A sweet T-h-a-n-k YOU!

Call me old fashioned as much as you please, but I cross on my heart that Thank you notes are a definate MUST. I seriously can't begin to emphasize how important and curtious it is to do this! I was raised to do this as a child, but whether you were or not....I would suggest getting into the habit of writing them. From a present to even just showing your appreciation for a beautiful evening, there's just something refreshing about recieving a handwritten note showing a few kind words of gratitude. *Handwritten, not text*

There is a few tips and things you should be aware of when writing notes:

1) Use nice paper. Perhaps card, or scented paper for an extra touch. You don't have to go all out and

spend lots of money you could simply make your own personalised paper. With stamps, glitter and beads!

2) Use a nice pen. Please. You will never understand how important it is to use a good pen. A glittery gen pen or even a nice fountain pen -anything luxurious will fit the bill

3)The note itself. Write something meaningful but if you have nothing to say make your writing bigger - always mention what you are thankful for and how you are going to use the gift.

Hannah

x

Short story: My Cardigan

Before you read this I just want to say this story is a bit bonkers... like myself you can argue haha! I got inspired from a blogger called JennyScribbles who wrote a similar piece on a 'sweater' (I think the correct term for it is jumper *crazy chuckling hyena laugh*). I decided to write one a piece on a cardigan because, I love me some cardigans for winter time! It is very ''out there' but nevertheless, it is creative writing, Ha more like creative writing for the insane but anyways here goes nothing. Enjoy!

My Cardigan

I have a lot of clothes. In the words of Sarah Jessica Parker “I like my money right where I can see it, hanging in my closet.” And hanging in the heart of my closet; there hangs a cardigan. This cardigan is my most sacred item of clothing.

We all seek for happiness, but most of us struggle to find it. Ultimately, we blame ourselves. And it seems we have all been waiting for that “ah, hah” moment where all loose ends finally pull together to create a cardigan. The cardigan that we have been knitting our entire lives.  The cardigan that when we finally put on, will symbolise us accepting our true selves. Our cardigans will unveil who it is we truly are.

But what if, you started knitting the wrong pattern? What if, you switched patterns half way? What would happen if your cardigan is in fact a colourful concoction of lots of patterns,not quite ready to commit yourself to one or the other. Does this mean that you are in struggle to find yourself? Or even your purpose in life itself? Perhaps when your cardigan has been completed you will become dumbfounded that you were making your cardigan too small all the while, as you were painstakingly knitting away.

Every so often, I think about what my future cardigan will look like in years to come. I chuckle at how outlandish it would appear. I imagine my cardigan to have multi-coloured wool representing my fickleness with the various directions I have taken during my lifetime. My cardigan would commence with a pale lime pattern. But precipitously, streaks of cherry and azure wool would then intermingle with the pale lime. Turquoise and soft blue wool would represent the people who have come to my aid when I needed it most. And people who have brought me great joy would represent the flickers of sparkly wool. Around where my heart rests, the thread will be more delicate, revealing it has had gone through great distress, tenderness and abrasion. 

It is inevitable that influences of other people’s patterns will eventually make their way into your cardigan. Nonetheless, that is one of the key procedures when forming your cardigan; the people that you meet will undoubtedly influence your pattern and of course, your knit style.

Should we be jealous of the people who know unerringly what pattern they want to follow? Or should we envy those who stick to their pattern and fashion it to perfection, without a single fray or blemish insight?  One may have a bright purple cardigan to stand, swinging it around and boasting how their cardigan is in fact ‘better’ than yours. Whilst others may choose to conceal their cardigan under layers of clothing as they are insecure about exposing their genuine colours.

At times it feels as if it would be much less hassle to knit a fresh new cardigan. Now that you know exactly what pattern you want to follow, this time you could make your cardigan without a single imperfection. You would now have the knowledge to ensure that it would never shrink or fade. Just like how would possess the expertise to use thicker wool around the heart.

When all is said and done, and your cardigan is eventually completed, would it end up looking anything like you thought it would be?

