Published in Writing from a happy place?
Published in Writing from a happy place?
Published in Writing from a happy place?
Image credit by Markus Spiske
Image credit by Markus Spiske
Image credit by Markus Spiske
Resigner Luth
Resigner Luth
Resigner Luth
Resigner H. Luth is a writer, trying to ignore the restriction and obligations that comes with being the boss of her own time. She is not morose by nature, but writing "happy" is something of a contradiction in terms. Wish I knew why? Anyway, it is already lunch time, the bills have been paid and I went on a tiny shopping spree. NOW THAT felt good. 🛍️🎀
Resigner H. Luth is a writer, trying to ignore the restriction and obligations that comes with being the boss of her own time. She is not morose by nature, but writing "happy" is something of a contradiction in terms. Wish I knew why? Anyway, it is already lunch time, the bills have been paid and I went on a tiny shopping spree. NOW THAT felt good. 🛍️🎀
Resigner H. Luth is a writer, trying to ignore the restriction and obligations that comes with being the boss of her own time. She is not morose by nature, but writing "happy" is something of a contradiction in terms. Wish I knew why? Anyway, it is already lunch time, the bills have been paid and I went on a tiny shopping spree. NOW THAT felt good. 🛍️🎀
February 7, 2024
February 7, 2024
February 7, 2024
The living dream
The living dream
The living dream
Pulling back from the darkness
Pulling back from the darkness
Pulling back from the darkness
Living the Dream
~ not exactly but, when opportunity knocks, I open the door.
Though at the moment I've traded the heels for flip-flops (with heels) and the dress is tucked into over-sized denim pants.
Pulling back from darkness
~ Retail therapy is one way.
Dreading the thought of my card being declined, it was with great abandon that I decided my nightmares can go mess with somebody else's head. Until I wake up in a cold sweat tonight, after my brain has processed the numbers.
Fine with me, at least I've got that new linen smell. When that fades, I can always stick my nose in that new book smell. It's not a new me smell but, I like the old me just fine. The OLD me? That's what I am trying to avoid or maybe that's exactly what I need in 2024. Some of my old energy, the recklessness of youth. After all, I deserve something for my hard work.
Writing from a happy place…possibly Canada?
Once upon a time, there was a passionate writer named Hope. She poured her heart and soul into creating characters that felt so real to her, they often seemed to have a life of their own. Late one night, as Hope was trying to get some sleep, she found herself unable to shake off the persistent thoughts of her characters.
As she tossed and turned in bed, she imagined them going about their lives, chatting, laughing, and even arguing without her guidance. It was as if they had taken on a life of their own. Hope couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and bewilderment at the vividness of her creations.
Unable to resist the pull of her characters, she decided to embrace their presence rather than fight it. She got out of bed early, slipped into the shower long before dawn. Grabbed her tennis shoes and a clean T, and headed out into the quiet streets, guided by the soft glow of the city's neon lights.
As she walked, Hope found herself drawn to a nearby shopping district. The shops were just opening at this hour, but she could not resist the urge to explore. She wandered through the mostly empty aisles. She imagined her warriors, her characters trying on clothes and admiring themselves in the mirrors.
Totally unlike their reality yet, if only they had the opportunity.
Suddenly, something caught her eye – a pair of sleek, black heels that seemed to whisper her name. Without hesitation, Hope quickly slipped off her sneakers and tried on the new heels. They fit perfectly, as if they had been made just for her.
Feeling inspired by the decadence of the morning adventure and with a newfound confidence that the shoes gave her, Hope decided to sit down right there in the dressing room and start writing. With the soft glow of the "vanity" lights overhead and the voices of her characters whispering in her ear, she poured her thoughts onto the page. Weaving a story that seemed to come to life before her eyes.
Hours passed, but Hope hardly noticed. She was lost in her own world, fueled by intoxicating smell of Italian leather and the excitement of creation. As the smell of freshly roasted coffee entered her cubicle, Hope realized that sometimes, the best stories are often the ones that write themselves.
When she finally hurried to get her manuscript, the shoes and other trinkets that had caught her eyes into a bag, she realized the time. It was close to closing time, and as much as she wanted to stay she knew full well that this was only a temporary escape.
Trivial and fun, avoiding her responsibilities. Something she hoped she would not regret, knowing full well that the shoes would probably stay in the box until Valentine's day. Suddenly realizing, that is only one week away.
Who knows what the near future holds?
(✿◡‿◡)
Resigner 💜
For we all need a break sometimes. Building an empire in the ether is hard work.
Sending out free hugs!
Resigner 💜
♪♪♪
🪝Keep on reading, this was simply a reprieve from all the chaos and destruction, which for some reason is part of the creating process? Go figure.
Living the Dream
~ not exactly but, when opportunity knocks, I open the door.
Though at the moment I've traded the heels for flip-flops (with heels) and the dress is tucked into over-sized denim pants.
Pulling back from darkness
~ Retail therapy is one way.
Dreading the thought of my card being declined, it was with great abandon that I decided my nightmares can go mess with somebody else's head. Until I wake up in a cold sweat tonight, after my brain has processed the numbers.
Fine with me, at least I've got that new linen smell. When that fades, I can always stick my nose in that new book smell. It's not a new me smell but, I like the old me just fine. The OLD me? That's what I am trying to avoid or maybe that's exactly what I need in 2024. Some of my old energy, the recklessness of youth. After all, I deserve something for my hard work.
Writing from a happy place…possibly Canada?
Once upon a time, there was a passionate writer named Hope. She poured her heart and soul into creating characters that felt so real to her, they often seemed to have a life of their own. Late one night, as Hope was trying to get some sleep, she found herself unable to shake off the persistent thoughts of her characters.
