Blank pages can seem intimidating, or inviting. Pages, waiting to be filled with wonders and adventures, and maybe even a great romance story. They hold the potential to portray to the reader and become fantasy worlds, full of quirky characters, however, they are nothing with out a writing utensil. Black ink seeps from the tip of my pen, taking the shape of great mountain ranges, to bustling cities, to open oceans, to primitive worlds, to ones we can only dream about. However, both paper and pen are useless, they are nothing, they will sit on a desk and collect dust if not for an imaginative mind will take them. Every story has an author behind it, and every author has vast amounts of creativity just waiting to be released, to be set free, to be given the shape of an antagonist or a protagonist, hero or heroine, or bystander or activist. Worlds we can only dream of can take shape, and with a certain amount of perseverance, can be given wings. Words them selves can be powerful, they can trigger feelings, bring people together, yet tear others apart. Words, when combined with an author, paper and pencil, can stand the test of time, and will not crumble to ashes or dust, and will not be swept away into the corners of society. As I sit here at my desk, stroking the cat who has settled in my lap, looking at my no-longer blank page. I have given this page a purpose, this page is full. This chapter may be written, but as long as there is imagination, this book will never be completed.
YOU ARE READING
Cliffhangers
NouvellesThis is a book of just the beginnings of stories that I have scribbled down in notebooks, and spare pieces of paper. Most of them will be cliffhangers, and I will not be doing continuations of any of the chapters, so do not ask. You have been warned.
