Tag Archives: friend

To the Teacher Made Me a Writer

In the spirit of International Women’s day, I’ve decided to take a sentimental stroll down memory lane today. Let me tell you the story of the teacher who made me a writer and changed my life.

So Back in High School….

Let me give you an mental image of the kind of kid I was in school. An average B student. Definitely not one of the cool girls. I was awkward and lanky and a total mess. And I had no idea what I would do with the rest of my life.

In Freshman year, I wrote my first fictional story and discovered I actually liked writing. English was my favorite subject. Here was the problem. In my personal life, there was no one to encourage me to pursue my talent, nor acknowledgement that I even had a talent.

Until I Met this Teacher

For now, let’s call her Miss J. She was my English teacher in both my Freshman year and my Senior year. And she saw the potential in me that I didn’t even know existed.

Miss J was a kind and lovely person. She introduced me to literature that initially inspired me to write. Works like ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’, ‘Of Mice and Men’ And Greek Mythology. The first story I ever wrote was probably in her class.

Speaking of Mythology, towards the end of Freshman year, my high school wanted to remove Greek Mythology from the curriculum and planned on throw away a bunch of books away. The horror. Before they were tossed in the garbage, she gave me one of those books. Torn and tattered, it will always remain on my bookshelf.

Struggles with Self Esteem

This one time, we were assigned to write a scene inspired by Hamlet, the play we were reading at the time. I was so excited that I worked extra hard on this two page script. Even researched authentic Shakespearean language. After I handed it in, my teacher was genuinely impressed and asked if she could read it to the whole class. I told her ‘no’.

And even today, I still regret that decision. See, my confidence was under the floorboards at the time. I was incredibly self conscious, and felt like I was rubbing my great story in everyone’s face, and then everyone would hate me. “No, no, it isn’t that great. Surely, my work isn’t the best in the class.”

Man, some days, I wish I had a time machine and could tell my younger self to not be afraid of showing my talent. That being awesome at something won’t belittle others. And honestly, I still struggle a little with that low self esteem logic today.

One of her many sweet notes.

Words of Encouragement

In my Senior year, Miss J asked us to write journal entries, which she would read. I was still nervous about others reading my writing. To break from that fear, I decided to just be funny. My journal was filled with my (embarrassing) humorous observations, kind of like what you see on the blog today. And she loved them.

So, I kept writing. She said I had a natural talent as a writer and that I had a quirky voice. Thank goodness for that quirkiness. I was amazed and humbled and happy. My silly scribbles made someone laugh. Nothing was more fulfilling. Miss J wrote me these encouraging notes, pushing me to pursue a career as a writer. I still have those notes. The most touching note from her is scrawled in my yearbook, hoping that the next time she hears my name, it’s because I’d have won the Pulitzer prize. (Insert tears here.)

Her note in my yearbook, from 2011.

To a wonderful teacher, I’d like to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I don’t know where I’d be right now if it wasn’t for your encouragement. You inspired me to pursue creative writing and made me the writer I am today. And you also inspired me to start this blog, where my quirkiness has room to roam and where I can encourage other writers to write their story.


[This is a repost, but an important post, nonetheless.]

Write with Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky

Prompt of the Week: What is Your Dream?

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr had a dream, what’s yours? Write about all your dreams and hopes for the future.


Write your response in the comments bellow. Best entry gets a shout out next week!

Write with Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky

Writing Services // Follow Me on Twitter

Prompt of the Week: Hometown Hero

Write about your main character’s hometown, or where they grew up. What was their living situation like as a child?


Write your response in the comments bellow. Best entry gets a shout out next week!

Write with Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky

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Prompt of the Week: Two Strangers Meet on New Year’s Eve

Write a scene where two characters, two complete strangers, meet each other on New Year’s Eve and watch the countdown together.


Write your response in the comments bellow. Best entry gets a shout out next week!

Write with Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky

Writing Services // Follow Me on Twitter

All is Magic and Bright (Fantasy/Humor)

Juniper dusted the snow off her cloak as she entered the claustrophobically small shop. Shelves full of trinkets and bobbles and bobbled trinkets. Potion bottles and feather tipped arrows too. And a leather glove with brass trimmings and a brightstone set in the center. The topaz yellow gem winked at her as she stared at it.