As she tossed and turned in bed, she imagined them going about their lives, chatting, laughing, and even arguing without her guidance. It was as if they had taken on a life of their own. Hope couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and bewilderment at the vividness of her creations.
Unable to resist the pull of her characters, she decided to embrace their presence rather than fight it. She got out of bed early, slipped into the shower long before dawn. Grabbed her tennis shoes and a clean T, and headed out into the quiet streets, guided by the soft glow of the city's neon lights.
As she walked, Hope found herself drawn to a nearby shopping district. The shops were just opening at this hour, but she could not resist the urge to explore. She wandered through the mostly empty aisles. She imagined her warriors, her characters trying on clothes and admiring themselves in the mirrors.
Totally unlike their reality yet, if only they had the opportunity.
Suddenly, something caught her eye – a pair of sleek, black heels that seemed to whisper her name. Without hesitation, Hope quickly slipped off her sneakers and tried on the new heels. They fit perfectly, as if they had been made just for her.
Feeling inspired by the decadence of the morning adventure and with a newfound confidence that the shoes gave her, Hope decided to sit down right there in the dressing room and start writing. With the soft glow of the "vanity" lights overhead and the voices of her characters whispering in her ear, she poured her thoughts onto the page. Weaving a story that seemed to come to life before her eyes.
Hours passed, but Hope hardly noticed. She was lost in her own world, fueled by intoxicating smell of Italian leather and the excitement of creation. As the smell of freshly roasted coffee entered her cubicle, Hope realized that sometimes, the best stories are often the ones that write themselves.
When she finally hurried to get her manuscript, the shoes and other trinkets that had caught her eyes into a bag, she realized the time. It was close to closing time, and as much as she wanted to stay she knew full well that this was only a temporary escape.
Trivial and fun, avoiding her responsibilities. Something she hoped she would not regret, knowing full well that the shoes would probably stay in the box until Valentine's day. Suddenly realizing, that is only one week away.
Who knows what the near future holds?
(✿◡‿◡)
Resigner 💜
For we all need a break sometimes. Building an empire in the ether is hard work.
Sending out free hugs!
Resigner 💜
♪♪♪
🪝Keep on reading, this was simply a reprieve from all the chaos and destruction, which for some reason is part of the creating process? Go figure.
Living the Dream
~ not exactly but, when opportunity knocks, I open the door.
Though at the moment I've traded the heels for flip-flops (with heels) and the dress is tucked into over-sized denim pants.
Pulling back from darkness
~ Retail therapy is one way.
Dreading the thought of my card being declined, it was with great abandon that I decided my nightmares can go mess with somebody else's head. Until I wake up in a cold sweat tonight, after my brain has processed the numbers.
Fine with me, at least I've got that new linen smell. When that fades, I can always stick my nose in that new book smell. It's not a new me smell but, I like the old me just fine. The OLD me? That's what I am trying to avoid or maybe that's exactly what I need in 2024. Some of my old energy, the recklessness of youth. After all, I deserve something for my hard work.
Writing from a happy place…possibly Canada?
Once upon a time, there was a passionate writer named Hope. She poured her heart and soul into creating characters that felt so real to her, they often seemed to have a life of their own. Late one night, as Hope was trying to get some sleep, she found herself unable to shake off the persistent thoughts of her characters.
As she tossed and turned in bed, she imagined them going about their lives, chatting, laughing, and even arguing without her guidance. It was as if they had taken on a life of their own. Hope couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and bewilderment at the vividness of her creations.
Unable to resist the pull of her characters, she decided to embrace their presence rather than fight it. She got out of bed early, slipped into the shower long before dawn. Grabbed her tennis shoes and a clean T, and headed out into the quiet streets, guided by the soft glow of the city's neon lights.
As she walked, Hope found herself drawn to a nearby shopping district. The shops were just opening at this hour, but she could not resist the urge to explore. She wandered through the mostly empty aisles. She imagined her warriors, her characters trying on clothes and admiring themselves in the mirrors.
Totally unlike their reality yet, if only they had the opportunity.
Suddenly, something caught her eye – a pair of sleek, black heels that seemed to whisper her name. Without hesitation, Hope quickly slipped off her sneakers and tried on the new heels. They fit perfectly, as if they had been made just for her.
Feeling inspired by the decadence of the morning adventure and with a newfound confidence that the shoes gave her, Hope decided to sit down right there in the dressing room and start writing. With the soft glow of the "vanity" lights overhead and the voices of her characters whispering in her ear, she poured her thoughts onto the page. Weaving a story that seemed to come to life before her eyes.
Hours passed, but Hope hardly noticed. She was lost in her own world, fueled by intoxicating smell of Italian leather and the excitement of creation. As the smell of freshly roasted coffee entered her cubicle, Hope realized that sometimes, the best stories are often the ones that write themselves.
When she finally hurried to get her manuscript, the shoes and other trinkets that had caught her eyes into a bag, she realized the time. It was close to closing time, and as much as she wanted to stay she knew full well that this was only a temporary escape.
Trivial and fun, avoiding her responsibilities. Something she hoped she would not regret, knowing full well that the shoes would probably stay in the box until Valentine's day. Suddenly realizing, that is only one week away.
Who knows what the near future holds?
(✿◡‿◡)
Resigner 💜
For we all need a break sometimes. Building an empire in the ether is hard work.
Sending out free hugs!
Resigner 💜
♪♪♪
🪝Keep on reading, this was simply a reprieve from all the chaos and destruction, which for some reason is part of the creating process? Go figure.
