QBC Yearly Challenges!

This is a little delayed, but updates!  For the Quarterly Book Club Sam and I have sorted and listed all the Yearly Challenges available!  There are a number of challenges, and a one of the mods, and being a tad bit ambitious, I’m taking on all the challenges this year.

First Off:

For the Yearly Group Reads, you have many choices to pick from! All of the challenges have their own set of guidelines, so look for them inside the threads. All you have to do is select your level of participation and declare it in the the thread of the challenge that you are participating in. The challenges last all year, but be sure to update your progress in the threads once in a while to keep everyone updated!

If you would like to suggest a challenge, do so in this thread and we can probably work something out!

You’re also allowed to participate in more than one challenge if you like! A lot of them will overlap with each other, so it won’t be too daunting!


The Challenges available:

Months Challenge

~ Graphic Novels / Comics/ Manga Challenge

~ Classics Challenge

~ Series Starters Challenge

~ TBR Shelf Challenge

~ Standalone Challenge

~ Colours Challenge

~ Contemporary Challenge

~ 2015 Debut Novel Challenge

~ Series Enders Challenge

~ A-Z Challenge

I have to say, I’m glad there are books I’m planning to read that can be added to a number of these challenges, because otherwise, I feel like this would be an impossible feat.  Some challenges are easier than others, and at the same time, we have different levels of reading available for each challenge (click the links for more info), and the Months Challenge, I feel would be the most difficult challenge.  BUT hey, I’m always ready for the challenge!  Are you?  If you want to try your hand at these challenges, comes join Sam @ Poison For The Senses and I over at QBC on Goodreads!  There you can make a pledge and keep track of your challenge/s,  and we have other things too, if you’re interested in joining our book club.  Which reminds me…I feel like a commercial once more, but really, I’m just excited about the group and the challenges!

Looking forward to seeing you there at the Quarterly Book Club, hosted by yours truly, and Sam @ Poison For The Senses.


Yay!  So I joined Nanowrimo this year on a sudden whim.  Rather, I had a story idea and I really wanted to write it, but I figured I wouldn’t write it because I had my exams coming up.  But technically I only had one exam so I figured I might as well write a novel on the side, giving me something to do.  And then I joined Nanowrimo.  It’s actually been a while since I’ve written anything more than 10000 words and I found Nanowrimo both stressing and fun.  It also reminded me the familiar feeling of writing a full-length novel.  Oh yes, and that other feeling of being dissatisfied with how the story ended, but! I’m glad I wrote the story I wanted to write.  It’s been over a year since I last felt like writing a full-length novel.

Sure I had my ups and downs throughout the whole process.  And the idea of having a word limit every day to be completed in time is a first for me, since usually I write as much as I need to when I feel like it, which is probably why all those other times in the past when I’ve written a full 300 page story or so it takes me like three months or so.  I like taking my time.  But I also like writing it out all at once.  So this was definitely different!

I’m happy to say though that this was a great experience.  It sucks though that I didn’t take part in any of the events because I just couldn’t fit it in to my schedule.  But hopefully next year maybe I’ll be able to!

Wooooo!  Happy Dance!  And now, onto usual business, reading some more, writing more poetry, short stories, drawing and sketching, reading manga, catching up with friends, and oh yeah maybe another crack at writing a novel longer than 50000 words!

Jim Butcher.

You know, I spent ages debating over which author who I should write next about under my “Authors Whose Writing I Adore” section, because really, while there were many stand outs, I find every author has something special about their writing.  For example: Jim Butcher and his Dresden Files series.  Now really, I wasn’t that engrossed with his books to begin with, not only was the main character a guy with your you know, every day guy thoughts, I was not used to the style of writing.  But really, it wasn’t bad, just different.  It didn’t have the poetry of Dessen, Oliver, and Condie’s writing, and it doesn’t have that distinct flair of Heyer’s works.  Also it’s not a manga, therefore there are no pictures.  So I had a hard time adjusting, particularly when I read my first Dresden novel two years ago.  WOW.  TWO YEARS.  I can hardly believe it’s been two years since I started the Dresden Files, and boy, has it grown on me.

Continue reading

How I Spend Me-Time (TAG!)

SO Sophie over at Young, Wild and Writing has started this new blog post called TAG! and it’s all about what you do and how you spend your ‘me-time’ which I think sounds pretty cool.  After all, I’ve only recently finished my exams – albeit it was only one exam (but it was at the end of the exam period) – I’ve suddenly got so much to catch up on which I missed out doing while I was at uni.

The TAG! topic is “Me-time” according to Sophie’s post, so what do I do in my me time?

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My little Book of Musings which I use to write random things

1- Writing – Writing for me is a me-time thing to do.  I usually pick up a lot of inspiration wherever I go and for as long as I can remember, for me, it’s all about my Book of Musings and the possibility of either writing another short story/poem or building up another imaginary fantasy world to chase after my dream career.  It really is a relief that I can use words to express things, especially when there was a time when I felt I couldn’t express myself at all.

