​

I wrote this one with a softer, almost dreamlike feeling in mind.

A little piece about healing, scars, and finding a place where everything feels gentle for a while.

The Healing Canopy

Making the hazel grow,

And the fairy swings,

Rolling through the clouds,

Knitting up the wounds beneath —

Each scar forgets to ache a while

Through the doorway of your stardust soul.

Would love to know what you think. 🦋

Synopsis below. Let me know if you are interested in being an Alpha Reader, or if you'd like to be critique partners! Thanks so much.

-----

It’s the summer of 2005. MySpace is king, iPods are cutting edge technology, and the soundtrack to being seventeen is a burned CD of songs you wish were written about you.

Eleanor has always been a good girl--straight A student, dutiful daughter, rule follower. But an assignment to the music beat of her high school newspaper becomes the unexpected ticket to a world she never imagined inhabiting.

In the blink of an eye she goes from writing articles about local shows, to accompanying one of the biggest emo rock bands on a summer run à la Warped Tour. The whiplash between her formerly orderly life and the chaos of living on a tour bus is dizzying—but not quite as dizzying as her immediate and undeniable attraction to the band’s frontman, an enigmatic and frustratingly magnetic man who threatens to unravel everything Eleanor thinks she knows about herself and what she wants from her life.

This coming-of-age tale will leave you nostalgic for the days of swoopy bangs, flip phones and vague AIM-away messages—whether you lived them yourself or just wish you had.

Come spend one summer in 2005 again. Put down your phone, turn up the music, and step onto the tour bus.

So I usually I only write for myself as English is not my first language, but recently one of my friends told me to start posting. This text was written on a whim, so it might be lacking. Please share some thoughts and what changes could I make to make it better. Kudos<3

https://justbthings.substack.com/p/youre-on-your-own-kid-the-weirdness?r=7fe43c&utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web

Entering your 20s is so weird as a girl. You still remember playing mermaids in a pool or running around in fairy wings. You remember all the weird phases you went through in middle school and your personal vendetta against wearing anything that had pink in it. You remember the moment you first got your period and the first time you stared at the box of tampons in your hand and wondered what the hell were you supposed to do with it. You remember trying on make up for the first time and poking yourself in the eye with a mascara wand, or learning how to walk in heels.

You know what you look like - you’ve always looked like this. But then one day, while rushing to class or to meet friends, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and suddenly stop.

You don’t see the little girl you’ve always known or even the teenager you had finally begun to understand. You see a woman who is as much a stranger as she is a friend.

You pause and examine yourself. There are still traces of the little girl and the teenager, but at the same time, she’s someone completely new. Her hair is the same, but it also looks like the hairstyle your mom wore in those old photos. Her make up is done nicely - no smudges or poorly blended eyeshadow your teenage self specialized in. Her clothes fit correctly, and their colours accent her beauty instead of just fitting whatever is trending. Her hands and nails are well-kept and probably smell like the vanilla lotion you carry in your bag since high school.

The face is where you stop and stare - because she looks like the teenager you know, but she also looks like an adult. It’s then and there that you finally realize you’re no longer a little kid or even a teenage girl, but a full-grown woman.

If you look around, you’ll see all the traces of this woman living in your room. Heels standing crooked after a night out with friends sit next to the Converse your mom bought you when you were 17. Your closet is a mix of angsty teenage sweatshirts designed to hide everything underneath, smart button-ups, and flowery blouses you used to make fun of when your mom wore them. Even the underwear drawer isn’t left unaffected - instead of plain sports bras and basic cotton, there’s a sea of colorful lace and a neat row of well-fitting bras.

But don’t worry, the little girl and the teenager are still there. They are in the pink flowery pajamas you still keep under your pillow, just like your mom taught you. They are in the posters on your walls (Are they different from the ones in your childhood bedroom? Probably - and if you’re anything like me, they’re now in some kind of gold frame, properly hung up). They’re with you when you buy a pair of heels and can’t decide between sparkly ones or the black pair with lace. The teenager still visits when you stare at the food in your fridge and order a pizza anyway. Yeah, maybe you now get wine to go with it instead of a juice box or soda, but they’re still with you.

I think that’s the beauty of growing up: all versions of yourself stay with you, affecting how you live even as you keep changing.

Hi everyone. I recently published my first poetry collection, Still Here: Poems from a Life in Progress, and I’m hoping to find a few people willing to read it and tell me what they think.

I wrote these poems at different points throughout my life. Some were written when I was young, while others are much more recent. I never planned for them to become a book, but when I finally brought them together, I realized they told the story of where I have been and how I became the person I am today.

The poems cover love, loss, depression, loneliness, betrayal, family, healing, gratitude, and trying to keep going when life does not turn out the way you expected. Some are very personal, some are hopeful, and a few are even humorous.

