2023: How the F*** Did We Get Here?

I've been contemplating how I might write this post; what I would even talk about, after so long of not touching my blog, or not even attempting any kind of conversation about my life at the moment. 

But at this point, as I look at the news headlines, think about how much the world has changed since 2020, and realise I just had a 26th birthday that brings me further out of my precious twenties... all I can say is, how the actual f*** did we get here?

Where am I now?

It be me.

So it's 2023, two years-ish after my last post in this blog, and it's strange to think I was in a completely different place when I last wrote something here. I still live in Bristol and love the city to this day. It's my haven, a place I stroll around on my free days and take in all its vibrancy, home to a creative community I feel at home in. Instead of Horfield, I now live in Fishponds, a beautiful suburb in North Bristol with plenty of shops, cafes, and parks, including a park right beside the house. The only thing that lets this place down is its public transport, as we are home to the worst bus service in Bristol, which is so lucky for me, right?

I'm pretty happy here, even though adjusting to life in a house-share has been tricky. The girls I share with have been generally lovely and I feel comfortable for now.

Job-wise, I'm still working at UWE Bristol as a library assistant. I've been looking to the future in regards to this career, wondering if I could pursue a job as a librarian in future if I gain the right qualifications. I've opted out of doing an MSc in this field for the time being, since I know I function best when I can dedicate all my time to a course instead of doing it alongside full-time work. For now, the aim will be to move to an administrator position and make the most of my current role in the meantime.  

War and Injustice - do we not learn?

The world is bizarre and terrifying as we start 2023, no matter how much we try to smile and pretend the bad stuff isn't happening. I never thought in my lifetime I would say that a war was going on, but it's staring us in the face and escalating by the minute. When Russia invaded Ukraine last year, I remember how tense it made me feel. I couldn't think about anything else while I was at work that day, my body relying on autopilot as my mind was trapped in this standstill-state, wondering what the hell was happening to the world. 

Now, Putin is still pointing his guns and missiles at the rest of the world for daring to intervene. Never did I think I'd live in fear of a nuclear attack, but here we are. It's real and terrifying, but we must stand strong against the threats in order to defend people's freedom. 

Related to this, I look at other headlines and notice other basic freedoms being challenged, such as rights for LGBTQ+ people, the transgender community, women, black people etc. I wonder if I really am in 2023. We get told we live in a world that doesn't need campaigning for minorities' rights anymore. All that was left behind in the 1950's/60's. But I see more and more that this isn't true, and we've become so complacent with that idea that we are less motivated to stand up to the racists, misogynists, homophobes etc. We're too busy staring at our phones and living lazy lives to fix the wrongs of the world, and criticize those who deserve it.

I realise as I write this that I'm hanging onto the negatives of the world right now. I admit I find it hard to drag myself out of depressive slumps when I read the news, take in everything that's happening, and feel helpless to change it all. I struggle with my mental health as it is, so bad headline after bad headline is enough to bring me right down. 

But - and it's a big but - I've noticed the strength of people coming together in the face of the crises we're facing. The power of community can't be underestimated and I've found myself constantly grounded by the words of people around me. I feel grateful to be part of such a wide network of writers on Twitter who always have interesting thoughts and wisdom to share, as well as the friends I have in Bristol.

The future of this blog

As you will have seen, this post is very much a splurge of my current goings-on, both the good things in my personal life and the awful things in the world's life, but I am inspired by the confidence I've had to just sit down and write this thing. I've been writing all sorts for the past couple of years, which would normally be 90% scripts, but in this case I've taken a break from that medium and spent months updating a novel-like fanfiction instead. I have no regrets with this because it's made me happier than anything to work on a story I'm really invested in - it's a dark fantasy with a twisted romanced and character study at the heart of it, so it's easy for me to get hooked.

In regards to what I write now, I'm getting back into scriptwriting and am working on a short film script that I'd love to shoot in the summer (if I can get the right team on-board) and am also writing a couple of essays on TV series that will be converted into videos for a YouTube channel. All of these new writing habits have inspired me to get into my old ones, which includes updating this blog. My newfound passion for analysing films and TV series has made me want to restart my review blog and my personal blog at the same time. 

After all, cathartic writing is good for the soul, and it's made me realise how much I missed that feeling. I had a look at my old blog, 'Abigail's Chronicles' (I'm cringing at the title, I made myself sound so important) and it gave me a sad, nostalgic feeling to know I was able to write so much about my life without a filter, even if the writing itself was bad and could have been edited a lot more. Much of that blog was spent writing about the fear of university and then the innocent relief when I knew I was capable of interacting with others my own age. Thank God for that, hey?

Sometimes I wish I could return to the simplicity of university (does anyone else browse university courses and consider applying even if we know we can't afford them?), but in my heart I know that life is behind me. Right now, I need to focus on my job prospects, where my current career in libraries is going, and what I want to aim for in terms of writing, whether that's screenwriting, fiction, or some form of non-fiction.