2- Reading – I am a serial reader.  I can’t help it, I read too much.  Seriously, I put books on hold at the library and then I put more books on hold, until I have too many books on hold and I can barely carry then out of the library.  Haha, it’s a good thing the borrowing period if four weeks, but still, there are times, that my crazy holding-of-omg-the-new-release-books spree becomes a pile of books that even I can’t finish in four weeks.  During the uni semester though, I miss out on reading a lot because I spend so much time reading academic papers which more often than not, are kinda boring (no offence!).

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Sketch books! I think the blue one is number 11

3- Drawing – I love drawing, it’s one of my favourite things to do.  Unfortunately, unlike writing I have a much harder time gathering inspiration.  I also think I have a tendency to be unable to picture how things fit together, so I take twice as long sketching than inking.  You know I was once told that people who are good at maths are also good at art.  I’m fairly good at maths, so I guess I’m fairly good at art? Well Whatever it is, I really enjoy drawing, good or not, I do it in my me-time.  I’m not that great, but feel free to check out some of it here.

4- Pondering the English Language – Okay cut me a break…haha, so since I decided to major in English as an International Language, I’ve become more aware of the issues that we discuss in class, and alot of the time, I watch something and then I question it.  It sounds like a totally nerdy thing to do, but I really do love looking at the current state of the English language and how it’s developed around the word, I just think its fascinating!

5- Manga – I love reading manga, almost otaku level (I actually prefer it over anime).  So this a total me-time thing.  The idea of spending a good few hours doing nothing but reading manga whether it’s online or in paperback form.

Instruction for Tag:

Bloggers tagged in this post are not being obliged to do a similar post.  After all this is just for fun so if you feel like doing it, feel free and if not, then don’t.  No harm done.  If you are saying yes to this, all you have to do is make a similar post presenting your list in any possible way.  It is up to you for as long as it shows how you spend me-time.  Be it through pictures, poetry, a narrative, haiku, etc.  As you finish, it is also suggested that you tag another five bloggers to your post so the fun will spread and who knows, a little self-reflection may go a long way.

I hope fellow tagged bloggers that you might join in on the fun as well :)!

As for me, here are my tagged bloggers:

1) www.stephrogers.com

2) www.walkingwiththealligators.wordpress.com

3) www.bokunosekai.wordpress.com/

4) www.peacelovegreatcountrymusic.com/

5) www.theelusivescribe.wordpress.com/

Orianna of Time.


Cherry blossoms drifted, floating and fluttering to the hard-packed land.  They cover the ground like pink snow in spring, building up a fortress, setting a backdrop for the girl lying in the centre of the field.  When she wakes, it’s with a kiss on her lips.  Fury and desire burn through her.  She needs the warmth that draws her upwards with need in her veins.  Her fingers run through his hair, and her thin arms cling to his body.  She couldn’t stop.  She couldn’t let go.  Falling apart, she felt, would be inevitable if she did.  Sensing her need, this warm body did not let her go.  And she is saved.  In her head, she asks herself, “What am I doing?” She knows this is the question she should be asking.  But unlike before, she did not know the answer this time.


“Orianna!”  Her mother called.  “Come darling, come.”  The little girl dropped her makeshift sword one that was a essentially a stick cut from the rose bush, plucked of its thorns, by her, and transformed purely for the purpose of poking and prodding her nurse.  She was sometimes, such a wicked child, yet the Queen Mother, would have her transformed, when the time came, into her darling beautiful Princess.

“Mother has a new dress for you.”  The Queen’s voice was listless, and seeming cold, she pulled her dark cloak around herself.  Orianna didn’t complain about wearing the dress her mother gave her, hardly feeling cold at all, and absolutely dying to go back to playing, but she did wonder what she was doing sitting there while her mother hardly paid attention to her.


Orianna followed the man in green.  She walked where he walked, and watched as he grew.  By some power, he coaxed the growth of the land.  There was not a rose that would not bloom for him.  There was not a seedling that couldn’t be found.  There was nothing that would not heed his deepest wish.  He was a man with power, honesty, kindness and spirit but mostly, Orianna noticed, he had love.  Had he ever loved anyone?  She wondered if he was ever loved before, cherished to the point where he was constrained by the very bonds he had accepted, by nature or by choice.

She knew nothing of this man.  And he knew nothing of her, except that he had taken her along in his stride, like a chick and its mother, clucking around, not really looking for anything in particular except for maybe something tasty.  But it seemed only he found the food.  Orianna looked everywhere, but she could never find what he could.  Perhaps it was because she was human.


Mother dressed her hair.  It was clumsy and untamed, but no one within the vicinity dared to breathe a word.  Pinned up, Orianna’s dark curls cascaded down her back, showcasing beauty, length and its dark richness.  She patted Orianna’s head when she was done, smiling wistfully to herself before turning away.  She fanned herself as though she’d been working hard and she even wore a peaceful ‘I’m satisfied’ look on her face.  The servants though, clamoured around Orianna the moment the Queen left, sticking pins in her hair to hold the shape.  They did no more however for fear of facing the ferocity of the Queen.

