On Writing, Thoughts

Word Wednesday: Obsidian

 

Word Wednesday_Obsidian_Spilt Ink Press_Sitting in Spilt InkThis Wednesday’s word is: Obsidian (noun)

ob·sid·i·an

/əb’sidēən,äb’sidēən

noun

a hard, dark, glasslike volcanic rock formed by the rapid solidification of lava without crystallization.

Did you know that obsidian is one of the stones used during Wiccan rituals on Halloween, or Samhain as witches refer to it?
Did you also know that H.R. Gordon is Wiccan?
Happy Samhain! Happy Halloween!

The Word Wednesday challenge? Use this in some form of your writing this week. Whether it’s a poem, short story, a chapter, or an article, slip this word in, and then tag Sitting in Spilt Ink in it on Twitter (@SpiltInkPress) for a chance to be featured on the site! 

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On Life, On Mental Health, On Writing, Thoughts

How to write yourself down from a panic attack in six paragraphs

The feeling of my chest folding in on itself is familiar in a haunting way. It clenches the way that muscles flinch when something comes to close to your face—except it stays that way. There’s no immediate relief after you don’t get hit. There’s no sigh to release the tension.

The creature sneaks its way down the center of my body, spreading through my stomach. The roots seem to grab hold of whatever organ they can, squeezing as if I’m trying to rip it from my body. But the only violent one here is it. If you tug, it clings harder. Like Devil’s Snare, the more you fight, the worse it gets. Continue reading “How to write yourself down from a panic attack in six paragraphs”

On Writing

Why I’m halting my NaNoWriMo novel already

It’s November 3, and I’m already stopping my NaNoWriMo expedition for this year. Not to worry, fellow writers, I’m not abandoning my project—just reevaluating.

This year, I tried to be something I’m not: a pantster. For those of you who don’t know, a “pantster” is someone who writes their novel without planning before hand. They fly by the seat of their pants, if you will.

Continue reading “Why I’m halting my NaNoWriMo novel already”

Poetry

A Pause in Thought

I’ve hit a bump in the road
A brick in the wall
A fork in the path,
If you will.
I’ve sacrificed my creative tongue
For an early nights sleep
Maybe I’m finally just too happy.
My words are accustomed to
A cynical tone, sometimes defensive,
Often in pain.
But I’m happy now,
And I can’t seem to channel
The way I used to feel into
Words worth reading
And now I’m stuck.
I will not pen poems of roses and rainbows—
No. that is not who I am. That is not my poetry.
My voice pulls out the harsh reality.
But somewhere between falling in love and moving to a beautiful place,
I have lost my sight, my vision so clear of the pain and suffering so many endure—what I used to feel daily.
So I write.
I write now in hopes of bringing a voice back.
In hopes of channeling my inner monologue to say something profound…
Or worth reading at the very least.

-HRG