Laura Elizabeth
Bio
Here I am, turning a life-long passion into something more. Whatever genre I delve into, my style is descriptive. I aim to paint pictures with words to share with you the worlds that come to life within my imagination.
Stories (8)
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Listening to Neil Gaiman
Stories can be anything! They can go anywhere. They can be about anyone. They can make sense or no sense at all; they can follow a linear path or meander here, there, and everywhere. I have ideas in my head. I want them to make sense. I want to anchor them in reality. I want to ponder every detail. But the thing with stories is, none of that is necessary. One thing it has to be is honest. I have to be vulnerable. Writing bears my soul. If I hide my soul from my writing, I will stifle the creative flow from mind to page and what I end up with will be less. Less than the potential story I have swirling around inside. When I pour myself into it, I allow the words to create the image in my mind in the minds of others. I create stories that are rich, engaging, and connecting, that speak to the reader on a personal level. They connect the reader to the character, the reader to the plot, the reader to…me.
By Laura Elizabeth3 years ago in Journal
The cabin in the woods
"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window." "And no one was there to see it. The end!" Patrick interrupted, rolling his eyes. A fire crackled uncomfortably hot between his sister and him, tossing splotches of yellow light and deep shadows across both children's faces.
By Laura Elizabeth3 years ago in Fiction
How to S'more
Carlo sat at the campfire smoking his cigar. The blunt, brown roll of paper and tobacco complemented his bald head, bushy mustache, and tanned, weathered skin perfectly. It was his brown leathery skin that told you in a glance of the long lifetime of hard work and outdoor experiences behind him. I watched him from across the fire where I sat beside my husband, a man nearly half his age but still in his late thirties. Carlo’s boisterous voice paid homage to his Italian roots as he called out.
By Laura Elizabeth4 years ago in Families
My Father's Daughter
He sat in his truck, staring at his phone. His call had gone unanswered. He shook his head in dismay and set the phone on his seat, put his truck in reverse, and drove off. He missed her, although he didn’t regret his actions which had ultimately led to their estrangement. He thought about her and loved her, even if she was headstrong and emotional in ways he simply could not comprehend. In some ways, he even felt wronged by her and her adamant silence these last few years. He shook his head once again as he thought of his daughter. From the outside he would appear to be annoyed, perhaps even offended, but inside he was hurt.
By Laura Elizabeth4 years ago in Families