Between all of that, I want to keep this blog going, and not abandon it for as long as I have. Like I said, cathartic writing heals the soul, and I think my creative spark will be revived more if I keep getting my own thoughts out into a blog. My creative spark has been revived by writing essays and blog posts, and I want to keep this up as much as I can, for the sake of my other projects. 

In summary, expect this blog to be semi-regularly update, depending on my work hours and when the inspiration strikes. I'd like to use this space to talk about specific issue that fascinate me, whether it's in the news, on Netflix, or just at the forefront of my crazy mind. When the idea's there, I'll write about it. That I can guarantee.

Writing a script in a Bristol pub, just because I can.

What Am I Doing With my Life?

What the hell am I doing with my life? That's a good question. I haven't posted on this blog for so long I've been starting to wonder it myself. 

The last time I wrote a post was during lockdown, which feels like a lifetime ago, but also feels like yesterday. Months later, masks are still being worn, Covid-19 is still spreading, but we're in an odd 'in-between' stage, where everything seems normal but we're also aware that the problem isn't gone. I'm trying not to be under a false sense of security, but I'm also glad to have some freedom back. 

While all this is going on, I've been working hard at my remote job, leading a team of people, working on a marketing campaign, and having various Zoom meetings. Even though I've been enjoying the work, I've realised that the hours are no longer enough to sustain me financially, so I made the decision to apply for full-time jobs. And, as unbelievable luck would have it, I've been offered a full-time job as an Enquiries Assistant at UWE Bristol libraries!

I'm over the moon to have got this role as I really didn't expect it, but it's helped me believe that I give off good impressions and I'm capable of doing a job like this. It'll be my first ever full-time role, since most of my previous jobs have been part-time summer roles to help me get by, so hopefully this new position is something I can stick with permanently.

Lockdown in Bristol

Entering a third lockdown was not how I'd planned to start 2021. 

I'd been living in my new house in Bristol for four months and only had a few weeks of exploration time before the November lockdown stopped me in my tracks. I'd never been a huge fan of cities, but I'd wanted to move to Bristol for a long time, and it's great to now have a home here, but I've not been able to enjoy it in the way I wanted to, thanks to another stay-at-home rule announced in January.

Of course, I knew it had to happen given the rising cases. After the announcement, I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly. I'd been through a few lockdowns already and had proven to myself I could cope with them. I'm lucky to be a writer who works from home, so am able to stay occupied during a lockdown.

The last few months have indeed kept me occupied. I've dedicated all my time to my freelance job which means I've done more hours and made more money than I did previously. I have also taken the time to start a number of new projects, including a new TV script, and two short film ideas with directors on-board. 

It's been a combination of many Zoom meetings, long scriptwriting sessions in the evenings, and discovering wonderful new series like Life on Mars, Ashes to Ashes, Dead To Me, and perhaps my favourite, Dark, a mind-bending Netflix series from Germany. 

All of these at-home endeavours have happened because I've been given the time to dedicate to them, which has been wonderful for my creativity. At the same time, I can't lie and say the constant cabin fever from being in my room all the time hasn't been demoralizing. After a while, the house you're in starts to feel boring and the constant work and play done via a screen can be too much for your brain and eyes. 

I spent the first lockdown in my Devon home with my parents, but this time I've been away from them, which is why the atmosphere has felt so different. Even though my family and I wanted to kill each other half the time, we were a unit who comforted each other when things got difficult. This time, I've been in a house I haven't lived in for very long, focusing on nothing but work for three months at the height of winter with many cold, dark and depressing nights.

My housemate and I have definitely grown closer from being stuck with each other for so long and passing the time with walks and TV series, but it's been a strange way to live, cooped up in one room for what feels like forever. 

Fortunately, things have recently started to turn around with the lifting of a few rules. Bristol hasn't fully opened up yet, but I've been able to take a few walks and appreciate the area I live in again. My boyfriend and I recently walked what felt like the entirety of South Bristol, passing through Redcliffe, Temple Meads and Castle Park, and it did wonders for my mental health.

We're cautiously moving out of lockdown with gradual rule-changes, but I'm looking forward to all the rules being gone so I can make the most of Bristol, as I'd always intended to. 

 

So, 2020, Am I Right?

It's been the most bizarre year of my life, and a lot of people's lives.

To fit with the theme of the bizarre, I thought I'd write a blog post. Because, you know, I rarely do that anymore.

Without stating the obvious, this has been a difficult year. I started 2020 on a massive high note: I was deeply invested in my Scriptwriting Master's, living happily in Bath with the new friends I'd made, and writing a TV script that felt like the most 'me' thing I'd ever written. My fondest memory was getting wasted on cocktails for my birthday, as well as embracing my inner child and going to see Sonic The Hedgehog by myself (god, I miss cinemas). 

But almost without warning, I was returning home in March to escape a pandemic I never thought I'd have to experience. Just when life was coming together, everything was snatched away. I had been in the process of building a team to help create a short film, and that suddenly seemed impossible. Suddenly my dream seemed impossible.

