Tiny Writing No. 1

Today I am feeling pretty uninspired and kind of exhausted, so I thought the best way to try and get out of that funk would be to try some writing prompts. I then thought this could be a fun little series that I dip in and out of going forward when I have the urge to post something but can’t figure out what I want to write about. This is taken from the 642 tiny things to write about book.

The prompt…

The first or last paragraph of the book you lack the courage to publish 

(This is kind of cheating as I’m going to put up a few paragraphs – it’s also an updated version of something I wrote for Almost Amazing Grace)


The change was never something I anticipated. It just happened one night.

It was kind of like an out of body experience. One moment I was sitting on my bed flipping through a bio-analytics textbook, the next my skin began to bubble, my bones shifted and my muscles burned spasmodically. There’s nothing quite like the sound of your own bone cracking. I’ve come to decipher between a clean break, an egregious snap, and the crunch of the irreversible. And yet, my body always bounced right back.

There are very few things that can make you feel both mesmerically euphoric and utterly trivialised. That was how I felt right now, in this moment, with my body grinding against at least half a dozen strangers. Sweat and ragged breath filling the air as we move through it. And yet, the rhythm of the music that surrounded everyone overrides any politically correct daylight standards. The fact that I was on my fourth Bacardi and coke added to the confidence of my shapeshifting. Not a person, a fluid soul that rasped at the body without sound. Music fed the soul that alcohol famished – a perfectly executed cycle. My skin crawled with the vibrations of the bass and the melody echoed through my own vocal chords. The words burned my throat and I could anticipate the hoarse conversations I would fail to have the following day. But in that moment, the unfaltering fact was: I. Did. Not. Care.

The nights were the worst. Not knowing if I was going to get my regular hours or if I’d spend the time writhing in pure agony and wake up with gaps in my memory. But then those breaks disappeared; I wished they hadn’t.

Vivid flashes of pounding against the ground; waking up to find leaves in my hair. None of it made sense, until it did. Then the shedding began. At that point, I really couldn’t deny it anymore. I still didn’t want to believe it.

People that say they can’t dance are liars. They just haven’t found the right music to suit their body. For me, there’s nothing better than the pacing build of a song just before the hook, where the room spins with drunken delight. Swinging your hips like nobody’s watching, because the odds are… nobody is watching. Everyone else is too absorbed in their own euphoria to pay attention to the way your heels click against the springboard or how many inches your arse is from the floor. Unless, of course, their sole aim is to do just that. Those are the ones you have to keep your guard up for.

It was getting more frequent and I didn’t know how to control it. I watched as my skin flecked with fur, a periwinkle grey.


And that’s all I have for you tonight!

Hope you enjoyed it!


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