For the festival, Orianna was dressed in a pink, purple and violet confection with her arms wrapped in gold and her torso in gold chain.  It seemed heavy for her ten year old frame.  Around her forehead, they draped the lamb headdress, weighed down with sapphires and gold, and clipped it tightly.  They told her again how fine her hands were, how beautiful her bone structure was, how slender her neck would become.  They never said she had strong knees.   It was moments like that when Orianna would stare out the window zoning out their gossiping voices. She would remember, when she was barely old enough to speak, her mother had told her about the spaces outside, and the spaces inside.  There was a world out there, that mother said, only monsters lived.  So Orianna never stepped out, though, once, just once, she’d put a toe out, to test the space on the balcony.  She’d regretted it ever since.  But she discovered that nothing happened to her at all.


Earth never stopped walking.  He was forever, endlessly guided like a river.  He had no direction.  He had no plan.  He was a child, moving with the wind, adapting, growing, but like Peter Pan, he never grew up completely.

Next to him, Orianna felt peace.


When Orianna was fifteen, her mother dressed her in white.  Orianna was the centre of the festival.  So she must look beautiful.  Her dress was long, thin, well cut and held together with gold.  Once again her forehead donned the lamb headdress.

At the height of the festival her mother joined her.  Her tyrian  dress was enviously embellished with the same gold that edged Orianna’s skirts.  But the difference, her mother’s beautiful cloth blended into aubergine at the edges.  Orianna was jealous, she hated the shade of white.

The Queen turned to smile at her, it was a dazzling, beautiful wide lipped, full teeth smile.  Orianna smiled in return, but somehow, her face muscles couldn’t replicate her mother’s smile.  Yet her mother still smiled.  In fact, she even took Orianna’s hand, holding it up, for everyone to see.  Especially for the King to see.  Orianna remembered the sizzling bright light that blinded her from seeing the crowd.  They were there.  She didn’t need the cheering to know just what illusion had shattered at that very moment.


Earth took her hand.  It was the first time he’d touched her since waking her.  When he’d changed her clothes, he’d commanded the vines to hide her, remove her armour and dress her.  It had been unusual, and as a man of his kind, he could feel more than she could.  Everything he touched, touched her and vice versa.  For him, it must have been excruciating.  Yet he stood back, and gave her privacy, lending her the earth woven gown of anemone.  Strangely Orianna had revelled in the power she seemed to hold over him.

Now he took her hand, and brought it to his lips.  That moment when her mother had taken her hand, she’d felt the arrow in her heart.  Her mother’s smile had stained her vision.  And then it’d blurred, faded, dissipated into nothingness.  When she woke next, Orianna was on a sacrificial bed, with a lamb’s head on her stomach, and her hands covered in blood.  She remembered the fear in her blood, the chill that set on her skin and then the acknowledgement of her mother’s smiles.  They were too beautiful indeed.

“What did you see, Princess?” Asked Earth.

“I saw my mother,” Orianna said looking into his molten amber eyes.

“Ah,” he sighed pulling away.  His smile was very ugly.  It was the kind that stayed with her.  She was afraid but he didn’t heed her even though she cried, “wait!” He disappeared.  Only her echo was kind to her.  Around her, the last of the blossoms fell to the ground.


For time, she wandered from the green grasslands that Earth favoured to the lands beyond where grass turned to dead twigs and a forest cast a taunting shadow.  She did not recognise when the seasons had changed.  Only that it had.  It was no longer spring, but winter.   Her anemone gown began wilting away as though they’d lost their lover.  Slow and slowly, they fell – peeling away, crumbling – dropping away like snow.  She didn’t recognise the trees.  She didn’t see the chestnut, or oak, pear or poplar of her homeland anywhere in sight.  It was so dark in the forest, if all of the flowers fell completely away from her skin, she wouldn’t know.  Nor would she be afraid that she was baring her all.

Yet, it seems nature forbid her.  As the last flower fell away, something cold, clasped her wrist, crawled up her arms, padded her back, and wrapped around her legs locking her in.  She moved her arms, and they moved with ease.  The tiny sound of metal against metal chimed in her ears.  Once before she’d donned something like this; once before, it had weighed heavier and felt stiffer than the one she wore now.


Her father, dressed in purple, made her bow at his feet.  He loved his daughter.  And his daughter loved him. But Orianna loved him as she loved her country.  On that day, she’d chosen to don a knight’s armour and carry a sword.  She’d knelt before her beloved father and pledged as a knight would pledge her love and honour to protect.

“Why?” He’d asked. At that time, Orianna did not understand the question that had been so plainly put to her.  When she thought back over it, she realised how obvious the answer was.  But she was just a girl, seven months ago, she’d just been a girl, shaken that her mother could engineer her death.  And that her father presumed Orianna had agreed, Orianna felt fury for the first time in her life.  Finest amongst fine wines, she’d worn armour and fought for her country in secret for no other reason but to appease her own strong desires, that is until the King found out.

When he looked at his daughter, her dark hair had been cut and tied back, and her skin a little darker he had planned to scold her, possibly disgrace her a little as punishment.  Yet, she was still the Kingdom’s most beautiful maidens.  Only her eyes had change.