The time I spent in my family home for three months, at first, was difficult, but I learned to compromise. I'm fortunate enough to have parents who are loving enough to make me feel happy. We passed the time with games of UNO, plenty of films, and walks with our beautiful dog. And during that time, I had to get used to a virtual way of doing my Master's. 

My first Zoom calls of the year were... shall we say, confusing? I expected video calls to be the worst way to conduct seminars, but it turned out they made things very convenient. I could sit in my parents' attic room comfortably while attending virtual seminars, and when I was done, all I had to do was walk downstairs to my living room instead of rushing for the bus or a lift.

What at first seemed impossible became a fun routine. Ironically, Zoom calls are now my preferred method of communications over phone calls or in-person conversations, at least when it comes to work.

During those three intense months of lockdown, I also fully embraced my creativity. I spent most nights writing my heart out, namely on my TV pilot about demons hitting on baristas, because that's my jam. Obviously.

Once the lockdown ended, I returned to Bath and to my student flat. I was the only one living there, and I used the alone time to continue writing my scripts. At this point, I was writing an entire feature film, which I'd chosen to do for my final Master's project, and I was beginning to wonder if I'd overestimated myself. I'd never written a feature film before and it was a struggle, especially when I was forced to stay in and work on it. 

But despite the struggles, I managed it, and despite the odds at the beginning of the pandemic, I also produced a short film called 'Bruise' with the help of an amazing team, who came together and helped me bring a script to life. 

I even managed to secure a new house in Bristol with two of my Scriptwriting coursemates. I'm writing this post from my desk in my Bristol house, and I'm at a more comfortable place than I have been in years. I completed my Master's with an overall merit, and I've managed to secure two jobs: part-time retail, and part-time work as the Community Manager for CAHOOTIFY, a website that I used to recruit most of my team for 'Bruise'. I don't know what I would have done without the platform, so when I got the opportunity to do PR work, it was impossible to say no.

Here I am at the end of 2020 with my two jobs, a new place, as well as a boyfriend I love so much (I'll have convinced him to read this by the time it's published), and I'm wondering, what on Earth's next?

I think we all share the same thoughts right now. We have a vaccine that's been deemed safe to use, so I think we're holding onto the idea that it will solve all the problems caused by this year, and we can almost definitely go back to normal in 2021.

That's incredibly likely, but I'm keeping in mind that we must remain vigilant. I've been taught this year not to take anything for granted, and to be considerate of others even when it comes to the little things. While I hope for all our sakes that 2021 is a better year, I'm also expecting more struggles. We can't forget that we have a climate crisis to contend with, a record number of homeless people on our streets, and animal species that need saving from extinction. 

But when I steer away from pessimism, I think about the fact that 2020 has been, while chaotic, a huge leap forward for my own wellbeing, and has changed the way I look at the world. It's given me the chance to take a step back from what I'd usually do and re-evaluate what I want.

And I think I can go into 2021 knowing exactly what I want.

Elections and Evils

Okay, so this article is going to be about positivity and making a change, but I want to say one thing before I start.

I get it.

It's hard not to feel dragged down when you see all the bad things happening in the world. We're facing so many issues that seem impossible to solve: homelessness, poverty, terrorist crimes, the increasingly urgent climate crisis, and most recently, on 13th December 2019, the Conservatives sealed a shocking majority in the general election, confirming Brexit will go ahead, leaving us in an uncertain future.

I understand the frustration we're feeling, when it seems there isn't any good news on our timelines, nothing to wake up and feel happy or thankful for. It's terrifying to think of what the vote may cost us. One possibility is that Brexit will be better than we predict. Maybe Boris Johnson will keep his word and not allow the NHS to be sold, and make us feel safe as a country. Another possibility is that it all goes downhill, threatening the livelihood of many people and damaging the fragile connection we've held with other countries for so long.

I will not lie and say I'm not worried about what the future holds. But what I can say is nothing can be done about what's already happened. There is no point in wallowing in your disappointment and hating a government you don't trust. I'm not happy about the election result, but I've decided the best thing I can do is pick myself up and move on. 

As stated in a Facebook post I saw recently (view here), it's important to remember that voting is not the only way you can make a difference in the world. So here's an idea: stop feeling sad about things you can't change, and focus on the things you can change.

Buy a homeless person a hot drink. Donate to an animal charity. Start a fundraiser. Do the Race for Life. Join an Extinction Rebellion event and raise money to help battle climate change.

It's a cheesy line, but true: 'Be the change you want to see in the world'. It's never easy to make yourself fight for a society that seems to be failing, but we can't let our outlooks change our actions, because the world won't improve if our actions disappear.

Yes, there are a lot of bad things happening in the world, so the last thing we should do is mope about it. Make a positive change, and you never know what good things will fall into place.

A Big Leap

I've been living in the beautiful city of Bath for around a week now, but it feels like much longer than that.

I've come here to begin my Master's in Scriptwriting, which I've been looking forward to since I applied back in March, and it's been an interesting transition from the seaside towns I grew up in to the much busier atmosphere of city life.

