Yes, I know that snippets and aesthetics won out over a short story on my Instagram poll, BUT...

I couldn't get the aesthetics ready in time, and I want that post to be PERFECTION for you. So, for now, you get a short story that will most likely be a novel at some point because I can't seem to just write a short story.

I introduce you to my Backburner W.I.P// Broken Memories.

***

Hello.

It's been a hot minute. (or fat minute as the kids say nowadays.)

I feel like I have some explaining to do about my absence.

But this might be a crazy, messy post so bear with me here.

Some of you may know that I do, indeed suffer from depression and anxiety. In my teen years, it used to be a lot worse.

But my best friend says since about Halloween of last year my mental health has been declining. And I agree.

Last week consisted of countless mental breakdowns, a panic attack at work, a fight with people I really, really care about, making up with those people, finding we are stronger now, and me feeling like I was going to suffocate in depression and anxiety. Honestly... I began to suffocate under the weight of it all and was on the point of giving up.

Giving up hope.

Giving up on myself.

Giving up on happiness.

Giving up on ever trusting God.

Just

falling

falling

falling

deeper into the abyss of darkness, the point of no return.

I had reached a point of wanting to stay in bed. I hated writing. I hated myself. I hated everything I use to love doing.

All of it

pointless

I was worthless

I was unlovable

I was too far gone

or so the enemy said.

And if people say that's not depression or anxiety because a doctor hasn't told me that... I'm sorry but I don't know what you would call that.

I didn't want to write.

I didn't want to blog.

I didn't want to work.

And it doesn't help that my work environment is so toxic, full of toxic people, toxic situations, toxic everything.

I was lost among the darkness in the abyss, no light to be found.

And then...

My best friends. My tribe.

They helped me.

My mom and dad, of course, they were there for me, too. But I was in deep. And I put them through a lot with my emotions that I was beginning to withdraw into myself.

My friends and I... we had planned a video call to see each other since we all live far from each other. And I almost didn't do it. After a week of planning and arranging schedules... I almost said forget it.

Because I was breaking.

I was lost.

I was hopeless.

I was too much for them.

All lies.

They wanted me and one reached out saying she understood, but she had wanted to see me since it would probably be a while before we could do this again.

So I decided thirty minutes wouldn't kill me.

I'd show up.

I'd make my appearances.

I'd leave.

I'd return to my dark abyss.

But...

they pulled me out of the dark abyss. They have me a light to see the rest of the way.

They helped me to see that this moment, this dark and painful moment... it's just that. A moment.

then it's gone

soaring

far, far away

and then

I emerged into the light.

I talked more than I usually talk during video calls with my friends because I'm an INFP I don't start a conversation.

It was therapeutic to do this. I needed it.

And I can stand saying I'm better.

I'm worth more than I know.

I'm lovable.

I'm never too far gone.

No, I won't always be positive.

No, life isn't fair.

Yes, I'm stuck at a toxic job with toxic people for a while longer.

But I'm going to be okay.

And I know you will, too.

You have worth.

You are loved.

You have purpose.

You are strong.

Don't

ever

give

up.

Happy New Year, friends. <3

* * *

It’s quiet here.

Calm.

Nearly peaceful. If only it wasn’t a prison.
   
 I sit on the wooden porch, my eyes trained on the forest of trees surrounding me. All is quiet. But beyond the trees, I hear the storm. It’s a thunder-booming, ground-shaking, rain-pounding-against-pavement kind of storm. Though for now, all I see is a wispy fog.

Quiet footsteps from behind me break my concentration. I glance behind me where River stands, holding two mugs of steaming tea. His deep blue eyes are trained on me. I turn away, looking back at the fog.

“You look like you could use some tea,” he says, his voice deep like a roaring ocean.

“And what does that mean?”

He shrugs. “It means you’ve been tracking the storm for over an hour and could use a break. So I made you some tea. It would be terribly sad if it goes to waste.”

His lighthearted attitude is why I get along with him. Though it often grates on my nerves, it brings me back to the ground sometimes. I take the mug in my hands, letting its warmth fill me.

I sip at the dark brew. River looks out against the barrier of the porch. “How bad is it?”

“What?” I ask though I know exactly what he speaks of. Sometimes I have to play games with him, too.

He leans his back against the wooden railing of the porch, flashing that half-smile he always has if he’s not completely smiling. “You know what I’m talking about, Audra.”

I detest that I enjoy hearing my name from his lips. But I do. There’s no denying it. I give a sort-of smile and sip my tea again before answering. “It’s strong, but I don’t detect any danger.”

“Good. The younger ones were worried.”

I nod. Too young to understand why no one wants them in society, too young to harness their abilities.

River sips his tea and says, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I say, a little too coldly.

His eyes hold so much sympathy, I don’t know whether to let him hold me in his arms, or yell at him until he’s mad at me so he won’t give me that look.

