Autofiction Stories

Meet Den Mum. She is a self-contained arsenal running on calm, a "Hobbit-Elf" with cerulean eyes, and a woman possessing a thread of classic European elegance running staunchly through her bones. She survives on a precise matrix of sugar-free flavored waters, regular Shopee vitamin orders, and a fierce dedication to the Golden Rule Protocol. Having survived a childhood of psychological combat zones and a catastrophic system crash of familial loss, Den Mum has built an unyielding, sovereign fortress of peace. She has zero patience for the "Tedious Baseline" of her peers, corporate ego loops, or the superficial drama of the modern dating pool. Navigating the harried, roaring intersections of Bangkok, teaching a swarthy crew of young piratey ESL students, and running forensic audits on everything from British television satires to the un-kosher logistics of cheeseburgers, Den Mum is finally coming into her own. She's not looking for a corporate compromise. She's tracking a rare, high-fidelity frequency: My Person/Mr. Exemplary-a checkmate matching soul to share the handlebars of life with, if anyone at all. Equal parts dry, deadpan comedy and fiercely poignant emotional stewardship, "How Not to Marry a Welshman (and Other Success Stories) is a deeply unique, slow-burn biographical journey about stepping out of survival mode, healing from the wreckage of the past, and mapping out a multifaceted galaxy of one's own. Moving from high-concept cultural critiques to turning a frantic "fridge-dash" leftovers mess into culinary alchemy, "How Not to Marry a Welshman (and other Success Stories)" is a witty, raw, and fiercely sovereign story of neurodivergent survival, profound healing, and finding/founding a fortress of peace entirely on your own terms.

The winter holidays came, and I was lying in bed, reflecting on my failures and believing that everyone was achieving something except me. Having read Christmas stories, I was waiting for a miracle to come into my life and pull me out of my sadness. Days passed, but there was no magic. Then suddenly an incident happened that changed everything.

Je n'ai peut-être pas fini mon premier livre, mais il est pressant de vous raconter mon été. Comme d'habitude, j'ai tout fait chier... Mais pas partout.

(Very) short stories about a woman's obsessions.

Bah moi je n'ai rien à redire Je ne suis fait que pour relyre

Récit où l'on essaie d'en raconter le moins possible. Tentative d'écriture au long cours. L'idée serait de raconter la vie du narrateur à partir des adresses. Il existe peut-être un jeu de mot avec les adresses à vivre..

tender is how i've been

### A Memoir --- *This is an autobiographical account, written from memory and old diaries. It contains honest, sometimes painful scenes: shouting, resentments, forgotten tenderness, prejudice, and childhood mistakes. The author shares what she experienced and how it shaped her. These pages are not a manifesto - they are an honest look at the past. Readers who are sensitive to raw scenes and harsh language are advised to keep in mind: this is one person's truth, not a universal statement.*

Its a fictional biography of a man who proudly calls himself a womanizer and how he became what he is now today

Fragment d'histoires, poèmes : les pièces de mon puzzle. La colle forte : ce receuil. C'est une receuil hybride de fragment autofictionnels. TW : scarification, sang, violence, images difficiles, TCA

Let me tell you all about the only one I've ever loved. His name is not important. In fact, I spent years refusing to say his name. To do so meant to give a realness to it, a clarity that I'm still not sure I'm ready to own. I've returned to the old comfort of referring to him by the numbers in my phone, plus-one-ten-digits that rewired my brain, my body, my life. The boy you are about to meet is now my husband. We have two beautiful children together, the births of which almost killed me. I should indeed be dead by now; were it not for the precocious midnight antics of my oldest son, I would not be here to tell you all about him. But you see, I'm having trouble processing what happened to me. I'm having trouble staring into his eyes and not feeling the immense weight of the last fifteen years crashing down on me. Drowning me with metanarratives and memories. It hurts to write; but it helps to remember. These are my diary entries from 2009 to 2010, Year 1 of our stupidly messy saga. I don't know how long I can keep this up, but this little book was already written nearly fifteen years ago. I thought the least I could do is share it. Maybe reading through it will help me, I thought. Maybe sharing it with you will help me even more. This book is not just based on a true story; it *is* the story of the man I've come to marry, the Tate to my Violet, my longest-running autistic special interest, my high school sweetheart, my soul's first love, my Imzadi, my only friend. My synonym of fate. This is the Hopelessly Sentimental Romantic, Year 1: 2009 to 2010.