Cities have overwhelmed me in the past - London, especially. I travelled there in July for a weekend at Comic Con; I did nearly all of the trip alone, the train, the hotel, finding my way from the hotel to the arena. That entire weekend was enough to convince myself that I'm capable of doing things on my own, but I'm pretty certain that London is not somewhere I'd want to live. Maybe it's the number of large buildings, or the fact that people generally have unfriendly looks, but I couldn't stay there for more than a few days.

Bath, however, has a completely different atmosphere. I've travelled into the city centre a couple of times, and while the area is certainly busy, the vibe is more positive than somewhere like London. I find all sorts of places to shop and get coffee, and I never feel uncomfortable with the people around me. The architecture of the buildings is gorgeous, made of that unique stone Bath is known for, and I'm making a mental note to explore the huge library at some point. I have the buzz of a city environment around me, which is what I craved before moving away from Devon, but it doesn't seem terrifying. Instead, it's motivating.

Not only have I fallen in love with the city itself, but living with new flatmates has been a lovely experience. I applied to live in accommodation with undergraduates, but the age gap hasn't made much difference when it comes to making friends. I've formed connections with every single person I've met, regardless of age, and when I met the people on my course, I loved seeing the variety of backgrounds they have come from, but we all have shared interest, which is scriptwriting.

The course I'm undertaking will be a big leap from my BA. It won't start officially for about nine days, and when it does, it's probably going to hit me how much work it will require. I'll need to do a lot of independent work, sparing eighteen hours a week for it, and will need to collaborate with coursemates and other departments for my projects.

At the end of the course, I'll have a completed script that will be made into a production, then showcased to an audience. I've never had one of my scripts fully produced before, so it's terrifying to know this is what's expected of me. That's why I've started drafting ideas for a short film already, just so I'm prepared to write a script in good time, and then I'll need to get a crew together.

I never thought I'd be saying the words 'writing a script' and 'getting a crew together' in the same sentence, but here I am.

I'm not quite sure what this course will bring me, but I've already established great contacts, and even though I've been warned about how difficult it will seem to begin with, but I'm going to power through it regardless. I've worked hard to get to this stage and I think I owe it to myself to remember what my passion is and work even harder to make it a reality.

It's a big leap when it comes to entering any new stage of your life: a new job, new course, new house. Still, it's important to take those chances since you never know the rewards it will bring you. I'm proud for taking this chance and sticking with my instincts.

Living in Bath will probably one of the best experiences of my life.

Friend (Sequel to 'Super')

It was a long time since she'd seen Erika. 

Dominique wasn't sure if she even wanted to. She was in an odd frame of mind, where she couldn't decide if she was happy or not. In times like this, she knew she was unpredictable, likely to lash out at any moment. She knew she shouldn't allow old friends into her home. But she was going to do it anyway.

-  soooooo it's been a while. Would you fancy meeting if I came back to London? xxx

This was the text Erika had sent a week earlier. Dominique wasn't going to respond at first.  They'd been close once, but since Erika moved away for a new job, they had no reason to keep in touch. 

Frankly, Dominique didn't know why Erika was suddenly eager for a catch-up. They barely spoke nowadays, and in her opinion, that meant the friendship was as good as finished. 

But Dominique had been out of sorts. Sometimes bored, often lonely. So she replied the next day with:

- Sure. xxx

She now stood on her balcony, her green wings folded neatly on her back. The city stretched before her, a sea of towers and gleaming windows, illuminated by sunrise. 

She checked her watch. 

7:30 AM.

She often got up at this time to watch the day begin and feel the early breeze ruffle her feathers. It was also a quiet time - the rare moment she could fly to the end of the city and back, without feeling a million eyes on her. 

Erika's plane would touch down at 10:30, and she'd be arriving at Dominique's at 12:00. The winged woman drummed her fingers against the metal railing. She was nervous. The powerful half-human, who saved civilians from danger on a regular basis, was nervous.

She clutched the railing, as if scared of falling over the edge, despite knowing her wings wouldn't let that happen. Sometimes her human side was good at fooling her. 

Taking a small breath, Dominique went into her flat, and her gaze fell on the newspaper she'd been reading a few minutes before.

The front-page headline read:

"FOOD FACTORY EXPLOSION - LOCALS BLAME THE WINGED GIRL!"

Dominique had read the entire article, focused on it, drunk it all in. The further she'd read, the more her feathers had bristled.

"We can't trust someone who's only trying to get attention!"

"That thing's not human - it's an animal! Would you want your children near it?"

"My husband died in that fire and I blame that thing that came from hell!"

Dominique snatched the paper from the table and tore it in half, throwing the shreds across the carpet. She barely realised her wings had unfurled in her anger, and were almost touching the ceiling. 

Calm. One, two, three...

Her breathing slowed and her wings folded up again. Dominique cleared her throat and moved to the kitchen area. She urgently needed tea. As she boiled the kettle, she thought to the previous night - the night the factory had caught fire. 