New Year Resolutions

Okay so as it is 2013,(or 2k13 as all the 'cool tumblr hipsters' refer to it, as 2013 is simply too mainstream) resolutions are a must! It is a fresh year...where you can always re-establish yourself and try something new and different. This is the time you should look back on last year and reflect! I have already started - I wrote down all my accomplishments on one paper, my disappointments on the other, what I learnt and what I want to happen :') And then of course I decided from that make my resolutions - one being of course eating healthy which has started today. I am....food deprived. But no Hannah you must resist the slutty tube of full sour cream and onion pringles that are standing fully exposed on my gleaming bare kitchen counter top.

 

Happy New Year!

Ah! Soon another year has come to an end...So much has happened this year I cannot bring myself to explain... I have so much to be thankful for. No doubt, there has been many bumps and grief this year...as life always brings.

I hope twenty thirteen is a blessed year for all of you , I hope you have all have had lovely holidays and are pumped to get back to school or work or whatever life decides you should take on.

xx

2k12: Last Post - Short story, 'And the winner is...'

Ah! Soon another year comes to an end...I hope you all have a lovely night and may next year bring you great joy, love and happiness.

This is a story quite close to my heart, I hope you enjoy.

'And the winner is...'

Blair was sitting nervously in fluorescent lighting waiting for the hair stylist to curl the last strand of her long glossy auburn hair. Her pale green chiffon dress rustled softly as she got up.  As she checked her reflection in the mirror, her face flushed with self-conscious pleasure.

She had worked hard to produce an original dress to send down the runway. The dress was gorgeous; it was long and seemed as if it was floating. As it was strapless, it showed off Blair's freshly tanned shoulders.

The dress took three long months to make, and was the very same dress that would determine if she would get a spread in Vogue Italia. After one last look at herself she took the dress off and placed it carefully on the mannequin from where she would later put it back on for the show.

The dress was inspired by her azure surf board she got for her fifteenth birthday. Blair was blessed with her model looks and perfect bronzed 5’9 figure. These were the very reasons she decided to model the dress herself. After all, she knew exactly how to walk the runway showing off the last piece from her collection.

Just then, Lauren Anderson walked into the room with her pointy nose sharply in the air. She smelled of freshly manicured nails. Every step she took with her 6 inch stilettos on the the wooden floor, sounded like gunshots. Her flawless alabaster skin look juxtaposed against her black asymmetric tartan dress. She walked up to Blair, swishing her sleek platinum blonde ponytail behind her. She certainly looked very put together but Blair knew she wasn’t the nicest of characters.  Definitely not the sort of person you would like to make friends with. Her witty insults would linger in your head for a very long period of time and sting every now and then like a Jellyfish.

She looked straight at Blair with her piercing dark green eyes.
“You know Blair that black is the new blue” said Lauren with a blank look on her face
Blair’s veins fizzled with fury but quickly decided to laugh "Lauren it's just blue, turquoise in fact"
"Just blue?"Lauren said calmly through tight overly glossed lips. She then added soothingly"Just blue? Are you trying to tell the world you take yourself too seriously to care about what colour of clothing you put on your back? What you don't know is that that in fact that dress is not blue, and it certainly is not turquoise! It's not azure or lapis. It is cerulean. You are also blithengly unaware that last year's runner up also designed a cerulean gown. Fashion tends to repeat itself. So I think we both know that I will be more than happy for you when we are both up on that stage, you and your fake terquoise dress coming runner up and I showing off my black tartan sweetheart as the winner"
‘The only thing fake here is your nose. Yes Lauren, everybody knows about your nose job! With that explosive comment, Blair left the room.
Lauren smirked and muttered "We'll see..."

When she came back she let out a scream. Her eyes were effulgent and were now filling up with silver tears. She clasped her hands to her mouth and just simply stared at her dress with disbelief. Her beautiful dress was splattered with bright purple paint. She stood there frozen as she knew who was responsible for this. There was a murderous flicker in her eyes. Blair wanted retribution, but she knew that this wasn’t the right time. “It’s over, my dress is ruined” Blair kept saying with her hands over face.

