Work Unfinished


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I like leaving some of my written work unfinished. I like the way that it reads – then it’s cut short. Some people do not, however. But it always gives me the opportunity to go back and continue on later if the mood strikes me to do so. You can also have your own perceptions as a reader. It’s not all there. So you can phantom up the outcome in your head. In other words I love cliff hangers. As long as they are done well – and with brutal grace.

9th Day of NaNoWriMo2015


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NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month. This will be my third year participating. One year I won, one year I lost, and will see how this year goes. Sometimes it gets overwhelming, sometimeNaNoWriMo2015s your characters threaten you because you are behind in your word count and sometimes, you get to create something extraordinary.

You never really know with NaNoWriMo. Thats why I love it. You get to propel yourself into a world that you want to be in. It’s almost like a try out for being an author. (or at least I think – I wouldn’t know quite yet) But I would imagine you would have deadlines and goals to meet. People to account to. Research and planning that must be done correctly. And I love it. Why do you love NaNoWriMo?

Uh Oh


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I think I’m funny. Like an awkward funny. It sort of like pug humour. You know the dog breed? I think they are hilarious, adorably so. I even dedicated a blog post to my main man, Louie. I think we’ve spent so much time together, sometimes our personality traits get swapped. I love going for long drives, runs and eating everything I’m not supposed to. He loves watching netflix, having pamper days and eating everything he’s not supposed to. Remember Freaky Friday? (the movie released in 2003)  Uh Oh. – Alecia

p.s you can now find me on instagram! (aleciawrites)

The Peculiar Chronicles – One Step Up 


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I’m working on something new. A new idea.  Causally formed from stringed together thoughts that couldn’t form there own conclusions. And it’s one step up from me doing nothing. I’ve been out sick for the past week – its officially been seven days of a mixture of everything that could make the human body uncomfortable. Fever, sore throat, aches, and so on. But the big thing for me is having no voice. Only but a whisper. So my life has been quiet. Almost tranquil if you take out the dizzy spells and complete exhaustion. I want to say it has brought clarity. Most of the time the odd meandering that would slip off my tongue and into the world wasn’t important. It didn’t change my surroundings, nor bring meaning to the subjects I spoke of. It was just there. Sound. Such noise that creates shape and picture in the mind of the listener. I was honest with myself, only I could hear my own voice now. So why shy? (Sings really over used but still golden song, ‘Let It Go’ from the movie Frozen) Picked away goals re surfaced. Life, education and forgiveness stepped up. Blah blah blah – you don’t want to hear. It just all stepped up. So we’ll see where we end up. Who knows, just out there… My life could be waiting. But please ignore me, I’m probably delirious off of the fact that I’m living off of cough drops and ice cream. 

Talk soon! 


Young man, this is about your hat.


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Young man, you can’t see the world through the brim of your hat. Raise it up only slightly and see the stars. Raise it down only slightly and see the ground. The earth. The footprints that you haven’t made yet. Please young man, you can’t see the world through the brim of your hat. It is only good to shade parts out, when the sun youngman/aleciawritesis to bright for your fresh eyes. Or when the tall people look down on to you. Young man, don’t use your hat as a beacon of ignorant youth – a sight to hide. Use the brim of your hat as an expression, a wise judgement on how you wish to be seen.

A wish on how you’d like to see.

Because the stars are a beautiful sight.

Written by Alecia 

All comments/feedback our welcome, please tell me what you think!

Chocolate Cake Late At Night


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More like brownies. Really, really good brownies. Brownies that are so good – you don’t crave more because they play to your taste buds ever so perfectly. Especially when you substitute the two tablespoons of water – for heavy cream and then slip in some chocolate chips. Can we say YUM?

Here’s the mouth-watering, recipe to luxuriate on: Click Here!

I hope you have a microwave.



Don’t give a boy a home.


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Don’t give a boy a home. Only four walls that are crumbling. How would that make any sense. He won’t always be a boy, as chance would have it – he will never be a boy. The plans for him were sturdy. Solid. Firm. Non-existent. At one point, they said they would paint the walls. A nice forest green. Such a green that would make him want to read and create things. Make him want to dance and laugh and invite serenity over. But they wouldn’t fill him in. So they painted the walls a broken grey. They left the boy to watch the walls crumbling. Falling in sync,  behind it with a plastic dust pan. Shuffle shuffle, sweep sweep.  Even the music had left the walls. They are soundless, creak less. Like they never once held any potential to strike a chorus that could change his world. Because that would be silly. Who doesn’t want crumbly walls, with an icky grey colour. Soundless. Empty. And blameless. A boy doesn’t need a home. Only four walls that are crumbling. Until he bangs out a stained carpet that only caught the walls and no swaying feet. But they wouldn’t replace it. Change it. Fix it. So he rolled it. Fitted it. Picked it. And pitched it. At the wall. The crumbly wall that blocked the sea. And it fell. Rushing to the ground. In a plume of grime. Standing there he blinked. Choked. Cried and cursed. Written by Alecia Writes  

No Title # 000_1


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The path is paved. The path is unscathed. I could walk on and on. As he shouts at me

Moments a blur. Moments a lure. Casting a shadow as a scream back. Just one more hour, I say.

You just passed one, he’ll say.

Walking through it all. Is more like crawling.

With a belly low and elbows raw. I will walk and walk until that hand changes

One up or one down. He’ll cough out a smirk.

And I will cough out my will

One up or one down. With something always moving.

Written by Alecia


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