zrisewrites

[zrisewrites]

Out of My Mind by Sharon M. Draper

Melody is not like most people. She cannot walk or talk, but she has a photographic memory; she can remember every detail of everything she has ever experienced. She is smarter than most of the adults who try to diagnose her and smarter than her classmates in her integrated classroom—the very same classmates who dismiss her as mentally challenged because she cannot tell them otherwise. But Melody…

[zrisewrites]

The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins

Do you ever feel stuck in life? Spinning your wheels, feeling like everything is totally out of your control? Your work stresses you out. You kids work you to your last nerve. You miss the friend group you had launching out of college, but everyone’s so busy–busy without you, at least. Your spouse is a wonderful person, really, but every time you see them continuing that habit you’ve told the to…

[zrisewrites]

Ode to the Orange

tw: mention of a blade

There’s just something about you. 

When the world’s grey as  

the oatmeal I ate for breakfast this morning, 

and my stomach’s rumbling but I can’t stand the thought of  

a mere sandwich, 

again. 

In comes you. 

Sunshine, in the palm of my hand, 

a promise, that life isn’t all grey, 

not always. 

The blade bites deep into your skin 

and you send up an offering, in the sense of 

juice and the finest mist in this city. 

Better than mist on a boiling summer day, 

better, dare I say, than the spray and pour of a watermelon, 

this mist is like no other. 

Sunshine in my fingernails. Sunshine on my cheeks, 

in my teeth, nectar, straight from the maker himself 

spilling over my tongue. 

Down my throat, smooth as honey-laced tea. 

Energy, and life, in the palm of my hand, 

and in the perfect, bright, luminous flat peels you leave behind. 

The day isn’t so grey anymore. 

~ Z.Rise

[zrisewrites]

Salute to the 4th - A Jasper Colins Short Story

Every 4th of July, I sit somewhere–either in my room, or outside, or some changing variation of either. And as much as I can appreciate the 4th–the fireworks, the color, the community and the connections–I can’t help but think of the veterans who have to go through sometimes a week of this. The holiday that’s meant to celebrate the country they fought for, and yet… I doubt many of them can truly enjoy it. I don’t have any close veteran family members, but I vaguely know a few. Even I jump at the big bangs sometimes. How much harder would it be after you were thrown into war–with the gunfire. The smoke. The whistles of a missile or a bomb. The fire. The tension. The danger. After watching your closest mates die with a bang. How hard would that be to relive, year after year after year?

Not to knock the family aspects of the holiday. But I always felt the forced trauma was unfair.

Naturally, I had to write a short story about it. I wrote this on the night of the 4th, with the sound of fireworks as a constant background soundtrack. This is from Jasper’s POV, my military commander child. This is more of a contemporary AU, where he’s a little older, and war-wearied. I’ve taken creative liberties with the military aspects–if you’re military or ex-military and cringing at my war descriptions, help a gal out and drop a comment on how to truly write it (if you’re comfortable with it <3). And I’d love to hear your thoughts on veterans and the 4th–thoughts. Not debates. Let’s converse, not argue.

Salute to the 4th: A Jasper Short Story

Content Warnings: War, panic attack, fireworks, blood, death, mention of guns, bombs

Word Count: 820

The fourth of July. The one day of the year where I regret multiple aspects of my life. Joining the army. Vowing to never drink socially. And living in an apartment by myself.

I pace in my living room. Back and forth. Left… left… left, right, left. Back and forth across the carpet.

A long whistle echoes from outside. I clench my fists, shoulders hunching in anticipation.

Bang.

I let out a sharp exhale, forcing my hands to relax.

Rock is blaring from a speaker—a meager attempt at a distraction. Coffee’s brewing in the kitchen. Because I never sleep on the 4th. I’m always a wreak the next day. The next week. And then I have to be fine until next year, cause that’s what soldiers—

Bang.

I flinch, fists flying up to my ears, before I force them back down.

Rock music. Coffee pot.

I march towards the kitchen, pulling open my cabinet and grabbing a coffee mug. My hands don’t shake, or even tremble. They’re just ice cold.

I set the mug down.

Bang. Bang. Whistle—bang.

I let out another sharp exhale, squeezing my eyes shut for a long moment.

Whistle—

“Get down!” My commander’s voice rips through the smoky air. I dive. My face hits dirt, stones smashing against my teeth, and then my world explodes.

