Inspiration

Pockets Full Of Stories
The worst and most terrible thing about time is you always grow out of it. Much sooner, you grow out of your mother’s lap to face the real world. Growing out of childhood, you are held responsible for mistakes and it won’t be “he is just a kid” and that’s where you become extra cautious about your step. Soon enough, you grow out of the park labelled as a “kids area” and you just keep staring at that swing you aren't allowed to use anymore. Soon enough, you grow out of the colourful dresses and shoes and all of your dresses are from the palate of one or two colours. Soon enough, you grow out of crying and being stubborn for what you want. Soon enough, you grow out of laughing at the top of your lungs and start behaving according to situations. You grow out of your school friends and realize how toxic it was after they are gone. Sometimes you accept change willingly and sometimes you are forced to do it.
By Amin Safi7 months ago in Writers
How Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter Schooled Me on Hope and Grace
The word “grace” is beautiful in both its meanings. One meaning is elegance and refinement. Another meaning is that life (or God) will provide what we need without considering whether we deserve it or not. Viewing the world as a stage on which grace plays out can be hard when we carry guilt and shame.
By Tom Bissonette, M.S.W. Ret.7 months ago in Writers
Rethinking Symbolic Leadership
Leadership, at its core, is meant to drive progress, inspire teams, and deliver results that move organizations toward a sustainable and thriving future. Yet, according to Narghiza Ergashova, the modern business world finds itself grappling with what she identifies as "ROT Leadership" – a concerning trend where appearances take precedence over substance and long-term value is sacrificed at the altar of shareholder expectations and symbolic success.
By Narghiza Ergashova7 months ago in Writers
imran khan
The Imran Khan Story: From Cricket Legend to Political Prisoner Imran Khan's life unfolds as a dramatic tapestry of unparalleled sporting glory, transformative political ambition, and a precipitous fall from power—a story reflecting Pakistan's own turbulent journey through the 20th and 21st centuries. Born in Lahore on October 5, 1952, into an affluent Pashtun family, young Imran was educated at elite institutions like Aitchison College and England's Royal Grammar School Worcester, where his cricketing talent first flourished . His path seemed destined for the playing fields, not the political battlegrounds that would later define his legacy.
By zakir ullah khan7 months ago in Writers
A Red Hot Blob
I am glass. I have no color and am a delicate piece of art for everyone to look through. I melted everything that I am just so I could reshape myself into what I thought the world wanted to see. Everything that I was burned until all that was left was the red hot glob of nothingness, just waiting to be shaped into something deemed beautiful. I would twist, turn, and warp myself, anything to fit the mold of the next artwork everyone wanted to see. I lived to see their admiring eyes, the ones that would look straight through me knowing nothing of the pain it took to become art. I wanted nothing more than to be someone that could be admired and loved. My value was determined by the amount of eyes that looked upon me fondly.
By Justyce Firestone7 months ago in Writers
The power of an empty wallet
Ali had always lived by one principle: earn more, live more. His wallet was always full, his clothes always branded, and his phone always the latest model. From the outside, he looked successful. But the truth was—he lived paycheck to paycheck, with a credit card drowning in red.
By Shehzad khan7 months ago in Writers
Why Writing Still Matters In The Age Of The Infinite Text Generator
Let's begin with a delicious irony. Right now the internet is positively drowning in articles dealing with "How to Spot AI Writing".
By Jack McNamara7 months ago in Writers
It's Gonna Be Okay. Honorable Mention in I Wrote This Challenge.
When my first husband, Paul, passed away in 2016, I wasn't prepared for how heartbreaking it would be. We had been together for 30 years, married for almost 29. He had a sudden, unexpected heart attack in his sleep.
By Julie Lacksonen7 months ago in Writers
Coincidence Or Calling?
"This is the rest of your life!" he taunts mockingly. The smell of beer and whiskey on his breath makes me cringe, and I do my best to stay calm. It's mid-afternoon on a Thursday, and I am sitting on the couch, staring down at the interlocked fingers of my hands in my lap, waiting for the patrol car to arrive.
