Tag: writing
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Rain
The first light of dawn kissed the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of rose and gold. Elias sat on the weathered porch of his small cabin, the rhythmic sigh of ocean waves a constant, comforting lullaby against the distant shore. Overhead, the joyous chorus of birds chirping filled the air, a symphony of…
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Leo breaks the streaming algorithm mold
The stale air in Leo Maxwell’s cramped Chicago apartment hung heavy with the scent of burnt coffee and the low hum of his overworked laptop. Outside, the city’s relentless symphony of sirens and traffic faded into a dull background noise, a constant reminder of the millions of unheard stories echoing within its concrete canyons. Leo,…
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The Cabin – a short-story romance
The thud of the cardboard boxes hitting the worn wooden floor of the cabin echoed the dull thud in Jen’s chest. Dropped. Just like that. Years of pouring her soul into melodies, crafting lyrics that bled truth, and finally, a flicker of recognition – all extinguished with a terse phone call and a form letter.…
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Strings of the Past
Chapter 1: The Lights of Winter The town lay hushed beneath a heavy blanket of snow, each pristine drift sculpted by the gentle whisper of the wind. It was the kind of snowfall that transformed the ordinary into the magical, draping rooftops and bare branches like powdered sugar on a meticulously crafted gingerbread village. The…
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The Cherry Red Guitar – A short love story.
Chapter 1: The Attic Revelation Jeff’s weekend at his parents’ lakeside home in Lake Geneva was a comforting ritual, a break from the frenetic pace of his city life. The scent of pine needles and lake water filled the air, a familiar balm to his soul. His parents, warm and welcoming, had indulged him with…
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Blueberry on my guitar – a short romance story
Chapter 1: The Aroma of Despair The familiar scent of roasting Arabica beans, a rich, nutty fragrance Luke had inhaled since childhood, was now laced with the cloying sweetness of burnt sugar and the metallic tang of anxiety. The warm, comforting aroma of cinnamon rolls, usually a beacon of welcome, now carried a bitter, almost…
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Echos of the Cabin
Echoes of the Cabin The snowflakes danced like tiny specters in the gusting winter winds, swirling and twirling outside the cabin windows. Despite the storm’s fury, a small flock of birds fluttered about, undisturbed. They weaved between the trees, their feathers ruffled by the cold, yet they moved with a playful grace. They landed on…
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An exciting part of being an independent musician
I began playing music because of the great feeling of release allowed me when I was younger, but I have found over the years that there is so much for at play for me when it comes to why I have carried the love to writing with me for so many years into adulthood. I…