Gus, the shopkeeper, leaned over the counter. “Hello, hello. What can I help you with, little missy?”

“I need one Gauntlet of the Scorching Sun.” She dropped three gold pieces onto the counter. The earning from too many oddball quests.

Adjusting his spectacles, he eyed the coins, then the fairy girl with wings like a monarch butterfly. The gap in his teeth let out of long whistle. “No can do, little lady. That there doohickey is five gold.”

Her wings stiffed in agitation. “What? But I need that for a friend. It’s supposed to be a gift for the winter solstice celebration.”

Shoulders bounced. “Holiday inflation, you know. “

“You gots anything to trade? Adventurers always got things to trade.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Grumbling under her breath, she searched her bag, sifting through miscellaneous items acquired during their adventures.

“How about three gold coins, fifty silver pieces and two bubble potions.” Two vials of pink liquid were set on the counter. His head shook slowly. Thumb jabbed over his shoulder to an entire case of bubble potions. She dug deeper into her satchel and held up a bloody canine. “Annnddd a…. Goblin tooth?”

“That’s a troll tooth.”

“Same difference.” Juniper pushed her items closer before reaching out her hand to shake. “Do we got a deal or not?”


The door creaked open. Cecil flinched in surprise, a book tucked under his arm. A smile spread across his face. “Juniper! What… What are you doing here? I thought you were leaving to Mirinda already.” Those plans were still true. There were a bundle of fairies down south waiting to celebrate the solstice with her. Juniper offered the young wizard a poorly wrapped package.

“Oh, I’m on my way now.” She assured. “Couldn’t leave before delivering your present first, could I?” He gestured her inside the tiny cottage. The warmth of the fireplace embraced her. Frost melted from her wing tips. She gave a quick greeting to his mother and grandmother, who were preparing a small feast for the three of them.

“You s-sure you can make the flight in this weather?” Cecil ask as he unwrapped the gift. Snow and wind blustered outside.

“I’ll be fine. I still have bubble potions left.” Two potion bottles were holstered to her belt.

The wizard gasped, holding the gauntlet in his hands. “But how did you…?” A anxious look flashed through his face, worried about the cost of such an item.

“Don’t worry about it. Go on. Try it out. ” She nudged him as his fingers slipped into the glove. The golden gem shimmered. A glowing sphere appeared in his hands, hovering in the air. Watching her young wizard friend cradle a bright ball of light made it all worth it.

After the shopkeeper declined her deal, he was asking for roguish deviance. Juniper left the shop with a huff, claiming that she’d take her business elsewhere. In actuality, she snuck back in with the stealth of a true thief. Smoke bombed the cramped shop. Amidst the chaos, she swapped the gauntlet with 3 gold coins and a bloody troll tooth. Tis the season, after all.


Happy holidays everyone! Love, Lady Jabberwocky

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Fiction Friday: Fork in the Road (Short Story)

Image result for road through cornfield

“We are totally going to get murdered…”

“No, we are not.”

“By a psycho killer…”

“Cut it out, Molly.” At this point, I was completely exasperated.

“…Or an evil scarecrow.”

The sky burned golden orange, the only thing that was beautiful about the horrendous car ride.

“You watch too many horror movies,” I said, exhausted after five hours of driving. “And get your feet off the dashboard.” I scolded as I tapped her scuffed up sneakers. With a huff, she dropped her feet. Crossing her arms, Molly’s face pressed against the window. We drove in silence for a few more minutes.

“Anna, we are beyond lost.” She said. Reluctantly, I slowed the car to a stop and exhaled heavily.

“I must’ve just… taken a wrong turn somewhere,” I explained, fiddling with the gps map while trying to keep my eyes on the, albeit empty, road. I pushed all the buttons in frustration, with no response on the screen. “I think this thing is broken.” I concluded, giving up on the device. Technology and I never got along anyway.

I peered over at the young girl riding shotgun. Molly, my obnoxious and wonderful teenage sister. I remembered the day she was born almost too vividly. My mother’s water broke the day after my twelfth birthday. Then, it was a whole day of labor, Molly was stubborn even in the womb.

She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her red Power Rangers hoodie, feeling the autumn chill that seeped into the car. Her teal hair was braided loosely, a habit when she was bored.