By Carrie Principe7 months ago in Writers
Life
Title: “Dancing Through the Storm: Embracing Life’s Journey with Grace and Grit” Life is a wild, unpredictable dance. Sometimes it moves to a rhythm so beautiful, we lose ourselves in joy. Other times, the beat feels off, painful, even unbearable. But in every season through the laughter, tears, love, loss, victories, and mistakes life offers us one constant: the chance to grow.
By Taviii🇨🇦♐️7 months ago in Writers
Why TTRPGs Changed My Writing for the Better. Top Story - June 2025.
GM: Alright, [Cleric], you cast water walk and you and your party totally circumvent the magical trap in the sewers by walking on some of the foulest-smelling water known to man. At last, you arrive at what appears to be a large alcove meant as some sort of maintenance area. The light in this area is extremely poor save for the occasional flash of blue light. Anyone who wants to, please roll me a perception check. Bard: 18. Ranger: 15. Warlock: 17. Barbarian: Nat 20, let's go! GM: Fantastic. You all hear it before you see it, a deep rhythmic thrum and the discordant squealing of cogs and machinery grinding against its operator in protest. As your eyes adjust, you notice the missing arcane device you have been searching for along with an artificer tinkering with it. It is a massive thing with brass clockwork rapidly turning rings of arcane sigils below an overheated steam engine. A disturbing pale blue light emanates from the machine with each beating thrum that coincides with the turning of the clockwork rings. In the evanescent light sweeping the room, you notice two other figures: a gruff looking man with large muscles who is cleaving close to a figure you all recognize. It is the pale elf wizard from the tea house, though beneath his trench coat you notice his hands anxiously caressing the hilts of two long elven swords. Party: *Exasperated groans and sighs of annoyance.* Cleric: Not this guy again! GM: *smiles evilly* The elf taps his foot against the sewer bricks in annoyance. "Come on, hurry up! They should be here soon!" The artificer does not look up from his work. "I'm tryin', boss. These things aren't made to purposely explode, you know." Barbarian, you rolled a nat 20 earlier. Can you roll me an investigation check please? Barbarian: Oh, I suck at these... 12? GM: That's enough, I'll give it to you. Thanks to your superb spatial awareness, you surmise that you must be somewhere below the palace in this tunnel. Barbarian: Damn, I had a feeling. Cleric: Well, that's not good. GM: The elf looks up, his right hand gripping one sword pensively. "Strange. I heard the black powder blast from the entrance grate but none of my arcane alarms have been tripped. Interesting..." Alright, we're going to keep your stealth rolls from just before this and he's going to roll another active perception... *rolls dice* The elf turns around and looks right at you. He grins a wicked smile and cocks his head as he takes a careful step forward. Party: *Collective expletives and nail biting.* GM: He begins speaking in the same sort of arrogant nonchalance as he used before. "Oh, bravo, heroes. You are certainly more skilled than I had anticipated, but as you ca-" Cleric: I cast silence over the wizard. Bard: And I cast sleep on the three of them. GM: *Blinks as he comprehends the situation. Shakes his head.* Alright, well, um, you see the elf is attempting to do some sort of menacing monologue but you do not hear a single word of it. Meanwhile, the artificer collapses amidst the machine controls and begins snoring... silently. Party: *Raucous laughter.* GM: However! The machine shows no sign of calming and the elf is silently yelling in anger. Suddenly, he grabs both swords from their sheaths as each blade becomes wreathed in greenish purple fire. Please roll initiative. -An excerpt recovered from the notes of a session of a homebrew D&D session I ran about three years ago using my own setting: Afterfall (see below). It remains one of my favorite sessions to this day.
By Ian Read7 months ago in Writers
Why fire nozzle covers are important to use?
Imagine it’s raining hard and you’re a firefighter. You rush to your fire truck, grab the hose, and try to spray water on a burning building. But the nozzle is stuck. It’s covered in mud and rust. The handle won’t move. You waste precious seconds trying to fix it. Those seconds matter. That’s why fire nozzle covers are so important. They protect your equipment, save lives, and keep everyone safe.
By allweathernozzlecover7 months ago in Writers