I shake my head hard, coughing. Trying to get air back into my lungs.

Rock. Coffee.

Rock. The world is rocking.

I force my eyes open, jerking forward and grabbing the coffee pot. It’s still spluttering, a drop searing against the back of my hand as I bring the pot forward. I barely feel it, focusing harder than I should need to as I pour the black liquid into my mug. The minute it fills nearly to the top, I set the pot down, grab the mug, chug a large gulp. It sears down my throat—revival—

Bang, bang, bang—pop, bang, bang—

I choke, coffee spluttering from my lips, dripping down my chest. Hot and burning and staining my shirt.

The world around me rings. Smoke fills the air. Blood is dripping down my chin. Hot. My mouth burns, slick and numb. The world around my rings. I grab for my gun, easing onto my shoulder, eyes squinted through the smog.

Gunfire pops through the air. I flinch, diving to the ground, hand flying to my chest. Only my gun’s not there—ambush?Heat flares besides me, and I jerk to the side, struggling to breath through the noise and the ringing in my ears and the watery film over my eyes.

The rock has faded. My body is buzzing. My world is ringing.

Bang!

Someone lets out a scream, and another, and another, and another, and another—

Bang—

I cough again. The air swims before me. My chest is burning—I look down, checking for wounds, but nothing’s there—

Bang—

“Jasper!”

Someone is screaming my name. My comrade. My partner? Where are they? I search the battlefield, easing into a low crouch, rifle raised to my shoulder.

Ambush.

“Jasper? Can you hear me?”

My world is ringing. There—a flash of light. 

Bang.

The world shatters again, into dirt, and screaming, and screaming, and screaming. Pain flares across my leg and my shoulder, and I’m careening backwards. Back. Onto my back.

Not dead.

The world above me is cloudy white.

A white flag.

“Help me.” The words are smoke on my tongue.

No one is coming to save me.

The world flashes white, then dark. Then heavy. I force my eyes open again, and there’s someone crushing my chest. Eyes wide. Staring into mine. Blank. 

Dead. 

Red, sliding down their temple. Hot. Heavy. Dripping onto my forehead and cheeks.

Shouting again. I close my eyes and play dead like him.

No one is coming to save me.

“Jasper? Jasper!”

My chest is burning. My eyes are closing. My world is ringing.

“Jasper? Can you hear me? It’s me—you’re safe.” A hand presses against my shoulder, and I flinch, eyes flying open.

And there she is.

Eyes wide. Alive. Clouded grey with worry. Cloudy grey with love. She leans forward, pulling me into a gentle hug. Warm, and light, and there. Steady. “You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay.” She murmurs, easing down besides me, starting to slowly rock back and forth.

I collapse into her. Gasping for breath. Hands moving to clench at her arms.

Bang, bang, pop—

Dead—

“I’m right here. You’re safe.” She whispered, slipping her hand into mine. Warm. Soft. Steady. Against cold. Rigid. Shaking. “We’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

Okay—?

“You’re right here. With me.” She pulls back, meeting my gaze. I hold hers.

Bang—

Flashes. Explosion. Dead.

“Stay here with me.” She whispers, squeezing my hand.

Anchor.

So I stay. I lean forward, and I suck in a breath, and I break.

And she stays.

[zrisewrites]

July Update and Prompts for Exploration

Hello, dear reader, This last month has been a month of wild change and wild opportunities. First of all, summer hit full force–I went from loving my days in turtlenecks and sweatpants, to driving through nearly 100 degree weather. Which, as an Autumn girl, half hurts my heart. I still haven’t packed away all my turtlenecks. But then I think of all the amazing things Summer brings–fireflies. Ice…

[zrisewrites]

On The Come Up by Angie Thomas

Bri wants to become one of the biggest rappers of all time. But she has big shoes to feel. Her father, a rap legend in her neighborhood, left them with a reputation she just can’t seem to shake free from. But she tries her best–working with her aunt to cook up lyrics she hopes will lead her to her dreams. Hopes that will lead her to make it big. Even in the midst of her crumpling world, filled…

[zrisewrites]

Symphony

Here’s a poem I wrote during my poetry class on the power of music, and all the parts music plays in our lives. Enjoy! Symphony I am   the strong support you need. A steadying hand,   holding your heart   your hurt  your past   and washing them up to the light. But I am   soothing. Caressing your pain, the cuts life brings. I will   wash over you, a resounding song, a whisper of…