She'd been nearby when she heard the explosion. She remembered soaring into an open window, seeing the shocked expressions as she swooped in, before she took several workers into her arms and flew them to safety. 

If she hadn't intervened, it was likely the majority would have died. So why the reaction?

Two minutes later she held the hot mug against her chest, as if it would provide relief for the anxiety she felt. 

She checked the wall clock. 

8:00 AM. 4 hours to go. 240 minutes. That was plenty of time to prepare. 

She'd be counting every single minute right until midday came.


*

When Dominique opened her front door and found Erika standing there, she didn't expect to be sent straight back to her childhood. She immediately reminisced running across the school grounds, chasing her friend with luscious golden hair. 

Erika's hair was that same luscious gold, but instead of full-length, it was now a bob, curling perfectly around her jawline. She wore a well-trimmed suit, complete with a grey blazer and trousers, and a pair of large glasses sat on her nose, the frames large and rectangular. 

Dominique almost forgot to speak. 

"Hi," she eventually said. 

Erika smiled wide, showing her brilliant white teeth. "Hi, Dommie.."

Dominique forced her own smile, standing in a kind of dazed shock. Erika leaned to the side to gaze at her wings. 

"I remember those being smaller," she said with a chuckle, 

As if she were ashamed, Dominique quickly folded the wings against her shoulders, like a blind being rolled up. "Sometimes I wish they were still small."

Erika chuckled. She clutched the strap of her leather satchel, then asked, "Can I come in?"

"Oh, sure, sorry."

Dominique stepped aside, and when she watched Erika stride into her flat, it was like watching a whole era flooding back into her life - a past she thought she'd left behind. 

She closed the door, watching Erika nose around the living room. She'd cleaned up the newspaper shreds only minutes before. 

"Cute place, isn't it?"

"Suits me well enough."

"Yes, I can see." Erika turned to face her. "And that's probably why you never left?"

"I guess so. I could never do what you did."

Erika smiled, almost proudly, as she placed her satchel on the coffee table. She was already behaving as if the flat was her own. Dominique almost forgot she was the host. 

"I'll make tea."

She walked to the kitchen, keeping her wings low. "How's China these days?"

Erika laughed humourlessly. "Complicated. The job is honestly the best part."

Dominique placed two mugs on the counter and dunked teabags inside. "I can imagine!" she replied, keeping her back turned. Why was she so anxious? Her heart rammed against her chest like it wanted to escape. 

"But you, Dommie." Erika's voice took on an impressed tone. "There's never a day when you're not in the news! It's incredible! You must be loving the attention."

Dominique frowned to herself. What was that supposed to mean? "I don't know about that," she replied. The kettle boiled, and she poured water into the mugs. "Do you still take sugar?"

"Two, please."

She stirred the mugs and glanced at her friend, who had seated herself on the sofa in the centre of the room. Even after so long, Erika was content to make herself at home, as if she'd never left. 

Dominique's wings brushed the ceiling as she carried the mugs through the doorway. 

"What I said before," Erika said as she took her mug from Dominique's hand, "about loving attention. I didn't mean it how it sounded."

"It's okay."

"I just can't put myself in your shoes. Not anymore. It's so different to how things used to be; you and your wings, and powers, and all the people you save."

Dominique took a seat and put her mug on the table. Her shoulders were hunched as she sat there, and her eyes wandered to the floor. Why couldn't she think of what to say anymore?

"The things they're saying," Erika continued, before Dominique could form words, "about the factory incident."

The tension was palpable as she took a moment to sip her tea. Putting the mug down, she then asked, "What's the truth?" 

Dominique blinked. "What do you mean?"

"They're saying you're dangerous. That maybe, you're the one who caused the fire in the first place." 

Something in Erika's eyes looked concerned, or sad, as if she were awaiting an answer she didn't want to hear. Come on, fess up, might have been the translation. 

And it was like a knife in Dominique's stomach. 

"Does it matter what they think?" Her wings shifted behind her shoulders. "What do you think?"

Erika pursed her lips, and for a moment Dominique imagined her friend behind a desk, pen in her hand, piercingly judgemental, like a headmistress. She already had the look for it, with her glasses and professional demeanour. 

Then, it suddenly clicked in her head. 

She closed her eyes and sighed.

"I get it," she said in resignation. You're a journalist."

Erika blinked. "Why's that important?"

Dominique could tell she was forcing her confused expression, as if to disguise other motives. A rock sat in her belly, and she could barely believe what she was about to ask.

"Is that the only reason you came to see me? To get a scoop on the story?"

The silence in the room was answer enough. 

Erika licked her lips and knitted her fingers together. Now, she was the one keenly avoiding eye-contact. 

"Dommie--"

"No. Stop it."

Dominique rose to her feet, marching to the other end of the room with her arms folded. "If this is all just for a story, you should be honest about it."

"I really did want to see you." She heard Erika moving off the sofa. "I would have come down purely for that, believe me. But you don't understand how demanding my job is. I have to have a story with good public interest. So, I figured, if I came to see you, we'd catch up, and I'd get a story. It's killing two birds with one stone."

