contemporary lit fic/coming-of-age :)

Fully commit to my proven process: a single 5,000-word burst followed by long periods of dignified inactivity. Using this method, I will:

Finish my WIP.
Write, write, write – rather than edit, edit, edit.
Find BETA readers.
Begin the nail-biting query process.
Enter Discoveries!
#WriteCBC

Congrats!

Lydia shuffled to the table, fingers lingering on the foil as she unwrapped a single Quality Street. Richard’s lips twitched. "Those lights are enchanting," she said, squinting at the Christmas tree. Richard, nodding, replied, "Enchanting, if you ignore the shadows they cast." #WriteCBC

The curtain lifts on a narrow sitting room, wallpaper peeling in damp curls. A single lamp buzzes faintly, its shade yellowed with old smoke. The armchairs are too close together, as if conspiring. A draft brushes past, though every window is shut. Something here doesn’t want us to stay.
#WriteCBC

She worried the rough surface beneath her palm until it felt suffocating, dense and airless like the heat of a Turkish bath. The texture grew into unease spreading across her chest, a creeping fog. She didn’t notice it thickening, not until everything disappeared from view.
#WriteCBC

She floats through the museum like a ghost stuck between two worlds. Her coat is damp at the hem, clinging like regret. The galleries unspool around her: fossil teeth, jade carvings, 1950s Pyrex stuck behind perspex. In her pocket, a torn photograph curls like expired ham. #WriteCBC

Thank you!

"Have you seen this man?" A woman my build and height asked, thrusting her phone into my face. She wore shame like a scarf, strangled by it.
"No," I lied.
She studied me, then nodded tearfully and turned. Same gait. Same tense shoulders. Like I'd just lied to a mirror that knew better. #WriteCBC

#WriteCBC

When my father died, I sat by his bedside, unsure of who I was mourning. By the time I understood who he wasn’t, he had already gone. The cousins nudged each other, thrilled by the slow unravelling of a secret they’d been waiting on for years, finally tumbling down the stairs like a tangled slinky.

Congrats @vickyshell.bsky.social !

I smell cologne. Amber. Cedarwood. Danger. “Where have you been?” I ask, eyes wedged shut. My pulse thrashes everywhere but my chest. I squint my eyes open, the whites as bright as Tipp-Ex in the dark. My ears start to ring. Someone is talking about me. “Well?” I say, but I'm alone again. #WriteCBC