literature

Travel literature includes guide books, travel memoirs and the curious experiences that happen when you seek adventure.

On the Road Again
I love a good road trip, always have. I’m Charlene ~ adventure seeker, writer, beach bum and most notably, a loner. I need to think smart and keep this duffle bag simple. That’s my best friend, Samantha, or Sam, over there texting on my bed. She still questions my decision to venture out alone. She keeps asking me, “Why can’t you wait until summer, when I have vacation time, and I’ll go too?” I snicker innocently, “Sam, you know I love a spring fling. I need this trip, now! Something is telling me this getaway is about more than I know. Something special is in the air. Don’t worry, I’ll call every day, text at every stop.”
By Kimberly Mitchell5 years ago in Wander
Black Book and Dagger
I haven’t ever really told my story to anyone. Or at least not all the way through … bits and pieces here and there. So unbelievable it is to the ordinary person that none are really able to believe. Most can’t and so won’t perceive beyond the ordinary. This is a sorry thing. Sorry too is it, that in most cases, people are only seeking superficial satisfaction confined to this material plane, where surely moth doth corrupt.
By Mandy West5 years ago in Wander
Hotel 20k
Euphoric! It was that feeling, that very special sensational feeling. Euphoria!, I think. As I stand in the airport boarding my flight to Manhattan, New York. Thinking back on the time I wanted this , I planned this and I dreamt of this and now I can barely contain the euphoria now that I'm living this as I swipe my boarding pass. I take my window seat and watch out the window as the plane takes off.
By Courtney Carter5 years ago in Wander
The Neighborhood
Sadiya entered the automatic sliding doors into the lobby of a hotel. It was the first one she spotted in the town she would sojourn in for a week's time, and it appeared to be a decent place to settle. It smelled like a peaceful home, rather than the usual cheap coffee and mothballs that accompany small town motels.
By Kaelyn Williams5 years ago in Wander
The Pageturners
The warm afternoon sun shines through the window of white two-story suburban home located in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. A shaggy haired 18 year old boy is standing in the middle of his bedroom holding a guitar in his hand while standing over a distortion pedal. He starts to play part of an original song that he usually does with his band as he imagines performing in front of a sold out crowd at the Filmore Auditorium. All he wants is to have that success on stage; he can't see himself doing anything else.
By John O'Neill5 years ago in Wander
Grandpa's Notebook
"Hey it's over here!" Amanda shouted from across the attic. "Can you hear me Demi?" I could, but something I saw in the corner of my eye had caught all my attention. It seemed to be an ancient-looking black notebook, with a leather cover and initials carved into the spine. OV, that was Grandpa’s name. Orso Vecoli. Last summer while me and Amanda had been visiting Italy, before he died, he had told me how his name meant “Bear.” I thought that was cool, but I never did tell him that. I didn’t know him very well, and seeing Amanda so heartbroken over his death made me feel guiltier. I should have at least talked to him more, I thought to myself, before I was awoken from my pondering. “Hey! Earth to Demi!” I couldn’t help but laugh at the robot voice my sister was doing. Even though I knew she was sad to be back in Italy for grandpa’s funeral, she never let me see it. She was determined to make this summer just as fun as the rest. I felt sorry for her but I couldn’t help but be relieved. I wouldn't know what to say if she started talking about Grandpa.
By Zahra Ansari5 years ago in Wander
The Disenchantment
It was a postcard-worthy golden leafed autumn morning in Tasmania’s Coal River region. Hopeturn Village was picturesque in the soft morning sunlight. The main street, lined with quaint specialty stores packed with goods to tempt even the most frugal tourist with quality keepsakes, was a symphony of Georgian sandstone. With all its charm, none would have guessed at its colonial days of bondage and unhappiness. The moody, romantic tones of La Vie En Rose were softly floating out of the Antiques & Oddities Emporium, as a smartly suited man strode toward its doors.
By Helena Adeloju5 years ago in Wander
Jonie's Story
Jonie always sensed that there was an immutable energy created by the coexistence of two people, distinct from all others. For Jonie and Eir, theirs was an energy that sagged, bearing the weight of all-too-conscious sadness, which often brought their eyes together in brief painful glances, broken by heaviness. Jonie didn’t know why it felt as if they were always near the point of being scalded by the truth of things. Often they avoided discussing anything too burdensome particularly to maneuver away from its overhanging presence, and instead made jokes about the passersby or their clumsy endearing teachers or Eir’s silly dog who always came bounding by with a slobbered ball in his jaw to pierce through the weariness of their day. Still, though their mutual presence was always overhung by a dreadfully clear and ominous cloud, Jonie and Eir had an inexplicable desire to be as one as often as possible, excepting and occasionally forgoing sleep and meals and studies. They were lucky to not yet be at the age of necessary responsibility. They were unlucky to feel as if the pressure of everything and everyone was on their growing heads. They often liked to sit on the edges of bridges and piers so that their feet might hang loosely and dangle over nothingness, as if the overhead weight could be transferred down their body and dissipated through their liberated toes. Occasionally, Eir would point at distant lights and murky outlines and beg Jonie to make a story explaining their existence. “Oh, all right,” Jonie would say with a half-smile and a sigh, though in fact Jonie loved nothing more than to make meaning out of meaningless things.
By Lemon Pie5 years ago in Wander
Trust Me
It doesn’t get any crazier than this, but I’m telling you, this is what happened, I found myself saying to the officer.
By Danya White5 years ago in Wander
The Writings in the Wall
Thud. She had just taken out the last panel of rotten timber from the crumbling old wall when something heavy fell out from behind her. The sound disturbed her from the meditative state in which she would do this work.
By Eloise Watt5 years ago in Wander
Choices
Jenna pulled open the door of the old VW bus and nearly fainted from the heat and stench that wafted out. It didn’t help that the thing had been sitting on the vacant back lot of her parents’ Sacramento place for more than 10 years. Nobody had been in it since her grandad died five years ago. God knew what was inside. Grandma refused to let them get rid of it because it had been so special to him – and to her. She told of the trips they’d made in it in their late teens and early 20s – upstate New York, Canada, New Mexico. Gene always wanted Jenna to have that bus, Grandma said.
By Dana Griffith5 years ago in Wander
The Call of Fortune
Donna couldn’t believe it after nearly two decades; she was calling it quits. It was unfathomable to her family, friends, and devoted fans to think she had given up on her dream. How could anyone as prolific and awe-inspiring as she just walk away? Her best friend, Jonah, was livid when Donna broke the news to him. He refused to accept the fact that she’d divorced the one love she managed to sustain throughout her existence. Merely having this vision had saved her life. Donna couldn’t be serious about this at all! Donna’s community didn’t know to consider and possibly would never understand that she was answering to a different calling now. She didn’t fully comprehend her own decision, but she sensed that something deeper was now pulling at her heartstrings, a compulsion of sorts. Besides the call of a foreign desire, it became increasingly difficult to adequately express herself in a world of three-minute videos and 180 characters. Although she still possesses a keen knack for grabbing anyone’s eye in the eight to twenty seconds of attention most adults now allotted for interest in any single thing at a time.
By Cetrina Brent5 years ago in Wander