The streets are always crowded. Feet slapping, donkeys braying, men shouting, boys running up and down holding huge bottles of water, bags of food, or simply kicking a football between friends. The streets are always alive. The sun caresses covered heads, bald heads, heads boasting mounds of curls, brown locks, blonde hair; hats; scarves and everything in between. Tourists, natives, travellers, visitors, everyone piles together in a moving mass of pulsing hearts, wide eyes and sweating skin.
14 November 2015
Sometimes a month flashes by on invisible legs and you don't even see it as it waves goodbye, last July was one of those months for me. July was the month of Eid, the month that I travelled to Morocco, the month that I turned seventeen, and the month that I realised heck, I might need to buy a zimmer frame soon, or at least a walking stick, I'm getting old.
07 November 2015
Labels: THE ART COLLECTIVE
If you think Cait needs an introduction because you have no idea who she is, then I question your life choices. With that being said, here is what went down during e-mail conversation, where I threw words at her, and she attempted to bat them away with as much eloquence and sass as possible.
P.S Let's all appreciate my taste in gifs please; also feel free to answer these questions yourself in the comments section if you feel like the world could do with hearing your (probably amazing) novel-writing life and structure - I don't, which is why I have not answered these questions myself.
1. HOW DO YOU BUILD YOUR PLOTS/FANTASY WORLDS, what's the process? where does the magic happen, where do the sparks originate from? An inspiring meal? A sudden idea while in the shower? (WHERE THERE IS ALWAYS NO PAPER TO HAND WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN.)
IT IS CRUEL AND UNFAIR TO GET IDEAS IN THE SHOWER. I have lost countless stories down the drain, seriously, it's abominable. I need a waterproof notepad, clearly.