ll save for myself because that kiss is something I don’t talk about with anyone but her so let’s move on please.

            My life with her? It was tough in the beginning. She especially was very hard-headed about giving up her apartment. I remember the argument we had. She claimed that I was making her give up her independence and I kept reassuring her that her independence was hers I just wanted to be a part of her life and she said that I was a part of her life and she needed some time before she agreed to anything,

            I guess I understood her insecurities I mean living with someone is a big deal but I just wanted to be with her. It was that plain and that simple for me. Eventually she came around one night when we were lying down on her wooden floors. We had actually taken acid.
            Yeah, we did drugs every now and then, like smoking pot was a weekly treat for us and honestly, I felt like it brought us closer together.

            So the room was warping around us and she started squirming around on the floor. She kept asking me over and over again if we were still in her apartment. She made me promise every time she asked. It wasn’t either of our first times meeting with Lucy, we both had our crazy druggie college years.

            Oh, Lucy is kind of the code name. Like MDMA is Molly, marijuana is Mary Jane and LSD is Lucy. They’re all lovely women haha.

            But yeah the walls began to disintegrate around us and it seemed like the only stable thing we were touching were the floorboards and our hands that gripped each other’s tightly. The night sky that we could see from her window crept over the ceiling swallowing it whole and lapped at the edges of the walls like tides on a shore. It was an incredible moment for us. I asked her if she was seeing this. She said that she was seeing everything.

            We were both quiet except for her occasional “You promise we’re still in my home?” and then finally she stopped talking. I looked over at her, the air twisting and contorting with her profile. Even with her face twisted up, she was still wonderful. Her eyes were wide open, her pupils consumed her green irises. And then she said, “I want to live with you.” And that was it. She moved in the following week.

            A couple of months later I asked her what changed her mind about moving in because we had had countless arguments about her not moving in, I remember one of them got so heated that it nearly ended us. And she said, simply “Because I love you.” It was the first time she told me she loved me. I loved her, but I never said it because I didn’t want to say it first.

            I remember the first time I said “I love you” to a girl and it ended in me being in tears, not necessarily from heartbreak but because she was a bitch who kicked me in the nuts because she thought it was too early and I was becoming obsessed with her. Needless to say, that one experience sort of ruined “I love you” for me.

            But anyways, yeah after I was able to get her to move in with me, things just sort of naturally took off. That was the thing about Margaret, everything moved so seamlessly, I can’t really pick out one day with her that I can say honestly that I hated. There were some days I liked more than others obviously but there was never really a day that I wished I wasn’t living with her.

            How did I propose?

            I proposed at the faded orange parking meter where we had our first kiss. This time, though, my car wasn’t about to be towed. The great thing about the little restaurant we had our third date at was that it was next to this salsa club named Chia’s.

Margaret loved to dance. Given she had two left feet but she loved the idea of moving her body in unison with the beat. She had been taking salsa classes there for a couple months and had been refusing to demonstrate for me anything she’s been learning. So one night, she came out of our bathroom wearing this crimson gabardine with thin straps and a neck line that plunged down below her breasts until the fabric singed around her little waist and flowed away from her hips. She twirled for me giving me her cheekiest smile and my jaw dropped when she showed me her open back, her skin glowing from the candles that she had lit on top of the dresser next to the bathroom. I had never seen anything—anyone so… fuck, Doc, the word beautiful didn’t even begin to describe her. And that was just her dress she had her hair up and her eyes all smoky, the way I told her I liked it. She told me to put on a good suit and I had never gotten dressed so fast. When we got to the salsa club, Margaret lead me to the dance floor and pressed her self up against me. And she started to move. I had never danced with anyone so fluid and seamless and she kept eye contact with me the whole time. I had never seen her so confident and so sexy and she was perfect. She was just perfect.
            I had been carrying around a ring in my pocket for a few weeks waiting for the perfect moment and it was the perfect night. We drank and we danced until the club closed and we were the last ones on the dance floor. The bartender got sick of us and kicked us out. But as we we’re walking out of the club, Margaret stumbled to the parking meter where we had our first kiss and she looked at me and slurred out if I remembered. How could I not? She leaned up against it like she did that night her face flushed from the drinks she had as she continued to giggle. I don’t want to go into detail but I choked out a speech I had been rehearsing for her and I got down on one knee and I proposed and she said yes and I was the happiest. I was so happy with her.

Yes, Doc. I miss her everyday.

I don’t know if I can.

Doc, please I don’t think I can yet.
            Then please give me a minute.

It had been a week since my son was born, Margaret hadn’t made it through delivery. 

My son was still in critical care, he had jaundice. The doctors weren’t sure if he would make it, he would eat nothing and he slept for most of the first week of his life, waking up briefly before tiring out again.

            I sat in the waiting room for most of it, visited him once. Seeing him in a glass chamber, I didn’t know what I felt, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to see him until after he was out of that thing. I wasn’t able to sleep— so many thoughts ran through my mind, so many useless thoughts like when I have to pick up dry cleaning or whether or not I left the faucet running again, thoughts that I wanted to punch myself and thank myself for thinking. I had really terrible memory and Margaret would always make fun of me for it.

            “You’re memory really is god-awful!” Margaret danced around in the puddles in our kitchen. Her bare feet making a satisfying plop after every leap. Her belly, with our son growing inside of her, bounced with her.

            I leaned against the entrance rubbing my temples. “I can’t believe I did this again!” The water had already stained the hardwood and the finish on our newly painted apartment started to fade a bit. “We just got this kitchen remodeled!”

            “Oh c’mon,” Margaret chimed holding her belly as she wiggled her toes in the water. “It’s not a big deal.” She brushed her grown-out bangs out of her eyes as she looked down and watched her feet.