20 short poems written in English in 2016, for a PechaKucha performance: www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXa3PJwa7og . They were all inspired by my visual artworks. I looked at some of my drawings and paintings, and listened to the voices overflowing my mind in the process, in a dialogue between my drawing self and my writing self. I sing or speak these poems in improv performances that you can listen at https://soundcloud.com/mezzomonte 20 courts poèmes écrits en anglais en 2016 pour une performance PechaKucha: www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXa3PJwa7og. Ils ont tous été inspirés par mes travaux visuels. J'ai regardé mes dessins/peintures, et j'ai écouté les voix déborder de mon esprit au cours du processus, dans un dialogue entre mon côté illustrateur et mon côté écrivain. Je chante ou lis ces poèmes lors de performances d'impro, que vous pouvez écouter ici: https://soundcloud.com/mezzomonte

Contemporary Writing, Biographies

Whimsy is a lonely, fantasy-prone girl who often wonders whether she is from another planet. Determined to make a friend, she sets out to study the strange creatures on the playground. Instead of finding friends, she creates enemies!

Locked in a room with no way out, a little girl cries for help.

HOW TO BE THE TRUTH THEY CAN'T HANDLE A self-help guide (monologue) for when you think you've somehow "disturbed" everyone just by existing. Psst-if you're reading this, you probably have. ~ synopsis: a satirical monologue in the form of: self-help guide. explores and challenges themes of: exclusion, control, discrimination, autismphobia, ableism, and the performative nature of so-called inclusion. diving into uncomfortable truths about power, perception, and belonging, highlighting tactics like last-minute rule changes meant to exclude, weaponization of politeness, gaslighting. confronting issues such as performative allyship, mechanisms of systemic marginalization, particularly related to ableism and neurodivergence. And the quiet power of resistance and self-empowerment. Blends satircal humor, sharp social commentary, raw vulnerability. holding up a mirror to systemic biases, exposing how institutions and individuals manipulate, patronize, and isolate those who don't fit the mold. Through direct address, self-deprecating wit, and theatrical meta-commentary. Piece forces both Protagonist and audience to confront uncomfortable truths. Creatively breaks the fourth wall and uses humor as both a shield and a weapon. Speaks to the universal struggles of navigating societal expectations, personal identity, and the desire for understanding and belonging. Personal yet relatable piece is designed to capture audience attention and hopefully leave them reflecting long after the performance. ~ i've already self-published this stageplay a small while now. putting it here too because this art was created to be shared :)

Une histoire, si on peut appeler ça comme ça, d'une personne qui cherche à survivre dans la vie de tous les jours.

Fra is shaped by self-awareness, trauma, contradicting thoughts and feelings, and by being a failed nihilist all at once. He sees the world with unforgiving clarity and retells his experiences with a disgustingly honest, almost too-confessional voice; shameful thoughts, taboo urges, the parts that make us "bad" friends, and the desires we can't shake off. Therapy was supposed to fix him, yet all it ever did was make him more painfully aware of everything wrong. He knew the causes, the patterns, the diagnoses-none of it helped. He walked into every session already knowing the answers and walked out with nothing to do with them. A mind that understands itself too well and still can't heal is its own kind of hell. Despite wanting to be numb, he isn't numb enough to stop caring-yet not hopeful enough to start living the way he, or society, insists he should. Knowing exactly what's wrong yet having no idea what to do with that knowledge is only one of the many tortures his emotional intelligence has handed him. [This story is a 1st person view based one, Fra and the author are not the same person characters Like Ivan or other ones may be based on real experiences but aren't real people and made up]

Hello. This is a story about a girl called Daisy Chain. Except once she was called Poppy. One day, she might be called something else. It is also a story about her brother. He is called Dusk. Once, he was called Maxim. And Maxim is what he will always be. If he hadn't died. Now, Daisy Chain and Dusk are trapped in a room in a strange world, with only one door, only one key, and no-one who wants to use it. This is a story about siblings, about grief, about laughing, about love, both familial and romantic. This is a story about life and death. About how we survive. How we cope. How we thrive. This is a story. It's all about love.