I’m trying a thing where I do a piece of creative writing every day. Cos I used to love that shit, but I realised I’d not written anything but angry essays and rants for about 5 years. Because I’m desperate for validation, I’m gonna share the things I write with you here on my blog. Feel free to tell me what a creative genius I am or compare me to Harper Lee or one of the Bronte sisters. You can catch up on previous days’ work here.  — I had never planned on being a river. A pond, maybe. A nice puddle, perfect for jumping in, sure. But a river? Never. Rivers were intimidating. Murky. Divisive. Cutting cities in two and forcing people’s hands. Can’t build there, the river flows right through it. Don’t walk there, the river might swallow you up. No one really likes you when you’re a…

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I’m trying a thing where I do a piece of creative writing every day. Cos I used to love that shit, but I realised I’d not written anything but angry essays and rants for about 5 years. Because I’m desperate for validation, I’m gonna share the things I write with you here on my blog. Feel free to tell me what a creative genius I am or compare me to Harper Lee or one of the Bronte sisters. —  “Taxi!” Two voices screech into the wind simultaneously, hands launching out at the exact same time. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” Beth says sheepishly, turning to the stranger on her right. She’s met with a silence and stony stare. No meet cute here. A yellow cab pulls up to the curb, and the stranger – a man; white; mid-to-late 20s – reaches for the door. Beth resigns herself to another…

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