            My eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t even remember to do something as simple as turn-off the goddamn faucet! If it’s not the kitchen sink, it’s not setting the house alarm, not locking the car door, locking my damn keys in the car, the dishwasher…”

            Her green eyes looked up at mine. “Those are all very small things baby.”

            “But… What if it’s not a small thing next time?” I took a few steps into the kitchen. She continued wiggling her toes, her smile not flickering. I brushed her hair from her neck, revealing that scar. I touched it.

            “Don’t you dare,” Margaret held my face. “It was an accident and you know it.”

            “All I had to do was tell you not to go into the kitchen, and I couldn’t even do that.” I nuzzled her hand.

            “Stop.” She held her fingers up to my mouth.

            “What if…” My voice broke off and I held her stomach and pressed it against mine.

            She kissed me softly. Her lips giving me familiar shivers. “You won’t.”

            “But how—“

            “Because,” she looked at me firmly. “ I know that you’re going to love him so much that you won’t let anything hurt him.”

            “God Margaret, I hope you’re right.”

            “I am.” She winked at me and pressed her lips and her body against mine, with our son nestled between us both.

Nurses would stop by every now and then and inform me of his condition and also to check up on me. He was getting better, slowly, but he was getting there. I nodded, trying my best to listen to what they were telling me, but I could only hear the words coming out. I could hear words and voices and I knew what they were trying to tell me, but it didn’t all seem real—I couldn’t register a thing.

After two weeks or so, I was able to sleep. I don’t know how long I slept I never woke up rested. I felt tired, and my body ached the way did after I had broken up with my first girlfriend in high school and at my mother’s funeral. But if anything I felt numb, nothing. I don’t know if I was feeling so much that my mind shut down or if I really just felt nothing.

I hoped it was the first one.

After about three weeks, a nurse woke me up at about six in the evening, telling me that my son was stable, and I was able to take him home. Everything was a blur, the nurse, the paperwork, even my son. I couldn’t see his face properly. But nonetheless, I took him back to our apartment. My apartment.

Doc, the drive back was… I can’t even tell you, I don’t remember. All I know is that I was waiting in the garage of our building for a good hour or, at least it felt like an hour, my mind completely blank, and our son sleeping in the car seat. We lived in a high-rise on the eleventh floor with a view of the lake. Margaret had wanted to live in a building like this so badly, ever since I had met her, and when we got married, I wanted to give her this. She rarely wanted anything, but this apartment. It was my job to give it to her.

I got him up to our apartment and I remember walking in and just standing in the middle of the living room, feeling so lost and just wishing that I would hear Margaret’s voice from the kitchen, telling me that I’d left the faucet running again. I wished that she would walk into the room, smiling at me and she would take him from me and that everything would be ok, and everything would go according to the plan—our plan.

God, the silence was so overbearing and everything felt so heavy, he suddenly felt so heavy and that’s when I finally saw his face.

            He was a copy of Margaret. That tuff of amber hair was hers, that nose, those lips, those eyes, oh god those green eyes looking directly at me. I broke down. I just started to cry and I couldn’t stop and I fell. I nearly dropped him, and that’s when I realized how fragile he was and how incredibly tiny.

Hate quickly filled the space in my heart where I was supposed to feel love. I remember thinking how I would ever be able to love this kid, the child that took my Margaret from me. In that moment, I hated him.

My body was burning, my fingers, my eyes.

I looked up towards one of the windows that faced the lake. And then a thought came to mind. I remember thinking how easy it would be to just start over.

The window was open.

And I walked towards it.

He squirmed under my grip, screaming a sound so shrill that it still rings in my ears. I wanted it so bad, to get rid of this permanent reminder. To just have a second chance.

And I did.

The police came almost instantaneously. And I remember them banging on the door, I was sitting on the couch just not thinking of anything. Just sitting there and I got up and I opened the door and I knelt down. I held out my hands and they walked me out. And as I was passing I saw the orange tape that surrounded my son’s body. And there so much blood, I didn’t know something that small could have that much blood. I didn’t know that something that new to the world could already have blood that shouldn’t be disturbed.

I told you earlier that I’ve been having thoughts. Scary thoughts.

Doc, you wanna hear something terrible?

I don’t feel bad. Not one bit. And that is what scares me the most.



A Walk Through Art History

I designed these shoes with a unique goal in mind: to create a shoe as a summation of an entire culture’s art. Each shoe possesses design qualities, color palettes, and designs only found in the respective culture. This project allowed me to investigate art historical cultures in a special way by challenging myself to translate an entire style (or series of styles) onto a single object.

Conveniently, I was able to use these designs as the concentration section of my AP Studio Art portfolio and received a score of a 5! 

 I possess full federal copyright of these designs. 

(via babiluvmuffinxx)



"Goddess of Ground Doves 1 & 2"

I’ve been painting and writing about bird ladies for about three years now without knowing why, except that it’s a symbol that calls to my soul. Ground doves make me think of my mother and my grandmother. They began to coming to the house in the tens sometime during the wet, blurred months after my grandmother’s heart attack. I think of them, and I think of the vinelike, soft-yet-unbreakable way my mother wore her grief. I think of rain, ground doves, and gardens. I’ve been calling myself a bird lady for three years now, without knowing why. All I know is that there is a thread that ties me to the trees in the evening, when the parrots come in their hundreds. I ache without understanding. I want to wander into the trees, to lie down softly and lose myself. I never knew until quite recently that the bird woman was one of the earliest depictions of the great goddess, but then again, perhaps I always knew. I must have known what the ache was for: it has always been a yearning for my very first mother. I’m realizing, bit by bit, that art is a journey that is leading me to myself. <3

(via dubulgezicozelochick)

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