Why had she been so stupid? Erika had had no reason to come back into her life so suddenly. 

All at once, the headlines came back to her: accusing her of the things she hadn't done, calling her an animal, not regarding her as fully human. 

The words crowded her mind, and it was blinding her. She leaned against the windowsill, short of breath, and she could feel Erika's footsteps walking towards her. 

"Dominique, listen..."

"Get away from me!" Dominique shouted, turning to Erika in a fit of anger. She felt immediate regret when her friend recoiled. Her eyes were on Dominique's wings, as if she were afraid of them. Memories came to her of Erika playing with her feathers in fascination, as a six-year-old. Her expression now was so different - like all the wonder had drained out of her. 

"I asked you to tell me the truth," Erika said, calmly. "No-one else. You're my friend, and all I want is to hear your side."

She may as well have been standing there with a notepad in one hand and a microphone in the other. 

Dominique never thought she would feel so cornered, and so exposed, in her own home. 

"No. You have to leave, Erika." She was on the verge of sobbing. Her wings were raised high, and she was resisting the urge to fly away. 

"I'm still your friend, Dommie. Please, can't we just talk?"

"Not if you're going to keep lying to me."

She became faintly aware of sunlight warming her back. The window to the outside was just there. She could escape if she wanted to - out of the birdcage. 

Erika, almost looking disappointed, let her arms hang by her sides. She pushed a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, then walked back to the sofa to pick up her satchel. "In that case," she said, as she moved to the front door, "I don't have anything to say to you."

The pang in Dominique's chest was a mixture of hurt and anger as Erika refused to turn back. Her old friend opened the door and slammed it behind her, leaving the room as quiet and empty as if she had never been there. 

*

That night, the city was strangely lifeless. 

Dominique perched in her favourite spot, on the roof of her tall flat. So many people lived inside that building, and yet none of them knew they shared a building with the woman who'd been making all the headlines. She made sure of that, by only leaving her room when necessary. 

The breeze whipped past her ears. It was cold, but not cold enough to pierce her skin and make her shiver. It was a passing whisper, gentle and barely noticed. 

Sometimes it made Dominique feel better to feel fresh air around her shoulders. Her heavy costume protected her against any dangers, like traffic, guns, knives, or even aircraft in the skies. 

She was passing the time by observing the city, hoping a situation would arise where she was needed. It happened all the time, after all. And when the time came, she would prove she wasn't the instigator of terrible events, but the person who tried to stop them. After that happened, maybe the nicknames would start to disappear. 

Winged girl. Animal. Thing. 

Dommie. 

Just make them all go away. 

But when she waited for her chance, the city didn't even give her one. She plucked her feathers out of boredom as the hours went on. She never got that sense that something was wrong, or anything needed fixing. Not even a burglary or mugging. It was London. There was always something to stop. 

But the moon was low and bright, sky pitch-black, and nothing attracted her attention. 

Erika would be on the next plane back to China by now. There was no reason for her to stay. 

As she moved her wings back and forth, slowly, not enough to make her airborne, she thought bitterly of golden hair and green eyes, and how her childhood was nothing more than a fantasy. 


*

"How big do you think they'll get?"

Erika watched with glee as the wings fluttered. They were like a bird's, thick with feathers, sticking out of the perfect holes in Dommie's shirt. Apparently they would grow as she grew, and it excited Erika to think about it.

"No idea. Pretty big, I guess."

They were doing the usual walk to school together, still bleary-eyed from the early start. Erika noticed the more they went to school, the less Dommie seemed to look forward to it. The other kids would often be staring at her, confused at the sudden change their classmate had suffered.

Perhaps Erika was being selfish, but she always assumed the others found her as fascinating as she did. After all, who wouldn't a pair of wings to show off? She looked amazing like that!

"When I start writing for the newspaper, I'll do a report on you!" she suggested, overcome with excitement. Dommie looked uncomfortable when she placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll tell people how amazing you are, and then you won't have to worry about being in public! Everyone'll love you!"

"You don't write for the newspaper yet, Erika," Dommie replied, glancing only slightly in her direction. 

"Oh, don't worry. I will!"

"Please don't write about me." Dommie stopped and turned to her with a desperate look in her eyes. "I can't deal with people talking about me anyway, but if it was about THIS?" She raised her wings and gestured to them with her hands. "I'd hate to be in the spotlight like that."

Erika was taken aback. She really meant it, didn't she?

"Well, if it's that important to you, I won't," she said with a shrug. Though she didn't know, in her heart, if she was telling the complete truth. 

"Thank you."

Dommie looked sad as they continued the walk to school. And Erika found herself staring at those wings hanging there, with their vivid greens and blues, more often than she realised. 

*

Dominique felt ill when she read the headlines the next day. 

'WINGED WOMAN A DANGER TO SOCIETY.' 

'Report written by Erika Miller.'