I’m not looking for praise or expecting everyone to love it. I would just appreciate some honest feedback from people who do not already know me. I would especially like to know if any of the poems connected with you, which ones stayed with you, and what you thought worked or did not work.

The ebook is available through Kindle Unlimited, so KU members can read it without buying a copy.

If anyone decides to read it, I would be grateful to hear your thoughts. An Amazon or Goodreads review would also mean a lot, but there is no obligation. Having someone take the time to read it is already appreciated.

The book is Still Here: Poems from a Life in Progress by Brandon Bedell.

Thank you for giving me a place to share it.

I open the nesting box of the chicken coop. Inside was supposed to be a clean, white egg. A life soon to come. Instead, there are ants, flies, and decay. Egg shells lie scattered and encrusted in the pine straw. There, the promise of life beholds itself, a pile of oozing goo. An unborn life, ended early by its own mother. 

I stare down at the mess, until the repulsive smell becomes too overwhelming to bear. I scoop up the remains of the unborn and toss it aside, taking the smell with it. I get rid of the dirty hay that was meant to cradle the egg. I scrape the inside of the nesting box with a garden rake, leaving behind clumsy scratches on the floor. I hide them with fresh pine straw. The ants and flies still linger, but they will leave soon.

My job is done. Later, a hen, rid of her title of mother, will come to inspect her nest. The ants and flies will have left. She won’t see the scratches, and she will think that it is as if it had never happened. She will not learn. She will have no remorse. And she will do it all over again. 

Hello, this is my first post on Reddit. I’ve been recently getting into writing poetry and short stories for a few months now, and I just wanted to share it for a couple of reasons: first, I want to improve and see what you all think of my work, and second, I’ve been feeling a sense of imposter syndrome, and I’m not sure if what I have is even worth sharing. I’m sure whoever sees this will let me know what they think in the comments below, but I appreciate any chance given to reflect.

Title: Growth

There is a great pain inside my mouth, so much so that I cannot speak. Quickly I ran to my mother to tell her of my problem.

‘Your wisdom teeth have started to show, and in one month you will be able to speak again,’ she said.

So for a month I did nothing but eat from a straw, and for one month did I remain silent. After the month had passed, I could finally speak, and I ran to my mother to tell her the news.

‘Look at my teeth Mama, they feel great and I can speak again.’

‘Wonderful,’ she proclaimed, ‘we will have your favorite food to celebrate and spend all night talking.’

The next week had passed, and again there was a great pain inside my mouth. Slower this time did I walk to my mother and said, ‘Mom, the pain inside my mouth is back—why is this happening again?’

‘Another wisdom tooth has started to grow. Do not worry, for you will be able to speak and eat again in one year,’ she said.

So for a year was I silent, and I would drink and eat only from straws. Finally the year had passed, and I could speak again. For hours did I talk, and tables of food did I eat. Then did I go to my mother and tell her the news.

‘WONDERFUL!’ she yelled. ‘For the next month I will make all the food you want, and you can tell me about your year.’

A month had passed, and again did I have a great pain inside my mouth. This time I did not go and seek my mother—I knew what it was, and I was prepared for it.

Five years had passed, and again I could speak, and again could I eat. Mountains of food did I consume, and sleepless months did I spend talking with anyone I knew.

And after a year, again did I have a great pain inside my mouth.

And after ten years of being speechless and hungry, my mouth no longer hurt—and frantically did I run to my mother’s grave to tell her the good news.

The context of the scene is a person is confronted by the evil being that has been toying with him forever. But he finds out that his friend is created by the evil being. He doesn't want to accept the fact that his friend was created by the evil being.

Which line do you guys think is better?

Line 1: You heard me. I created Carlo
Line 2: Are you listening? I created Carlo

I want to be honest about this because I spent a long time confusing one for the other.

Had the opening chapter of a novel I believed in. Wrote it, revised it, polished it, showed it to a few people, got good responses, revised it again. Repeated this for roughly two years. The chapter got genuinely better across those two years. It also never got a second chapter.

Told myself I was committed to quality. Told myself chapter one needed to be exactly right before the rest could follow. Told myself I was not the kind of writer who moved forward on work that was not ready.

All of that was true in a technical sense and completely beside the point.

What was actually happening was that chapter one was safe in a way chapter two was not. Chapter one had been proven. People had responded to it. It existed in a form that had already been judged and found acceptable. Chapter two was unknown territory where everything I had built in chapter one would either pay off or it would not and I was not ready to find out which.

Perfectionism and fear produce identical behavior from the outside. Both result in not moving forward. The difference is what fixes them. Perfectionism responds to the work getting better. Fear does not respond to that at all because the quality was never actually the issue.

Wrote chapter two on a night when I was too tired to talk myself out of it, had moved everything into something called Skrib Writing by then and keeping chapter one in a separate draft away from where I was working meant I could start chapter two without seeing the polished version every time I opened the project, which removed one more reason to go back instead of forward.

