Jillian Spiridon
Bio
just another writer with too many cats
twitter: @jillianspiridon
to further support my creative endeavors: https://ko-fi.com/jillianspiridon
Stories (325)
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When Your Writing Just Doesn't Cut It
Writing sometimes feels like that kind of endeavor that doesn't give enough back for what you pour into it. Effort, time, focus, different kinds of sacrifice—all these things come into play, no matter the scope of the writing project you're tackling. And honestly? Sometimes writing can seem like more trouble than it's worth.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Motivation
The Gallery of Lost Things
Brigida Brandt was the icon to talk about in the little seaside town known as Windling Cove. Her would-be mansion sat looking over the cliffs cascading down to foamy blue waters, and many a teenager had been dared to jump from such a height to resurface in the sea below. It was said Brigida often watched the adolescent charades from her veranda and wore a faint smile on her thin lips.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Humans
Death Takes a Bride
Mala should have known what all the rites meant. The runes wound around her wrists like bracelets, all the protections in the world for what they called the killing tide. It was supposed to strike only the frailest of women, and the elders made sure she had taken her cups of herb concoctions in the event that something happened on the day of her ceremony. She hadn't glimpsed her soon-to-be husband yet, though they had spoken on either side of a curtain to share their first words to each other, and through the gap he had grasped her hands in a firm yet gentle grip. Just that one touch had been enough to make a spark light in her heart.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Futurism
Desperately Seeking Seashells
Maddie's stepsister Remy had never seen the ocean before. As their parents settled into the seaside home they were renting for the week, Maddie helped Remy unpack all her beachwear before they headed down to the oceanfront. But even as Maddie watched the calming waters beyond while a small ship pushed along in the distance, she noticed Remy wasn't admiring the view. The little girl was crouched down, her hands dug in the sand.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Families
Ode to the Pirate Queen
Some say she never existed at all, that she was just a tale made too big to go away and disappear into the grand blue. She had no name—or, if she did, it was lost to the waves which claimed her—but she was known. Women like that didn't just charm men with their rouged lips and their pretty words; it wouldn't have surprised any of us if she charmed the sea with a shanty she had heard on the winds, born from the mouths of sirens who sung our sailors down to Poseidon's gate.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Futurism
"You'll Never Make Any Money Writing"
Before I claim to be something I'm not, I'll let you know a little bit about my life as a writer: I began, like so many of you might have, with the words "you're good at writing" from teachers as I was going through my elementary and high school years. Garnering even a few awards for essays I wrote, I thought it wasn't such a bad thing to be praised and lauded just for putting words to paper in a meaningful way. It was, dare I say it, pretty easy back then. I can't say I even ever really outlined unless an outline was required for an assignment.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Journal
The Undertow
Caroline had once loved the water with every fiber of her being. Whether she was a ten-year-old swimming in her best friend's parents' pool or a twenty-year-old soaking up beach rays on spring break, the water had been a constant through her twenty-seven years of life.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Humans
Saltwater Kisses
At night, I dream of an ocean with no end in sight. It's a subconscious callback to my childhood, I'm sure, when all I wanted to do was dunk my head beneath the waves and pretend I was in another universe. In that other world, I could submerge myself among the shells and algae, the tide-run sand just out of reach below my floating feet.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Humans
The Winter That Never Ended
With every step Kailin took, she could feel the crush of snow beneath her boots. A fog of air puffed out of her mouth with each breath she took. Even the fur cloak she wore did little to keep the chill from trying to creep into her bones. But the sun still filtered through the gaps in the tree branches, laden heavy with the last snowfall.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Futurism