[zrisewrites]

June Updates and Prompts for Freedom

Welcome to June! Tis truly summer–by the time this is posted, I’ll be mentally and physically preparing to deal with the rich summer sun, lots of summer traveling, and a soon-to-come week-long writing workshop (I’ll still have posts coming out, don’t worry! Though I will be slow to reply to comments, since I’ll be filling up on the fun of craft!). Afterwards, I’m hoping to delve into lots of…

[zrisewrites]

Welcome to the beginning of my @juneofdoom short story series, Captured. It's a set of stories no longer than one thousand words, and filled with angst, witty banter, desparate attempts of escaping--both mentally and physically--assassins, and a possible romance...

Enjoy.

Part One: Darkness ~ Katrina's POV

Word Count: ~500 Content Warnings: Kidnapping, mentions of death, drugged

As soon as my mind clears, I know three things:

I’m in the wrong place.

My mind’s not completely cleared yet.

That handout chocolate definitely had something in it.

A cloth’s tied tight over my eyes, so the world’s all darkness. Not to mention the tape plastered over my mouth. But it's... fine. I’ll just… do what Vic taught me.

Breathe. Listen. Focus. Then act.

I take a slow, quiet breath through my nose, focusing on my other senses. The air’s stale with the scent of… metal. And sweat. My hands are mostly out of commission—pulled behind my back. I stretch my fingers up, feeling course rope against the sleeves on my wrist. A bulk of tight knots. It’d take forever to untie those… so that’d have to be the first thing on my plan of action.

I focus on the sound next—or the almost complete lack of it. Somewhere in the distance—maybe down a hall—a faint sound echoes. I can’t tell if it’s human, or just noise from a city. But it seems more isolated. Too big and loud, in this desolate silence.

So… somewhere isolated. Taken by that blasted chocolate connoisseur, maybe. 

I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. It feels like someone stuffed my brain with candy wrappers—it hurts. Not an ache, or a stabbing, but a pricking shift of a thrumming pain every time I move.

Great start to the morning.

The scrape of a door echoes down the hall, followed by a thudding set of footsteps. I tense, digging my fingers up into the rope knot. 

The footsteps quiet.

I hold my breath, ears pricking as I try to pick up any sort of noise. Any sign of their direction. Any indication of—

“Hello there, little assassin.” A voice murmurs from behind, right by my ear. I jump, half lurching forward, a muffled gasp slipping from my throat. 

He laughs, cloth rustling from behind. “So jumpy already… I expected more.”

A gloved hand prods at my cheek. I jerk back. The tapes rips from my mouth, leaving behind stinging cheeks and the heavy weight of curse words I can't say, because my head's too stuffed with whatever they drugged me with.

“Where—am I?” I push out, my words slurred and weak.

He laughs softly again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s… why I blasting asked.” I spit. 

Imbeciles. Why else would I ask a question?

The cloth around my eyes tightens, then falls away. I blink in the dim lighting, taking in the room. Bare, grey walls. A flickering lamp in the corner. A shelf with a box and a wind of rope. My attacker—kidnapper—tormentor nowhere to be seen. So, behind me.

“Don’t worry, little assassin.” 

I wish I could place the dude’s voice. It’s not the connoisseur. No one I remember. Why do they want me?

“It’ll all be revealed soon. For now… how would you like some company?”

A door before me swings open, a cloaked figure in the doorway. He jerks a boy into the room. The boy’s blindfolded, hands bound like mine. But I recognize him anyways. The torn black suit. The mussed black hair with a streak of gold. And his hazel eyes that flicker to mine the minute they tear his blindfold off.

Elliott Banks. The boy who killed my mother.

[zrisewrites]

Monday's Not Coming by Tiffany D. Jackson

Monday Charles is missing, and only Claudia seems to notice. Claudia and her best friend Monday are two peas in a pod. Sisters by heart, if not by blood. BFF’s to the moon and beyond. Claudia knows this. On her way back from her summer away vacation, she’s ready to get back to her Monday. Except… Monday isn’t answering her calls. She doesn’t show up to school on Monday. Or Tuesday. Or Friday.…

[zrisewrites]

plEaSe

To all the writers who haven't written in a while. May the right words come to you and may they actually get written down.