Her father saw the frightening determination, the fear, in her eyes that he’d only seen once before.  He knew that the string was already drawing her down another path in the labyrinth.  Whatever the punishment he served, she would not be swayed.  Her path was not the one farthest from the minotaur.  It was the one leading to it.


“Who are you?”  Orianna asked the shadow-clothed woman standing behind her.  But the woman didn’t answer.  Like the darkness, she was silent.  There was something malignant about the forest and about the woman, what—she could not yet place.  But she did not want to find out.  So Orianna stretched her arms, testing the amour, and flexed her fingers, feeling the metal press against her wrist.  Accustomed and at ease again, she began walking.

“I’m searching for something.  Why am I here?”  She asked, turning, looking, but barely catching the tail end of the cobweb and lace dress.  The woman never answered Orianna’s questions.  She merely paced around her like Orianna paced around the shadow.  Every moment she glimpsed something of the thin other being.

“Why are you running from me?”  Orianna said provokingly, spinning sharply, hoping to catch the other.

“Why can’t I see you?”

“Why do you chase me?”

“What have I done wrong?” Ah, time froze then.  How words can remember.


A sword crashed down on her armour.  She felt it buckle ever so slightly.  What had she done wrong?  Where had she gone wrong?  She pushed her sword up, and braced.  She could hear the water rushing in the stream behind her.  It was rushing against the rocks, pounding the cliff edge.  The rapids were strong enough to kill a man just by merely slamming him into the cliff face or the many rocks that sat jaggedly beneath the water surface, but Orianna didn’t care.  At that point she didn’t.  All she wanted was to be free.  With a furious kick off her adversary, she launched herself into the torrent of water below oblivious to the fact that she could die.


A cold hand rested on Orianna’s chest.  Beneath, her metal casing shimmered in the darkness reacting to her touch.  She saw the face before her, pale under a black veil, she could not stare.  Like Earth before, Death was much more unbearable.

“What did I do?” Orianna whispered.  But the woman merely looked.  The woman in black was nothing.  She breathed nothing.  She felt nothing compared to Earth.  Death was unmoved.  And Orianna was at her mercy.  As her hand grew hotter on Orianna’s chest, the world shifted around them, the sound of rapids crashing against the rocks filled her ears, the smell of the sea, salty and fresh filled her every breath.  There was nowhere to go except down.

“What did I do?” She whispered.

Death pushed her.  It was merciless, but no different from a choice Orianna had made once before.  Coldness embraced her skin as she hurtled through the air towards the water, towards what seemed like a painful death.  She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the armour falling away.  It was almost unbearable.

The water hurt when she crashed into it.

The metal seemed to crush her body.

She couldn’t breathe.

The sand felt wet and cold under her hands.  She hadn’t realised where she’d crawled ashore.  Looking up she faced him and his famous blood sword.  No one lived after meeting him.  Not even her.


The water hurt when she crashed into it.  But naked and exposed, the water caressed, rather than maimed.  It wrapped itself around her body like a shield that encased warmth and life.  It pulsed as it washed her down the rapids along a stream of time that never ended.  She touched stone and pushed away in a rhythmic serenade, back and forth, gently rocking, until she was washed upon a shore.

On the shore a silk robe, the colour of gold, sat neatly folded on the hot sand as though it had been prepared for her.  She wrapped it around her feeling the silk slide along skin.  It was unmarked except for the scar along her neck.  A scar of sacrifice.  She touched it lightly.

The light dazzled her as she looked out onto the horizon.  For kilometres on end, there was nothing for her to see.  To her left there was a beach.  To her right, there was only endless water, stretching further than the eye could see.  It looked welcoming, she remembered the way it caressed her holding her close.  She wanted to feel it again.  She wanted that pulse again.

“You can’t do that.”

Orianna turned.  It was a woman dressed in gold.  Lips painted gold and draping gold lace for a dress that hardly cover her, yet, was on every centimetre of her body.  She sat, languishing, almost bored, in her chair, a golden throne made just for her.  Orianna was caught by the Lady’s gold-edged molten gold eyes.  They were lovelier and more intoxicating than Earth’s had been.

“Do you see the shells?”

“I see them,” replied Orianna cautiously.

“If you tried to count every one of them, you would be here for longer than eternity.”

“Longer than eternity?”  Orianna stepped closer.  “There can’t be that many.”

“I don’t know how many there are.”  The Lady stood.  She was undeniably beautiful, with pale caramel skin and long dark hair that rivalled Orianna’s.  Orianna watched as the Lady walked over the golden tiled floor to hourglass.  She must always be bored, Orianna thought looking around at the gold pillars that towered around all sides of her.

“The Hourglass of Time.”  She grabbed the golden handles of the towering glass time keeper.  “Must be turned when time ends, so time starts again.”

Orianna frowned, she was never a cryptic person, she preferred straight lines and curves, but not zigzags and knots.  The Lady’s words were simply presented, yet to Orianna they sounded complex.  Just like the hourglass in front of her.

“Time, flows left, flows right.  Goes up, goes down.  But it never fully ends.  It just,” she pulled the upper half of the hourglass down, “keeps,” without the presence of using much energy at all, “on going.  Time never stops.  It is endless.  Constant.  Present.”

Orianna watched as the sand shifted in the glass, sifting, turning, spiralling slowly and timelessly from top to bottom.  It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, all gold, yet Orianna did not understand what the Lady was saying.

“You asked a question, did you not?”  The Lady half-turned to look at me, her gown, shimmering with her every movement.  She was such a petite creature next to the hourglass that was half a palace high.  “Would you like to see the answer?”

She gestured for Orianna to stand next to her.  Orianna understood now, why the Lady had looked small next to the hourglass.  It was immense, towering over her, with swirling gold, glowing lightly.  How could the Lady be bored?

She looked into the sand in the hourglass as directed and saw something unimaginable.  Inside she had become a legend.  One told again and again in the present, and the future.  The story of a girl.  And then she saw something that if it were her future, she wouldn’t be afraid to pass on through the gold sand of time.  If it was her past, she wouldn’t be afraid to say hello to her former self.  Looking into that glass, she had no regrets, not one at all.

“I have been here for longer than eternity,” said Time as Orianna considered her.  “There are over a thousand shells on the beach and counting.  They come, go, taken by the sea, and returned when they have aged beyond their time.  I do not know how you feel.  I am Time.  I am like Earth and Death before you, I am immortal.  Earth is love, growth and youth, Death is the cold end, and I am chance and rebirth.”

Time held her hand out to Orianna.  “What did you do that was so wrong?  You’re just a girl.  What has past, shall not repeat again.”

Orianna, knowing her fate took the Lady’s hand and stepped into the hourglass.  Returned to time’s flow she would live again.


Related Works:

The Lady of Time

The Woman In Black


We Are The Masters Of Tomorrow

We are the masters of a new revolution,

Of words, songs, rhymes that don’t rhyme,

And Lindt undercover.

Happiness like sadness,

Blooms from love,

And other moments.


We are the masters of the new future,

Taking it by the balls, twisting it, changing it,

And turning it to gold.

Roses like thorns,

Stick in our side,

Full of love, full of pain.

We are the masters of a new renaissance,

Of unspoken words and unspoken pasts,

And change in the darkness.

Light like brightness,

Comes from darkness,

Shining forward.

We are the masters of the new tomorrow,

Blazing bright, brimming in tears,

And prideful hearts.

The Falling Star.

I am strength,

And beauty,

And elegance abound,

Standing on the stage,

With flowers in my hair,

And flowers on the ground.

The light is shining on me,

I am the shining light,

Looking down on the mere-lings,

Waving my well trained hands,

At the sight of their awe.

I am the shining star,

Standing in the heavens,

Soaking up the glory,

Of the next great win,

And then,

The clouds shift above me,

Covering the floor below me,

Hiding the eyes that watched me.

I make my next move,

With more triumph and glory in mind,

And the boss smiles,

A smile less bright

Than the one before.

We waver,

Just slightly at this slight change.

It startles me.

It scares me.

It gives something to fight fall.

But when I fight,

It suddenly dawns,

The very fact,

That I’m not good enough anymore.

But I still keep trying,

Even though the smile wanes,

And nothing comforts me,

Not chocolate,

Not wine,

Not even the friends that come around.

I can’t see anything,

I can’t feel anything,

I’m just another fallen star.

I was used like a dishrag,

Thrown away.

I was petted like a dog,

Then abandoned.

I was nothing but a tool,

Used to turn the cogs of tomorrow.

I am a fallen star,

Wallowing in my pity,

But I won’t stay like this.

I won’t let myself be the fallen star,

I won’t let others look down on me.

When the sky is dark,

I know there is a light,

That will shine before me,

And I know that it is me,

Only me,

Who will rise,

And rise,

From below to above,

Once more.

Wings of Eternity.

Share with me the wings of eternity,

Swarming with darkness,

Embraced in light.

Share with me the glory of the win,

Blazing bright,

Heartlessly cold.

Share with me the spirit of tomorrow,

Swimming with hope,

Edged with fear.

Share with me the want of the night,

Dripping with lust,

Filled with love.

Share with the end of the end,

Walking up that stairway,

Drawn back by fire.

Share with me the scales of life,

Loving until I die,

Hating with a passion.

Share with me the wings of eternity,

Swimming with malice,

Embraced in kindness.


Is taking the mickey out of someone you care,

Because you loved them to pieces,

To the point of teasing, and flirting,

Like a monkey bouncing to and forth,

Purely for fun, purely for love.

Blogoversary!! What a weird word lol!

April 18th.  That was the day I wrote my first blog post.  The day I made my first step into the world of blogging.  I cannot say anything except that it has been ONE AMAZING YEAR.

I have to thank all my followers for following me.  YOU have been beautiful.  And I thank you all again for going on this journey, and hopefully on the future journey with me.

What to say? what to say?  It’s a little difficult since sooooo much has happened.  But I guess I have to say this definitely.  I’m so glad I started this blog.  I’ve had so much fun!

