Hello! This is Linda, and this journal is the archive of my original writing. To make navigation simpler, here is the complete masterlist of all the writing posted on this journal ♥.
Still work in progress.

( click: complete index of works )

( click: indice completo dei lavori )

Written for the Creative Writing portfolio, for the theme - why do we write stories?
It turned out to be a story I'd been needing to tell for quite some time; the story of how my father sparkled my passion for writing, and how lost I was after he died, and how I slowly started writing again, just very recently. I have tried to explain what it is that got me going again, and it's been a pleasant discovery for me as well.
Also, it's nowhere sad as it may promise to be; it's the story of how things are built up again, which is always a good time. :)

( click: of Readers and Yaks )

Assignement for week 8 of the writing workshop. The theme was the feeling of alienation and exile, and we had to try and express it in as few words as possible. I narrowed it down from over two pages to a bunch of lines which, for someone overly-talkative like me, is quite an achievement!
I've had my good practice at expressing my contrasting feeling towards my little town. Doing so in English has proven to be an interesting challenge, and I am quite happy with the results.

( click: where the town suddenly has jaws )

So che non è buon costume lasciare le poesie senza titolo - immaginate se ce ne fossero una dozzina e magari fossero pubblicate, come farebbe la gente a discuterne :D?
Alcuni miei insegnanti inoltre sostengono che il 'senza titolo' è la scappatoia facile, una mossa vigliacca o, nei casi peggiori, un modo da due soldi per fare i misteriosi.
Ma questa poesia è così breve e concisa che ogni altra parola in più, aggiunta oltretutto anni dopo che è stata scritta, mi sembra stonare. Diciamo che ci penserò se mai la proporrò a qualche concorso.

( click: senza titolo [pellicano] )

My assignment for week 3 of Writing Workshop at uni. Our tutor had us sniff a vial, without telling us what it contained, and write the first thing that came to our minds. (Turned out later that it was grapefruit essence.)
It's the first piece that I wrote for the course, and I was unbearably uncomfortable with the language at first. I've gotten much better during these 9 weeks, and it comes to me much easier now. It's pleasant to re-read this piece and see exactly how quickly I've got better. I might rewrite it before the end of the term.


( click: In which there's lemons, with sugary secrets inside. )

This is the revision of a short drabble I scribbled down some time ago. I polished it a bit and broke it down into lines so it could be submitted, again, to the LondonMet's Writing competition.

My problem with sharing my poetry is that, most of the times, I get comments like 'I didn't really get what you were trying to say' or 'I didn't really get what it means'. It's very simple: it doesn't mean anything. I'm not trying to say anything else. It's just it: just what you read, what I describe, what you see as you read it. It's just about images.

( click: In which there's a Turtle, and caramel, floating. )

Entry for the LondonMet Writing Competition. The word limit was 2'000, therefore I had to rush the ending a bit too much for my liking. Currently working on the extended version of this story ♥.
This is my personal take on the famous Crossroad Blues Legend: what happens when fun and unpredictable mess about with tradition..?


"So, my man - how would you like a deal? You sound enough of a bluesman to me. Let's talk business."
I just gaped and stared with incredulous eyes at the man and his huge smile, as my brain got stuck on the looping thought - bloody hell, I'm chatting with the Devil.



( click: It began with the blues. )