She took a second to sit down, the newspaper in her hands, processing the words in her mind like a movie reel. It wouldn't sink in. It just wouldn't sink in. 

Memories of running across the grounds, wrestling each other to the ground. 'Dommie' would use her wings to fly away. Erika would scream, 'No! No! That's not fair!' 

They trusted each other back then. And now Dominique stared at her wings like they were an inconvenience, her bitter eyes looking back at her in the mirror. Now, she didn't think she would trust anyone ever again. 

Super

The boy stared like he couldn't believe she was real. 

Dominique decided this was a normal reaction, especially from a child. What mattered right now was keeping him calm, as she noticed the red cuts on his neck and cheeks.

"It's okay, I'm going to get you out of here."

His mouth hung open as she took him in her arms She could lift him with ease, slipping one arm under his legs and supporting his back with the other. He watched her face as she walked across the rooftop and searched for a place to take off.

"You're like Superman," the child eventually said. 

Dominique smiled. "Yes, but I'm not Superman."

"Do you know Superman?"

She chuckled. "He's an acquaintance."

The night was dark and she couldn't pick an area in the street safe enough to land in. The ground looked horrifyingly distant, and if Dominique were fully human, the sight may have made her dizzy. 

"I wanted the police to save me," the boy said. He was surprisingly chirpy for someone who had just been a hostage. "If not, then Superman."

At this, Dominique tried to ignore the pin-prick of hurt in her stomach. She didn't look at the boy, gaze directed below as she jogged along the roof's edge. Here she was, saving his life, and he still thought of Superman instead. 

Sweat was building, sticky under her costume. She was exhausted, and all she wanted to do was get the boy to safety, then head home and see what the headlines were saying about her.

"I hope I haven't disappointed you," she said, softly.

Dominique let her wings unfold, shadowing her figure as they spread free. She caught the look of astonishment on the child's face at this development, right before she leapt off the edge. She drifted into the city, past blinking police lights and towers that glowed with electricity.

"I'll tell Superman you said hello."

Her voice was a loud echo against the wind. She hoped her tone wasn't acidic, but doubted the child would notice as he stared at her green wings in wonder, and she took him towards the ground, her figure disappearing into the darkness. 

Why Cornwall Is The Perfect Place For Inspiration

When I came to Falmouth to study for my degree, I knew I'd be somewhere I felt comfortable. I live in Devon after all, and had barely been away from home, so this was my opportunity to break out of the comfort zone, but also live somewhere vaguely familiar. It was a reassurance, knowing I wouldn't be overwhelmed by a massive city.

Since then, everything about Cornwall has become so familiar, and it went from a comfort blanket to the perfect environment for creativity.

As a writer, I'm constantly searching for inspiration, and like to immerse myself in new environments while writing. Many writers prefer a busy area, sitting in coffee shops while city life hustles and bustles around them. I like a busy atmosphere, but also the innocence of a rural area with heritage behind it.

This is why Falmouth, Penryn, Truro, Redruth, Penzance etc. have given me so much inspiration for my work. I knew I wanted to improve my writing skills, and not only has my course helped me do that, but it's given me more motivation to be creative in general.

I've achieved things that would seem insignificant to some, but to me, they mean the world. Writing multiple articles, managing social media, recording a podcast - they're just some of the things I've done since beginning the course. If it weren't for my lecturers motivating me, or my coursemates inspiring me with their own projects, I wouldn't have become the writer I am today. Without my time in Cornwall, it's unlikely I'd be writing in coffee shops and libraries the way I do now, with passion and excitement.

For that reason, I think Cornwall is the perfect place for those who want to explore their creativity. Whether you're a writer, artist, musician, or anything similar, you'll find something that interests you and gives you the foundation for your work. Nowhere else can you find a beautiful coastline with beaches, along with the charm of the seaside town, filled with unusual places.

Three years here was enough for me to confirm my creative streak, and I'll remember it, no matter how many places I venture to in the future.

New Starts

The last time I wrote a blog post was two years ago. 

It had been on a personal blog I'd been trying to keep active since starting university. Since then, I've been abandoning these posts for fiction writing, script writing, and everything else my course throws at me. I suppose I found more value in my creative work than I did in writing about myself. 

I'm 22 now and in my final months of university. If I spoke to my naive, first-year self, I'd say that her writing is good, but she's got a lot to work on, and many insecurities to break through. I'd tell her how it's worth taking opportunities and doing things that scare you, because you never know the joys that new challenges can bring. 18-year-old me didn't like trying new things, thinking she'd never be good at anything other than writing. 

I'm at university - that's enough, right?!

Well, it is, but it isn't.

Since going through the university experience, I've matured so much, growing aware that life isn't all fun and games. You can't waltz through it unscathed. You have to make sacrifices, work hard, and look after yourself responsibly. I think it's mainly my third year that taught me this. The first year is about the excitement of being in a new place to study your passions; second year is where the pressure builds as you take on bigger projects and realise your assessments actually matter; then, in third year, comes the quarter-life crisis. You know you don't have long until you leave, so you must consider your plans for the future, all while stressing over your final assignments. 