 Blair opened her eyes and stared at her dress. The paint was now dry and somehow made the dress look even more extraordinary in an Avant Garde sort of way.” I will continue and I will win” she said deciding not to let it ruin months and months of hard work.

Ever so quickly she put the dress on and then made her way over backstage in silver peep-toes. Her heart was beating so fast she was concerned it would fly out of her chest. It was really hectic backstage Blair thought to herself as she saw hair stylists spraying hairspray all over the models’ heads. There was no doubt there was a lot of talent in the room. There were only 10 seconds until the start of the show; Blair had never felt so nervous in her life.

Blair watched the others confidently strut down the runway. She was now taking deep breaths, to calm her nerves.

“Blair you’re up” said one of the backstage assistants.

 Blair stepped onto the runway. The lights were so bright they nearly blinded her vision. Then before she knew it, she was strutting down the catwalk with her biggest smile. She felt her dress swaying and whooshing around her. The whole crowd erupted cheering.  Blair soon noticed that Fashion TV was covering the event and felt a frission of excitement tingle through her body.

Twenty minutes later the winner was announced. It was Blair! Blair caught sight of Lauren crying uncontrollably in the distance. A sea of reporters and TV crew rushed to ask Blair about her winning design.

“What made you splash such dramatic colour on your dress?” Asked one of them.
“Let’s just say it was a last minute decision.” She said getting the retribution she was after and the coveted title of ‘Designer of the Year' and of course, her spread in Vogue Italia.

Short story: Breaking Free

 

Breaking Free

Snowflakes fell effortlessly onto the clear canvas of which my toasty brown boots trod on. I naturally felt at ease with the slow soft crunching sensation that travelled up my body as I skipped exuberantly through feathery light whipped cream. The velvety snow magically blended into the pale powdery blue skies, and the sun exuded the heat of a warm everlasting happiness. Sweet untainted air filled my lungs with neither the feeling of heavy fumes or icy bitterness, engulfing my body with sweet gentle kisses. I twirled around until I came face to face with a bare oak tree which stood stark naked in front of me. It probably felt shame and couldn’t wait until spring when it could finally step into its little green number! The oak tree was exceedingly tall; it loomed over me endeavouring to grasp the clouds, only succeeding by touching them with the very tip of its index finger. I wish I was a tree so I could break free. I stretched upwards and let me body tingle with elasticity knowing that if I just stretched a little bit higher, maybe just maybe, I could reach the heavens.

Short story: Trapped

I have been very reluctant and doubtful to post short stories on my blog for so many reasons. However, I love writing more than words can describe (ha!) and have come to the conclusion that I love sharing my work with others anyways, I might as well.

From time to time, I will post some stories on my blog. Some will be shorter than others....but nonetheless, they all will be different and exciting!

Trapped

Sitting in my white Pajero, I peer through my front passenger window only to discover pure white sand, rippling like silk. It looks innocent and naive ... yet somehow guilty as if it is withholding something from the rest of mankind. It meets the cloudy grey sky with a clear cut, the juxtaposition makes me uneasy. It is making a hole within the bottomless pit of my stomach which is slowly filling up with tarnished silver. The lifeless yellow leaved palm trees are swaying in the harsh winds, just as they have swayed for the last ten unpromising years. The pitter-patter of the dismal rain drops despondently onto the dusty windowpane. And it seemed as if only seconds later we become the unfortunate victims of merciless white sand engulfment. I feel empty as I step out of my car, which blends perfectly into the sea of uniformed dull white cars. I walk behind the others all dressed in dark blue trousers and miserable not-a-crease-in-sight white shirts. Passing emotionless cold morning faces, I wonder what life would be like if I were to live as an individual with the freedom and independence to splurge my opinions on life as openly as I willed. I soon realise that this was a childish dream. My voice is merely an echo, lost in the icy breeze swirling around society of which I blend into without choice. I am trapped within my own body. I am trapped within my own soul.