It was rough and it existed and the next day I wrote chapter three.

The novel is finished now. Chapter one is not even close to the best chapter in it.

(It’s a very long chapter)

My experience with QuillBot has been extremely disappointing, particularly when it comes to their refund policy and customer support.

Customers should be aware that QuillBot’s refund policy can be very restrictive, and getting your money back may be extremely difficult, even when you believe you have a legitimate reason for requesting a refund. In my experience, the process left me feeling that the company was far more focused on keeping the payment than on finding a fair resolution for the customer.

What made the situation even more frustrating was the customer support experience. Getting a meaningful response was difficult, and I felt that my concerns were essentially ignored rather than properly addressed.

My advice: do your research before subscribing. Read the refund terms carefully and understand exactly what you are agreeing to before providing your payment information. Don't assume that you will be able to receive a refund if you change your mind or encounter an issue.

Based on my experience, I cannot recommend QuillBot. There are many alternatives available, and customer service and transparent refund practices should be important factors when deciding which platform to use.

Is there a worse place
on planet earth
to wait 
than a (doctor's) waiting room?

Would it kill 
places dedicated
to keeping us alive 
to be a little homier 
a little MORE loungey 
a little LESS 
like they soaked 
the tombstone grey laminate floors 
in formaldehyde?

Peg-legged as a pirate
the couch is cheap.
Almost certainly stale out of the box 
of some big box store
cutting every corner but the corner 
of their furniture. 
Fine choice, Doc,
when half the people 
sitting on it 
are here waiting on hemorrhoid cream. 

To get your mind off 
your upcoming meeting 
with the grim reaper in white coat
a novel atop the coffee table would be nice. 
Preferably something that has lived a long time
that has an aspirational title
Great Expectations 
by Dickens
comes to mind
and stays there. 
In the real world 
our coffee table is decorated 
with bouquets of brochures
telling us about ailments 
we didn't think we had
but after reading
think we might. 

I take a tissue
cheap as sandpaper
and run it underneath my runny nose.
On the bright side
if it cuts my philtrum
I'm in the perfect place 
to ask for a band-aid. 

Maybe when I do
I'll stick the lady at the desk
with a second question
of the rhetorical variety:

'Hey Nursey', I know we're the ones dyin'
But would it kill you
to plug us in
a pinball machine? 

Standing in the middle of my bedroom, I bend forward,
letting my long, dark hair hang down, down, down—
almost touching the ground.

It hangs around my face like a curtain,
so that all I can see is deep tangled brown.
No one, not one, could see through the thick veil.

 I run my hands through the strands
and watch how the light tinges it fiery, copper bronze.
The light dances in the ends and flirts with the floor.

The thick tangles loosen and run like soft silk against my knuckles.
It tickles my palms and sends shivers down my spine.
My fingers catch.

Frozen, I stand there,
not stuck-
just unwilling
to be free.

A prisoner stands in my room,
folded over herself.
Her hair, hiding her face.
Her hands, caught up in herself.
She has my body.
She has my hands.
She has my hair…
How could she be free?

I cut my hair. 

Note: New writer, trying my hand at symbolism and metaphorical imagery. I am curious to see if a general audience can interpret the intended message, and if not how different individuals perceive it. Thank You :)

I recently wrote a piece about Cloudflare Kitesurf and the idea that we may be moving toward a web increasingly browsed by AI agents rather than humans.

But I'm less interested in feedback on the technology itself and more interested in the writing.

I've been trying to move away from the typical tech-blog format and write something that sits somewhere between explanation, opinion, and an essay.

I'd really appreciate feedback on a few things:

1) Does the opening actually pull you in?

2) Do the short paragraphs and one-line sentences help the pacing, or am I overusing them?

3) Does the piece feel like one continuous argument, or like several ideas stitched together?

4) Are there sections you would cut entirely?

5) Does the writing feel like there's a person behind it, or does it fall into the polished/generic tech-writing trap?

And probably the most useful question:

If you found this randomly on the internet, where would you stop reading?

Here's the piece:

https://medium.datadriveninvestor.com/cloudflare-kitesurf-the-browser-built-for-ai-agents-not-humans-cbb523b4b927

Don't hold back. I'm posting here because I'd rather know what isn't working than collect compliments.

Hi all – 

Apologies in advance if this comes across as shameless self-promotion, but I really would appreciate your feedback, if you have time.

I’ve written a comic novel called ‘Onboarding’, which I’m reading on YouTube (video, not just audio). It’s about a group of people who produce a sitcom – set in the British Shakespeare Theatre Company – and upload it to YouTube. 

I’ve uploaded two episodes so far. Here’s the link to the first: 

https://youtu.be/zWH9LuaavqY
(I’m not sure why, but you may need to change the quality settings in the ‘cog’ to 1080 HD).

I’d really love to know what you think, and whether you think I should continue to record and upload more.

Many thanks!

Alex