“Sis, look out your window,”

I did. Nothing but corn stalks. Tall, green chutes that seemed to go on for miles.

“Now look out my window,” She gestured to the right.

More corn stalks. More nothing.

“Seriously. We’re freaking screwed.”

That hopeless lost feeling was starting to sink into my chest. And the dramatics of my sister, the city child, didn’t help either. Slouching in the leather seat, I faced forward. A single strip of road cut through the cornfields, seemingly going on forever. Maybe Molly was right, maybe this was like a scene in a horror film, where the murderer would appear through the thick corn fields, and we were sitting ducks.

“I can’t believe Brandon actually lives here. Actually, maybe I can, a boring accountant from the middle of nowhere. Sounds about right.” To Molly, he didn’t strike her as exciting or interesting. And honestly? I felt that way about him too, occasionally. If it was up to her, she would date some artsy guy with a garage band and a tattoo.

An image of Brandon flashed through my mind, with his floppy blonde hair and his morning coffee scent.  The other day, while visiting his parents in Pennsylvania, he called me, suggesting I drive down to see them. ”They really want to meet you.’’ His voice sounded so eager over the phone, like a golden retriever waiting for a walk.

“He doesn’t live here, his parents do. He… wanted me to meet them,” I explained, not realizing how tense the last part sounded, then added. I recalled his directions. Drive through Dutch country, then drive fifty miles west to get to Gettysburg. “And you, baby sister, get to be my well behaved wingman.” I tossed her a smile, despite the ball of anxiousness at the pit of my stomach. My fingernails were chewed to the nubs. An unsettling pressure to fulfill certain expectations weighed on my shoulders.

We kept driving until the road was no longer straight, just left and right. The path divided into a perfect ‘T’.

“Fork in the road. Great.” I muttered to myself, stopping the car then running a hand through my shoulder length, chestnut brown hair. “Any luck with the map?” In her lap, there was a large paper map that had been collecting dust in my glove compartment. Paper maps were far more reliable to me, although she looked like she couldn’t make head or tails of it.

As we tried to figure out our location, the sound of hooves clopping against the pavement caught our attention. An older gentleman in a silver buggy with thin wheels held the reigns to an black stallion. He wore a sweat drenched shirt, leather suspenders, and a wide brimmed hat. The man gave us a sideways glance, which looked more like a nasty scowl. Even the horse seemed to scowl at us as they rode on by.

“Did he just glare at us?” I pondered out loud, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know. All I know is I’m adding creepy farmer guy to my list of possible murderers.” She joked, giggling. Her laughter was contagious, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Molly leans the side of her head against my shoulder. I needed to her the real reason for all of this, even if it was at a fork in the road, in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania. “Brandon asked me to marry him.”

She lifted her head to look at me. Her hazel eyes grew wide. “What?” She asked, in total disbelief.

I bit my lip, trying to amend my phrasing. “Well, he asked what I thought about getting married.” It didn’t sound any better.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Her hands held up, her brow pinched. “You guys have only been dating for like a year, not even.” I had to give her credit for wise teenage logic. Somehow, Molly always managed to say exactly what someone needed to hear.

I sighed, cradling my face in my hands. “I know. That’s what I told him.” He said he was ready to take that next step. But was I? Were we ready, as a couple? Was I really ready to be someone’s wife? Was this what this whole trip to meet his parents was all about? To get their approval or something?  

Molly looked up at me with big curious eyes. “I don’t know, Moll, with Mom and Dad’s divorce being finalized… And me moving out… And Brandon, he’s…He’s so….” I couldn’t find the right words to finish that sentence.

“Not the one?” Molly offered, tilting her head.

My sister and I sat in the car, at a fork in the road, amongst corn fields in the middle of nowhere. We were lost, unbelievably lost.


Fun fact: This story was originally written in 2015, tweaked in 2019. Inspired by the writing prompt “fish out of water” from Fiction Writing class. See what stories can come from a simple writing exercise?

Write with Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky

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To the Teacher Who Changed My Life

In the spirit of International Women’s day, I’ve decided to take a sentimental stroll down memory lane today. Let me tell you the story of the teacher who made me a writer and changed my life.

First off, I must shamelessly promote the tip jar. Check it out, just added a new reward tier on Patreon.