But it hasn’t all been all fun and games.  I had many technical problems, bad days, lack of inspiration moments, and writer’s blocks.  I got distracted, got enthusiastic, got a little stale.  But then I got inspired, felt love, felt happiness, felt enlightenment.  Shocking, dramatic, but totally true!  I’ll say, I started this on a whim, for those who visited my Best Moment Blog Award page and read my acceptance speech, you’ll know I began my blog because I wanted to share my writing but didn’t know exactly what to right or what theme.  I didn’t know what direction I was walking in or what road would get me to the end, if the end was in sight.  Instead, I could only see the steps in front of me, and the steps leading up.  But I couldn’t see any further.

Since then, as I have always said, so much has happened.  And for the first time (well maybe the second or third) since I first started decided to commit to various things with the intention of having a) accomplishments to look back on when I’m old and grey, b) have relationships, and friendships ties with people I want to know til the day I die and c) have fulfilled my dreams, or in a sense aimed to fulfil my dreams, something I don’t ever regret not doing.

Making this blog, posting everyday, looking for inspiration was tiring.  It was.  Really.  But I would never not do it.  It has become something as precious as my 6-year-old netbook (it’s so out of date that it’s still using Windows XP).  It’s something that I can’t ignore, can’t turn away from, and it’s not an obligation.  It’s something I love.  Haha.

This might sound dramatic, and ridiculous, because Hello~! there are some things more important in life, but three days ago, I had a worse than possibly bad day.  It was unbelievable yet I blame getting up on the wrong side of the bed.  But really, it was a surprisingly bad day that ended on the biggest blow (to me is was big) I’d ever experienced.  My beloved, cherished netbook stopped working.  It didn’t turn on, I freaked.  It didn’t charged, I freaked again.  I was freaking out all night knowing that I couldn’t a) access all my data on my netbook – this is significant because for a long time lately I hadn’t been backing up my documents, merely saving them in the most convenient place possible aka my netbook harddrive.  Lazy, I know, but, welllllllllllll…anyway and b) I couldn’t exactly blog properly.  Sure, I have an android phone now, but it’s not a Sony Experia or a Samsung S3 much less an iPhone 5.  It’s just a humbly Samnsung Mini which looks like this:

Only mine’s black.  So when I’m on wordpress writing a post, it’s sometimes very difficult.  My keypad tends to take up the majority of the screen so I type blind a lot of the time.  And THAT my dears, is why when my netbook decided not to switch on or charge, I freaked out triple time.  Sure I could use the other computer in the house, but essentially the feeling wouldn’t be the same.  Sure I could use the other computers in the house, but I’d lost a lot of work on my netbook.  And the idea of missing out my daily posting, made me very sad.  It’s become custom for me to check my blog, read blogs, post pages everyday three times a day.  BUT I was determined.  Even if it was difficult I would have tried to post from my phone.  That’s how much this blog means to me.  That’s how much I love it.  Haha, boy I sound rather dramatic, but it’s true!  It’s all true.

That’s how this blog means to me AND the fact that as of today, it has been alive and active for ONE WHOLE YEAR!  So congratulations to me for committing and thank you all for following and reading what I have to say, read and write!  It means a lot!  I hope I can do this again next year!

And finally since I’m running out of things to say that make me excited, I have one last exciting thing to do! Leading up to this special, special day, I felt nostalgic so I went back to the beginning and I started re-reading all my posts.  I have written so much.  IN on year I wrote One Hundred and Fifty-Four 55 fiction stories, fifteen 1000 word stories, Forty-One Suggestive Reads, Forty-Eight Random Music Moments, Sixty-Nine quotes, Forty-Five poems and Five posts about authors I adore.  And that is A LOT.  And I’m proud.

Going back, I found some stories that I forgot that I wrote.  So Happy Blogoversary to me!  And Happy Blogging to all my followers and readers and passerbys!  Enjoy!  For those who can’t be bothered going back to the start (becaause I do agree I’ve written too much :P) here is the beginning – I even wrote the Illusionist by hand first! 😛 so ENJOY!  Happy blogoversary!!!


Snow White

The Essence of Angel


The Sword

Just Beautiful

The Stars

Dare To Enter The Fairy Ring

The Rape Of Persephone

The Illusionist



Is finding that one moment,

Where nothing else matters,

Where everything is so light

And fluffy, floating around me

Like feathers of the lightest down.


Quote #52

Toni Morrison




From Toni Morrison…

“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”

Blog Awards!!!! Best Moment Award!!!

Best Moment Award, web awards, blogging awards, winners, nominations

Awarding the people who live in the moment,
The noble who write and capture the best in life,
The bold who reminded us what really mattered –
Savoring the experience of quality time.


Winners re-post this completely with their acceptance speech. This could be written or video recorded.

Winners have the privilege of awarding the next awardees! The re-post should include a NEW set of people/blogs worthy of the award; and winners notify them the great news.