“I know you wanted to go see your parents. To tell them you’re okay. I know you saw the posters. And the signs. I saw them, too.”

I shake my head, looking down into the dark liquid in my cup. I set the mug beside me and stand. I stare out at the gravel pathway leading to our humble home. All the rejects of society, the ones who are gifted to do amazing things, we live here. The world doesn’t accept us as we are.

“My parents don’t know who I really am. I just… I thought I could tell them I was safe. That I don’t want to come home. But you know he won’t let me do that. And besides that, I can’t lie to my parents. I want to go home. I hate it here.”

“I like you here.”

I feel the traitorous blush rush my cheeks. “I know you do,” I manage to say, keeping my voice even. “And there are days that I don’t miss the hiding, the fear for my life if anyone finds out. But nothing will ever replace my mom holding me when I’m hurting or my dad’s crazy life advice. Nothing.”

“Do you ever wish you were born without your abilities?” River says. It’s a threatening question, a question no one should answer.

I feel brave, standing here at the edge of the porch, a light mist now falling from the sky. Thunder can now be heard by everyone else. And I’m torn up by the answer that breaks me down every single time River asks me.

This isn’t the first time he’s asked me. It won’t be the last. My answer never changes, never falters. And as I let the light spattering raindrops fall upon my skin, I know deeply what I want to say, to scream at the top of my lungs.

So for once, I do. I scream my answer loud, into the open. River doesn’t falter. He’s not afraid of me. Perhaps the only person who isn’t. And that’s why I like him. He isn’t scared of the answers I give, isn’t scared of the ideas I have. He accepts me for who I am. For who I want to be and who I’m not.

And all at once, I’m lost as I feel his arms pull me back on the porch as I once again slipped away from myself. We fall back, knocking over the mug of half-drunk tea. The rain now pounds against the wooden steps of the porch, having already soaked us to the bone.

“One of these days, I’m going to let you stay out there and see what happens,” he grumbles, though I know he would never act out his threats.

We sit up, realizing we’re still tangled together.

“Thank you,” I breathe out. “Again.”

He takes my wet, cold hand in his, entwining our fingers. His ocean eyes meet mine. “Always.”


I nod. “Always.”

* * *

This is not just a short story. It's my new W.I.P. More snippets and stories from The Storm will be coming soon. <3

~Brooke

Welcome to Storyteller Heart.

Don't click away thinking you've hit the wrong blog. This was Chasing Dragonflies and I still LOVE dragonflies. But I needed a change. I've been hitting a wall. I don't like writing the cookie-cutter blog posts about writing advice. There are plenty of blogs- AMAZING BLOGS- out there for that.

Sure, those posts are helpful and I love reading what other people have learned on their own writing journey. But... it isn't me. It isn't my passion to talk about writing. My passion is storytelling.

My passion is sharing the gift of words through the art of the story.

I don't love writing advice posts. I don't love talking about stories. I love actually writing the story.

So I decided that there was something I needed to do. And that meant making a huge change.

I'm not going to change my URL right now because that could mean all the people who follow my blog are automatically deleted and then y'all will never find me. Besides that, I do want to have my own website at some point, when the bank account is crying.

But, the heart behind this blog has always been the story.

I got to thinking a lot about what my purpose in life is. And you see, while I am doing a LOT of promotion for my books, I've realized something... something huge.

I don't want to be famous.

I want my words to take center stage.

I want the story to take center stage.

Lately, I've been uninspired. Which is why I'm writing this blog post and working on graphics the very day before it's meant to go up.

My post for today had originally been about something else.

But the reason why I've decided to make this change is because you're coming for words. You're coming here for the story. You're going to buy my book or not buy my book based on the story, the characters, the plot, and the writing style. 

I want to share with you my writing style. I want to feel freedom in creative expression. I want this place to be my release, my safety.

Not every Wednesday will be a short story or a blurb from a book. It won't always be snippets. Sometimes I may talk about a W.I.P. Sometimes, you may get a short story or flash fiction piece.

You may get aesthetics and words and ideas.

Sometimes, I may just rant about people and life.

I need this blog to be my r e l e a s e.

And for a while, it hasn't been. I was all too eager to take a break from blogging in November, not just because of NaNoWriMo, but because I was so bored of this. And when November was drawing to a close, I wasn't really excited to get back into blogging.

But now I am.

I have ideas and goals for this coming year. And I can't wait.

To recap:

Writing advice posts are gone unless I learn something super life-changing and want to share it. This blog is all about the thing I love: the story. The heart. The hope.

I may talk about life.

Above all, it's about the heart of the story.

I hope this is okay with you, and if it's not, I understand if you want to unfollow since this isn't the blog you followed to begin with. It won't hurt me. I am doing something that I need to do, so I respect whatever you need to do.

Signing off for now...

~Brooke