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Final Submission by Briana Brosnahan
Oh, how old oak trees pass by in indigo blue blur; the wendigo in my heart begins to stir,                                          
Lonesome leaves paper-planing, falling around me faster than I can catch myself, tripping on the smallest stem,                                                                                                                                        
Devils, demons, and Delilahs won’t deal with me, I am already among them,
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Final Submission by Briana Brosnahan
My hands smell like the steering wheel in my car,                                                                                                  
At home, where stars, brightly visible, actually are,                                                                                          
Safety smells like a soft yellow, sunbleached, Vanillaroma Little Tree,
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Thanks for tagging me @musicofglassandwords!

This is from book 2 of my wip Monsters & Men & Everything in Between

Dawson ran a hand over his hair. “I- it’s not on purpose. I can’t control it… like you can’t control yours.”

Greyson stiffened. “That doesn’t change anything, doesn’t make it better.”

Mouth downturning, he said, “no, I know. But we deserve some sympathy, don’t we? For not being able to control it? To stop it?”

Tagging: @shewhowalksbehindthewheels @erinbeatty @adie-dee (no pressure!)

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“What’s up, Dom?” Astraea asked, breaking the silence. She was sitting on the edge of her sleeping bag, arms crossed over her knees.

He shifted his weight uneasily, his hand falling from the back of his neck. “Is it okay if I- uh, if I set up camp near y’all?”

Astraea and Ichnaea’s eyes met. Ichnaea could see the question in her sister’s eyes, and she shrugged minutely. Maybe with Dom here Astraea would have someone else to annoy. 

Astraea grinned and said, “sure.” Her face became mock serious as she wagged a finger at him. “But don’t get any ideas, mister.” 

Amazingly, the tops of Dom’s ears turned red as he took off his pack. He ducked his head down, like that would stop them from being able to see it. 

Astraea roared with laughter. “Holy shit, you dirty dog. Is that what you came over here for?”

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     Baustaz clutched the stem of his wine glass and tried to mirror the elegance of the great hall they were standing in.

     Elliot—Dr. Chakarvarti, that is—mingled with the grace and poise of a scholar who’d spent a decade schmoozing up to people who thought they were better than him. Shaking hands, recalling names from the tops of journal articles, belly-laughing as though the drink you were nursing had already gone to your head—Baustaz had neither the skill for it, nor the patience. Certainly Dr. Chakarvarti was only pretending to be tipsy and academically flirtatious. They were here on business. 

     The captain shone all on her own as the sole reason they’d even found themselves on the guest list. But he knew her to be good at parties. She had to be, with her connections, even though she scoffed at all of it in secret. To old-money elitists, Bertha managed to turn every grating instinct and off-putting personality trait into the endearing quirks of a humble Martian veteran turned trophy wife. Unlike the doctor, she actually was drinking, and seemed no less sharp because of it.

     Baustaz, for his part, had no tolerance for wines and beers and little sparkly beverages in delicate glasses. He liked something you could smash against the hull of a new ship and get a good, loud whack out of. He liked the raucous noise of a blowout you know you would have to help clean up yourself the next day.

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date: 04/04/2020

time: 6:30-7:05pm

words out of: 590 of 5000

status: Continued working on the chapter/stop titled “Finch”

feelings: I can’t believe half an hour a day comes a long way… why did I ever do word count goals and not simply half an hour goals…

music: nothing. background youtube videos playing. 

excerpt: 

“What is a life worth?”

How much? 

The dreaded words when texting, calling, opening the TV, “Have you heard the news?”

My once said to me a few months ago before all of this was a reality or remotely broadcast, she was a firmly believer that, “New is never good.”

I reflected a little bit the first time she said those words to me. And I thought, huh, she might be right for once. (My mother has the ability to cite sources and label them under the pronoun “they.” “They say” she says. And me and my sister torment her relentlessly, “Who is they?” “Who are they”) But I chewed on her words this time - something in the way she said it so dismissively made me feel that it was true. Isn’t that the point of the news? To broadcast bad news, to set warning to prepare for events, good but mostly bad. It is as they say at the doctors office in the same dismissive tone, “No news is good news.” A lack thereof. Therefore, news is synonymous to bad news. 

google search: -

research: -

deadline: -

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Thou Great First Cause, least understood:

Who all my sense confined

To know but this—that thou art good,

And that myself am blind:


Yet gave me, in this dark estate,

To see the good from ill;

And binding Nature fast in fate,

Left free the human will.


Alexander Pope, The Universal Prayer

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Thanks for the tag back @zmlorenz!!

This is from the second book of my wip Monsters & Men & Everything in Between

“No,” she interrupted, her voice so gentle it physically pained Saiya to hear it. “We already established that you were concerned over their powers, but you knew you could get to them before they killed her. So, what else were you feeling? What caused your irritation?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” she whispered, eyes locked onto hers. “Tell me the truth, Saiya.”

Tagging: @laufire-writes @amandahoyle @obijuanjabroni (no pressure!)

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Fourth Day of Camp - 3284

Still going strong :)

In the end they took a deep breath and opened tumblr messenger. Ben had been sending hourly updates on every little thing that they had missed. Scrolling through his messages they began to laugh at the absurdity of someone of them,
‘3pm, i saw a dog,’ ‘4pm, the dog is gone, I miss it,’ and other ridiculous mundane things.

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From The Gift of Ashes

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Length: 589 words

This is a flashback from Chapter 26: Moon’s abandoned garden which contains turning points in Sun and Moon’s relationship. It’s been so very long since the last time I shared a proper excerpt, and I’m quite proud of how this one turned out! (Also, most of what I’m writing now can’t be posted because of spoilers, so). No warnings save for a little angst, which is par for the course when dealing with starcrossed lovers!

“My Riasal. I want to make a confession,” Moon says, knowing she cannot hide her longing now that her decision is made, knowing it would be like betrayal to attempt to, knowing her feelings are shining from her like a painting, like a too-honest poem. “I love you. I am in love with you.”

The mortal words sound so small, so meaningless – and even so, they fall between them like the sharp blade of a sword, heavy and cruel, bearing a shadow of death, of punishment, of forbidden things. The water of Moon’s soul crests and shakes and fractures, then stills into a pool of frozen, merciless hope, glass-like and far too easy to break.

And Sun (glorious, splendid Sun, with her heat that gives birth and her red heart and yellow eyes, with her brave, brave soul) Sun is afraid.

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i miss having a time where i didn’t overthink every single word released from these lips, checking and reassessing how it would sound in your ears. we both knew fair well that you never questioned what you would tell me. second-guessing wasn’t in your nature but it was in mine.

i wonder if you ever shared the same sentiments about another a person, because i’m aware that i never own every feeling i’ve felt– there has to be another soul in another time who has experienced this. if not you, someone else. if it’s untrue, what is solace? what’s the point of human connection?

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