So Back in High School….

Let me give you an mental image of the kind of kid I was in school. An average B+ student. Definitely not one of the cool girls in school. I was shy and awkward and self conscious and a total mess. Seriously, I was. In Freshman year, I wrote my first fictional story and discovered I actually liked writing. English was my favorite subject. Here was the problem. In my personal life, there was no one to encourage me to pursue my talent, nor acknowledgement that I even had a talent. Being a teenager was hard enough, huh?

Until I Met this Teacher

For now, let’s call her Miss Judge. She was my English teacher in both my Freshman year and my Senior year. So she really saw my growth as a writer. And she saw the potential in me that I didn’t even know existed.

Miss Judge was a kind and lovely person. She introduced me to literature that initially inspired me to write. The first story I ever wrote was probably in her class. Works like ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’, ‘Of Mice and Men’ And Greek Mythology. Speaking of Mythology, towards the end of Freshman year, my high school wanted to remove Greek Mythology from the curriculum and planned on throw away a bunch of books away. The horror. That book sparked my love of fantasy and magic and everything supernatural. Before they were tossed in the garbage, she gave me one of those books. Torn and tattered, it will always remain on my bookshelf.

Struggles with Self Esteem

This one time, in class, we were assigned to write a scene inspired by Hamlet, the play we were reading at the time. I was so excited that I worked extra hard on this two page script. I even researched authentic Shakespearean language. After I handed it in, my teacher was genuinely impressed and asked if she could read it to the whole class. I told her ‘no’. And even today, I still regret that decision. See, my confidence was under the floorboards at the time. I was incredibly self conscious, and felt like I was rubbing my great story in everyone’s face, and then everyone would hate me. “No, no, it isn’t that great. Surely, my work isn’t the best in the class.” Man, some days, I wish I had a time machine and could tell my younger self to not be afraid of showing my talent. That being awesome at something won’t belittle others. And honestly, I still struggle a little with that low self esteem logic today.

One of her many sweet notes.

Words of Encouragement

I kept in touch with her through my school years. In my Senior year, Miss Judge asked us to write journal entries, which she would read. I was still nervous about others reading my writing. I mean, there’s nothing that interesting about me, right? To break from that fear, I decided to just be funny. My journal was filled with my (embarrassing) humorous observations, kind of like what you see on the blog today. And she loved them. So, I kept writing. She said I had a natural talent as a writer and that I had a quirky voice. Thank goodness for that quirkiness. I was amazed and humbled and happy. My silly scribbles made someone laugh. Nothing was more fulfilling. Miss Judge wrote me these encouraging notes, pushing me to pursue a career as a writer. I still have those notes. The most touching note from her is scrawled in my yearbook, hoping that the next time she hears my name, it’s because I’d have won the Pulitzer prize.

Her note in my yearbook, from 2011.

To a wonderful teacher, I’d like to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I don’t know where I’d be right now if it wasn’t for your encouragement. You inspired me to pursue creative writing and made me the writer I am today. And you also inspired me to start this blog, where my quirkiness has room to play and where I can encourage other writers to write their story.

In honor of International Women’s day, who’s a lady in your life that has made a big impact in some way? Has any teacher inspired you to pursue something? Let me know in the comments. I’d love to hear from you guys. I gotta go, I’m drowning in tears over here.

Write with Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky

When Your Fictional Character Gives You Life Advice

You know,

NaNoWriMo didn’t go too well for me,

I mean, I didn’t reach the 50k, but it’s fine, really.

And working on a novel can be difficult.

Why can’t writing be like a literary waterfall of brilliance?

Maybe I’m just being impatient.

Not like I can just wiggle my nose and boom! There’s my book.

“The pieces will fall into place when they are meant to.” Actual quote from my fictional detective, Private Detective H.B Cooper.

I invented you, you’re not supposed to give me life advice.

“As If I care for such trivial commentary.” – Another quote from my fictional detective.


So sorry for no post this week. I was super busy and super sick. Life just wants to hit me in the face with a baseball bat. With the holidays right around the corner, my posts may become a bit sparse. But do not fret, we will be back to our regularly scheduled program soon, I promise!


Side note: What advice would your fictional characters give you? Write it in the comments. I’d love to hear from you guys.

Write with Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky