Allison Marshall

  breathe center see EXPLODE   colors screaming across time space unfolding stretched galaxies spinning writing the words in blood a letter to some unseen star-crossed soulmate engraved in a ring that wrapped heaven and earth   just one more step to raw truth hang on a little longer   then   in the distance a rumble that tears everything into   darkness   you wake dazed in the rubble both hands feeling brushing fingers against forsaken pieces while the radio plays static and a song the words you think you can remember   almost… almost…   and then…   …gone.

  So confession time: I play the Sims. I play the Sims A LOT. I have tried quitting multiple times, and I even managed it for about a year and a half once, but I wound up back at it again eventually. I wrote the first generation of a Sims 3 Bring Me to Life Challenge (dare I show this 2013-2015 project to my friends and family? Eh, yeah, sure, I dare .) and had an absolute BLAST doing it. It was like writing a graphic novel, and that's always been my favorite thing about the Sims. I can create the characters in my head and make pretty pictures.  Anyway, I decided to try out my photoshooting skills in Sims 4 for a change. Dang it , it's so much harder than in the Sims 3! You. Can't. Move. Sims. In. Build. Mode. I'm sure Sims 4 legacy writers and machinima creators have figured out a cheat or a fix, but I've been out of the community so long and I didn't feel like rushing into a group of internet strangers and shouting, "HEY! QUESTIONS!!!!" Maybe next w

When I listen to other writers discuss writing, specifically the creation of characters and how they shape their personal plots, I've come across a very prevalent mindset/idea. Namely, that characters talk. ....?!?!? Yup. Numerous writers, from the successful and famous doing a televised interview to the obscure blogger that I swap creative ideas with, claim this. They say that their characters talk to them. That they argue. That they won't do what they're told. That they have grown personalities so potent they have an audible voice inside the author's head. And whenever I encounter this mindset, I feel a little left out. But maybe more weirded out. Because it doesn't happen to me. My characters do not (watch me go cross-eyed here)  " speak" to me. Why is it that I feel like *I'm* the crazy one when I say that? Nope. I made them up. They never talk. They never argue. They stay totally quiet when I conjure them in my brain and move them like the little

“Eloise just told me the news, and I knew I needed to speak with you immediately.” Grandmother said. “Yes, grandma?” I asked, with an exasperated sigh. “I’m very glad she wants me to host the wedding party. I have plenty of charms and barriers in place, and the night before the wedding will be the worst. They never came for your mother, but her gift was subtle. Eloise is in considerably more danger.” “Danger?” I said, squinting my eyes as I looked out the window at the night street below. “Danger from what?” “The Demon Fey and the Incubus of course.” Grandmother said as though it were the most logical thing in the world. “They will try to steal Eloise’s power.” Here comes the Demonic Wedding Crasher. Wedding bells are ringing for Annabella's Beloved older sister, Eloise, and Annabella has been named maid of honor. A dire warning comes to Annabella from their superstitious Grandmother Roxanne: Eloise has supernatural powers and during her wedding she will be vulnerable to attack. It

It is now the eleventh hour on November 30th, and with just 20,004 words, I have officially failed NaNoWriMo 2020. The main reason for my lack of progress was an eleven-day hospital stay in which I was unable to write. I was stuck before then, but eleven days without access to writing material was the nail in the coffin. I'm disappointed in myself. I had an ambitious goal and I failed. But I decided to fail as well as I could, and this morning I did a 2,000 word sprint to 20,000 words over a Panera breakfast. I meant to share this news before my hospital stay, but never got around to it. Since it fits with this blog post's theme of failing well, I'll share it now. For those of you who have not heard of Pitch Wars, it's a massive writing competition where writers submit queries and first chapters to potential mentors (who are published authors/editors). These mentors then help the selected mentees polish their manuscripts and queries. Pitch Wars ends with an agent showca

 Right outta the gate, I felt like I was doing well. This week did not go all that well. 😂 I managed an average of just 1,000 words a day for three days. On Thursday, I only managed 356 words. I have all the excuses. Work's been extremely draining. I start super early and I grind for nine hours. After that, it's so hard to find the motivation to write. But I promised myself that Friday, my day off, would be catch-up day and guess what? I managed 3,637 words today! WHOOOO HOOOO! And I *officially* have the 10k words badge.  During the worst part of the lockdown, I wasn't able to go to coffee shops and do my regular coffee-shop writing sessions. I wrote the majority of HANG ON at Starbucks locations. It's good to see stuff opening back up and with things opening up, I have the ability to go out and write again! For me, being away from home in a new location is super motivating. Yesterday started out as a pretty tough day. Two tough calls before noon. One guy, understanda

I came to awareness in a dark, warm place. Floating on the edge of an expanse. Vibrations thrummed through me, and though I was confused, I felt safe. I was wrapped up tight in a smooth, red blanket. I heard snippets of voices, and I felt like I could recognize some of them. Dad. Mom. I wanted to call out to them, but I was tired. I drifted. I wandered through dreams that were just shapes and color. My red blanket tightened and I felt immense weight pressing on me from all sides. My sense of safety was replaced by cold fear. My heart pounded and I felt it shaking every part of me. Everything contracted around me and I wanted to cry out, but I couldn't feel my tongue. Red walls squeezed in closer, and closer. A long dark tunnel stretched out before me. Then, at the end, a bright light. Too much light. It seared as it passed over me. Suddenly, all the weight lifted away and I felt my limbs writhing in the light. Voices. Blurry faces. I heard a baby crying and crying.   Oh my st