[zrisewrites]

Silver Plaques - A Jasper Short Story

Hello, all! I have a more emotional story today, with themes of missing loved ones and military. Though I chose this one with military appreciation month in mind, this does surround a character going to visit a soldier’s grave, which could potentially be triggering. I’m sorry for anyone who’s dealt with this loss ❤ Summary: Jasper goes to visit his father’s grave. Word Count: <600 Content…

[zrisewrites]

This is a whole mood

I HATE HATE HATE BEING OBSESSED WITH YOUR OCS AND NOT SOME FANDOM BC IM GOING INSANE OVER A GUY LIKE ONLY 6 OTHER PEOPLE KNOW ABOUT

[zrisewrites]

Let’s go yall I know there’s a ton of us

a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

[zrisewrites]

This is genius and exactly what I need right now. Thank you

(To everyone else who feels like this too, you are not alone. Gather with me as we sob over the annoyance and horror of creative block and eat chocolate, and then we pick ourselves up and find our spark again ✨)

Weirdly Healing Things to Do When You’re Feeling Creatively Burned Out...

Write a fake 5-star Goodreads review of your WIP—as if you didn’t write it. Go ahead. Pretend you're a giddy reader who just discovered this masterpiece. Bonus: add emojis, chaotic metaphors, and all-caps screaming. It’s self-indulgent. It’s delusional. It’s delicious.

Give your main character a Pinterest board titled “Mentally Unstable but Aesthetic.” Include outfits, quotes, memes, cursed objects, and that one painting that haunts their dreams. This is not about logic. This is about ✨vibes.✨

Make a “deleted scenes” folder and write something that would never make it into the book. A crackfic. A “what if they were roommates” AU. The group chat from hell. This is your WIP’s blooper reel. Let it be silly, chaotic, or wildly off-brand.

Interview your villain like you’re Oprah. Ask the hard-hitting questions. “When did you know you were the drama?” “Do you regret the murder, or just the way you did it?” Bonus points if they lie to your face.

Host a fake awards show for your characters. Categories like “Most Likely to Die for Vibes,” “Worst Emotional Regulation,” “Himbo Energy Supreme,” or “Best Use of a Dramatic Exit.” Write their acceptance speeches. Yes, this counts as writing.

Write a breakup letter… to your inner critic. Be petty. Be dramatic. “Dear Self-Doubt, this isn’t working for me anymore. You bring nothing to the table but anxiety and bad vibes.” Rip it up. Burn it. Tape it to your mirror. Your call.

Create a “writing comfort kit” like you’re a cozy witch. A candle that smells like your WIP. A tea that your characters would drink. A playlist labeled “for writing when I’m one rejection email away from giving up.” This is a ritual now.

Design a fake movie poster or book cover like your story is already famous. Add star ratings, critic quotes, and some pretentious tagline like “One soul. One destiny. No chill.”

Write a scene you’re not ready to write—but just a rough, messy outline version. Not the polished thing. Just the raw emotion. The shape of it. Like sketching the bones of a future punch to the gut. You don’t have to make it perfect. Just open the door.

Let your story be bad on purpose for a day. Like, aggressively bad. Give everyone ridiculous names. Add an evil talking cat. Write a fight scene with laser swords and emotional damage. Just remind yourself that stories are meant to be played with, not feared.

[zrisewrites]

I recently wrote an Ekphrastic poem--a nifty poetry style where you explore, re-envision, and deeply describe a piece of artwork. Here's a link to my poem on my blog, The Scream, if you're interested in reading.

In the meanwhile, I have a challenge for you all: to write your own Ekphrastic. Pick a piece of artwork that speaks to you. This can be a painting, a statue, a tapestry--"anything intentionally created by an artist." Then describe it in poetry. Feel out the poem. The emotions. The imagery.

Good luck, poets o7

[zrisewrites]

yesssss this is genius. Imitation isn't bad--just use it as inspiration, not straight-up plagiarism! You have your own voice for a reason, even if you haven't found it yet.

#6: Steal the scaffolding, not the house 🏠

We all want to borrow from what we love—but if you copy a story beat-for-beat, it’ll always feel like a weaker echo. So here’s a better way: study the structure, not the content.

💬 Take apart a scene or story that inspired you. Ask:

Where does tension rise?

When do characters make irreversible choices?

How does the pacing flow between quiet and chaos?

Don’t mimic the plot—trace the blueprint. You’re not stealing the house. You’re learning how beams hold weight and where the windows go.

Then you build your own house—different shape, different view—but just as strong.