  • What makes a good acceptance speech?
    • Gratitude. Thank the people who helped you along the way
    • Humor. Keep us entertained and smiling
    • Inspiration. Make your story touch our lives
  • Get an idea from the great acceptance speeches, compiled in MomentMatters.com/Speech
  • Display the award’s badge on your blog/website, downloadable in MomentMatters.com/Award


Welllll, so this is the place where I write my acceptance speech.  Ah, this feels strange, but it’s easy to know where to begin.  I thank everyone who has supported me.  I thank MomentMatters for following my blog and nominating me for this award.  I thank my followers for following me, encouraging me, commenting and reading.  There’s no words for the amount of gratitude that I possess for those who followed me.  

I thank MrMary for also nominating me the day after I received my first Best Moment Award from MomentMatters.  Thank you so much, I had not realised that I was being followed by a blog such as yours.  I really enjoyed your acceptance speech, and after reading it, I’m trying to decide how to write mine.  Thank you again, bothe MrMary and MomentMatters, you both have a beautiful blog, I hope that many will continue to visit it!  

Now, acceptance speeches.  Sigh, I don’t know where to start…I prefer to ramble?  Maybe I shall ramble.  It’s easy, I think, than actually planning out everything and then sounding monotone because you-are-reading-everything-off-that-A4-sheet-of-paper-you-brought-and-well-you-figured-you’re-just-too-nervous-to-look-up haha.  Well, generally I’m that kind of person, but sometimes, in some instances I can be a real ass, stand up straight and deliver my speech like it was nothing.  Those times, though, are almost non-existent.

So maybe that’s one reason why I freaked a bit when I saw this.  Then I realised, oh right, it’s words, text on a screen that will be read rather than heard.  And I relaxed a little more.  

But the purpose of this is “Acceptance” and so I shall endeavour to make this acceptance speech, An Acceptance Speech.

When I first started this blog, I had no guide, no direction, no other desire other than the desire to write and to share my thoughts and feelings.  It was difficult, more difficult than I ever imagined to maintain such a blog.  Everywhere I looked, thought, wrote, felt like something was not making sense.  I didn’t like that I had no direction it was kind of unsettling.  I mean, I knew I want to be an author, I want to share my writing, I want to share other’s writing, I just didn’t know where to start.  But as of next month, it’ll have been a year since I started, and I must say, on that day, I will look back and think, it’s been an Amazing year, an Amazing experience, and definitely something I want to repeat again and again.  I will think, with all the wonderful people, wonderful bloggers I’ve met, surely, I will meet more.  Because I’m an optimistic person and I always look forward to the next day (albeit except those days where I’m expected to do an oral presentation or something that’ll make me squirm with nerves, or even a day when I have work due, but haven’t done it yet, because I was blogging all day, resulting in an all-nighter…).  Those days though, are worth it too.  Because it’s just another moment of life.

To those who have nominated me, Thank you.  Thank you so much, because this is something I didn’t expect.  I might enjoy blogging and all, but sometimes I just don’t know why I received an award.  It’s hard to conceive that I have achieved this much in a year (for me, this is a big commitment one which I hope I’ll always keep).  To those I nominate, accept and congratulations.  I choose you (like I choose pikachu ;P) because I am inspired by your blogs, I live in the moment of every post, and I can’t seem to get enough.  I hope those who visit, will find they feel the same.

Thank you all for being lovely, for following, reading, liking my pages.  Thank you for visiting, thank your for your lovely posts.  Thank you for the Best Moment.



1. http://thesenseofajourney.com

2. http://thesenseofajourney.com

3. http://bookquoteshub.com

4. http://kellyhartland.wordpress.com/

5. http://mesayah.wordpress.com/

6. http://discoloured.wordpress.com/

7. http://peacelovegreatcountrymusic.com

8. http://sherijkennedyriverside.wordpress.com

9. http://addgrainonearth.com/

10. http://bokunosekai.wordpress.com/

11. http://onwindydays.wordpress.com/

12. http://haikucollection.wordpress.com/

13. http://boomiebol.wordpress.com/

14. http://itstartedwithaquote.wordpress.com

15. http://shianwrites.wordpress.com/

Dance of Seduction.


It was his hand holding my waist, and the press of his shoulder against my mouth.  The way we twirled and stepped, he embraced me tightly.  Why did he tempt me?  Teaching me is for my benefit, but that’s a lie, isn’t it?  His hand caresses my neck.  Don’t lie, I know you love me.

Inspiration 3.

Part three!  Be Inspired! Links to Inspiration and Inspiration 2


I am Inspired.

I am enlightened.

I am fire and glory.

I am the Artist.


My inspiration is the perfect shape of Godfrey Gao’s jaw;

The slightly fuzzy, yet brightly beautiful Alyson Stoner’s photo;

The crazy hair on Max Kasch’s character’s head in Holes;

And the way Jamie Campbell Bower stares at the camera.


The way the silk and organza gown falls on the stick thin model;

The fact that windblown hair in a photoshoot is a concoction of hairspray and other shape holding chemicals;

The curvaceously daring blending of eyeshadow art that borders obscenity yet is still adopted;

The ridiculously high stilettos that make women teeter about.