It's exhausting to think about, and it's one of the many things going through my head right now - finding my place after university and not screwing it up. I think it's one of the reasons I chose to start writing a blog again. It's not so much for venting, but purely because my brain might get overwhelmed if I don't voice my thoughts somewhere. 

So, yeah, maybe I am venting a bit. 

For my final dissertation, I'm writing a pilot episode for a screenplay, which is, honestly the dream, since I've always pictured my stories coming to life on the screen. I'm putting all my passion into this piece, but the downside is that it's mentally draining, especially since I work on it every day. It's showing me just how important it is to take breaks. As I write this post, I'm on a train home for the weekend. I'm staring at beautiful fields through the window as the sunlight lands on my fingers. It's a nice journey, oddly therapeutic, if you ignore the rush to catch connections, and it's worth it for the destination. 

Worrying about my dissertation for weeks has drained me, and I often feel like I'm about to go mad. When it gets to that stage, I know I need to take time for myself, and I sometimes use a trip home as a way of doing that. Some might think this is just procrastination, but I believe it's the opposite. If you're focused on one thing 24/7, it can make you hate that idea, and you'll lose your passion for it. But if you take regular breaks, with fresh air and people to talk to, you'll go back to your work feeling revitalized and it'll only help you work harder.

After my break, I know I'll be back to studying and it's certain that stresses will come with it. But at least, with a blog, I can write about my thoughts and make sense of them, which will hopefully allow other people to empathize. (I say that like I have readers.) 

I'm excited to be restarting, so I can keep up my writing in my spare time. I think the issue with my original blog is that the posts never had a true focus: each would be a jumbled mess of what I did that day and how I felt about it. I can tell my writing's improved, because now I can see that articles and blog posts are better to read if you are making a clear point through them. 

So what's the point of this post? I guess it's to say that I'm open to new starts, whether it's a blog, or starting a life beyond university. Even though it can be daunting to think of the future, it's important to approach it with a smile, and stay positive for the big changes it'll bring.

Little Limbs

She peers into the hole every night. Each time, it's exactly as she remembers.

Tiny limbs, grouped together like play-dough mashed by a child's hands. 

She doesn't know what to make of it. Nothing about it is logical - it's terrifying. Maybe that's why she is coming back; to see the thing that no-one else dares.

Her name is Mandy. Her neighbours don't know who she is, and they've never asked. She comes across as too private - the kind of person who peers through her window, watching everyone from the safety of her home, but rarely venturing outside. Content to watch others, but not to interact with them. 

Passers-by find it strange when Mandy leaves the house just as it turns dark. They probably think she's a serial killer, emerging only at night, ready to cut up her victims. But Mandy hopes she's too ordinary-looking for that. Whether it's night or day, she sports a baseball cap, blue denim jacket and black denim jeans, brown ponytail swinging.

She jumps over the metal fencing on the opposite side of her road, where it borders an empty playground. It's a huge area, but Mandy's never seen any children playing there. Sometimes she'll go in during the day, rocking absent-mindedly on the swing, cigarette in hand. She's 22, but she often thinks she is the child the playground was built for.

On this night, it's very cold, but she ignores the shivers running across her shoulders. She is fixated on the darkness of that hole. The same limbs are inside - the ones she remembers from the night before. The hole itself looks like someone has deliberately carved it: a perfect circle, placed a few feet away from the seesaw.

This time she brings a torch, shining it inside and watching as the hands, feet, and peeled skin were illuminated. Dirt crawled into the crevices, showering the skin in a patchy brown. She is fascinated by how tiny the hands and feet were. Her own is three times the size of the ones in the hole.

Miniature hands, miniature feet, lying in a crumpled heap, disembodied. It definitely scares her. She wants to know what happened, whether this was a murder, an accident, or something else.

But she has never told anyone about it. Not once, during the two weeks she's been coming back here. She just stands here, staring, and thinking.

Perhaps she's not terrified of the disembodied limbs, but of herself.


*

Mandy can't stand it when people cry.

It triggers odd emotions in her, making her instincts go to war. She's curled up on the sofa beside the window when she hears wailing outside.

The woman next door - she's seen her only a few times - slams the door of her car before crying into her arms, leaning against the roof. Her husband runs out to comfort her straightaway, guiding her from the car and cradling her body into his chest.

Mandy catches muffled words amidst the wailing: "Miss her... shouldn't have happened... didn't deserve it."

She feels her heart jump into her mouth. She makes the connection, and it starts to scare her.

As the husband ushers the woman indoors, Mandy wonders if she should confront them. For the sake of those little limbs, hidden away like objects in a cellar. She feels angry.

When she moves to the kitchen to make coffee, she thinks of the cold air of the playground, the stench of death in the soil. She wants to go back again, keep guard, even though there is nothing alive to keep guard of.

The water in her mug turns mud-like brown as she stirs the powder into it.

Maybe later, she thinks, as she wraps her hands around the mug. If she can overcome the fear that someone might be watching her.