Inspiration is tattoo art;

Body art for art’s sake;

Nail art that’s too pretty to stay forever;

Henna that’s just black on skin, strangely beautiful.


It is the beautiful long artistic hair on the manga girl;

The arty cool, but girly looking manga guy;

The sparkling bright eyes of the shoujo girl;

The dark, scary panel behind the manga guy.


Inspiration is being one with the character you just met;

Empathetic to the pains of the protagonist;

Sympathetic of the tragedy of the hero;

Disgusted by the indifference of the love interest.


It’s screaming at the stupid characters;

Blitzing the next chapters because you’re in love with the story;

Crying because the author’s just too good;

Falling asleep because the story is just boring.


Inspiration is procrastination because you can’t be bothered;

Procrastinating because you’re scared;

Procrastinating because you’re anticipating;

Procrastinating because you don’t want it to end.


It is doing your homework within the last twenty minutes before it’s due;

Finishing your assignment with plenty of time to spare;

Completing the set readings on the train ride to uni because you forgot the night before;

Researching for the latest paper with the enthusiasm you didn’t know you had.


Inspiration is the unexpected moment at the worst possible time;

Is signalled by the sudden flurry of movement and flying paper;

Is lost in the past when there was no writing implement available;

Is the frustratingly beautiful thing scribbled in the most random place.


It is hidden in the desk, where you left it last summer;

Stuck to the pinboard as a reminder some time ago;

Written on your hand during class;

In the mailbox where you sent it when you were away.


Inspiration is lasting;

Faintly grasped;

Expanded upon;

Nurtured to full bloom.


From Left to Right clockwise: Godfrey Gao, Jamie Campbell Bower, Alyson Stoner, Max Kasch from Holes.

Image  Image  Image  Image

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Eighteen.

The final chapter…is called ‘Coming Home’




…The day of my home coming was hot, just like the day we left.  It was seasonably hot but, I think, it was much hotter.  And like with 80% of most home comings I could feel the final anticipation of the journey.  My eyes were tired, not just from travelling, but from the after effect of travelling.  It was like a project that was coming to an end.  My heart was racing and my fingers were sweating lightly.  This anticipation, it was like I’m waiting for that one moment, the final moment the car pulled up into the drive, and I can say “I’m home.”

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Seventeen.

And the end is slowly coming!


…There’s something strangely beautiful about an Australian countryside.  Especially in the Victorian South East, the Gippsland area, where within the mass of outstretched forestry, there are farmlands.  It’s these that quench my eyes.  It’s these that I find beautiful.  They hold my attention, spreading for acres on end, green and gold, horizontal and vertical.  Cut in various shapes, but bare, all the same.  It’s like a picturesque landscape by some artist.  It’s still and bare of life, yet thriving in absolute wonder.  I see all this from high above and my thirst for beauty is quenched.  It’s so beautiful that I can’t even explain it…


A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Sixteen.

I guess I must have seen another rock filled valley or maybe it was the same one, because I wrote this.



…I stand in a bed of rocks, grey and flat, barely a trickle of water slipping past.  I can feel the rushing water washing my ankles clean.  I can feel the dirt disappear and the current tugs me down.  This used to be a river.  It is no more… 


Inspiration 2.

[A continuation of the other one.  Happy New Year everyone!  Have an inspiring 2013, all the best for the new Year!!!]


I find myself at a loss for inspiration.

I find no sight to enlighten me.

I find the roads a bore.

I find the rivers dry.

I find that even in the dark I cannot see a thing.

I find myself looking for inspiration.


And then I find it.


It comes in an instant;

Spends an eternity arriving;

Appears as a lightbulb;

Lasts for the purpose of creating.


Inspiration is somebody else’s work;

Our moment’s of extreme jealousy;

The work that we are proud of;

The first thing that we create.


It’s a work of art, everybody’s envy;

A beautiful song, the lyrics and melody everyone remembers;

The five line poem, it’s simplicity charms everyone’s souls;

The touching video, it’s purpose only to act as a record.


Inspiration is the triangular shape of a whiskey bottle;

The odd shaped vase on the dining table;

The beautifully intricate carved picture frame on the wall;

The crystal glass miniature on the windowsill.


It’s the French windows your wife insisted on;

The useless sleigh bed that takes up too much space;

The ugly wind chime outside your door;

The plastic yoghurt container that holds the washing implements.


Inspiration is the slowly turning earth;

The image of an exploding nebula;

The thousand stars in the night;

The waning and waxing moon.


It is the abstract pattern of the clouds;

The vibrant colours of nature;

The hot styles of the latest Vogue model;

The stillness of a bowl of fruit.


Inspiration is the sound of a smile;

The taste of a frown;

The feel of a tear;

The sight of a sleeping face.


It is what we want to compose about the most;

What we want to write about the most;

Want to sing about the most;

Want to paint about the most.


Inspiration is the endless magic that fuels our imaginations;

Inspiration is the unknown paradox that circles in our minds;

Inspiration is the term used that describes our admiration;

Inspiration is the glass that shatters upon impact.


It is omnipresent;