Writing Scraps: Inkblot 1

Ink-Stained Pages of Pawprints

The Ink-Dappled Threshold

I have been a creative spirit since a young age. Always dipping my paws into art, music, or writing. I once wrote over a page in 5th grade during our morning writing prompts. We were told to expand on the sentence “The dirt road.” Only a paragraph, mind you. I got so inspired that I created a character, a back story, and an emotional journey. I really need to find it. When I do, I will share it here. For that future post, I will have the story in its original form and then challenge myself to rewrite it as an adult, flesh out the character, and plot. It will be like a little comparison of where I started and where I am now.

The ideas have never stopped coming to me. Welcome to Writing Scraps—my personal writing den where ink smudges are trophies and half-formed ideas are celebrated like old friends. If you’ve ever had a line of dialogue whisper itself into your brain while waiting in traffic, or built an entire universe in the shower and then promptly forgot it, you’re in the right place. This space is dedicated to the mess and magic of storytelling, where not every draft is polished, but every sentence has potential.

I’m so glad you’re here.

This series will feature short stories, fragments, writing prompts, narrative experiments, and moments that feel too small to be books, but too bold to be kept quiet. It’s my way of sharing the things that live in the margins of my mind—and inviting you to pull up a chair beside the desk. Some stories might be dark, others dreamy, and a few may be utterly ridiculous. All of them will be scraps of the writer I am, and hopefully, sparks for the writer—or reader—you are.

Pawing Through Pages

There’s no genre I love more than one that lets you step through a door into a world just a little wilder than ours. My favorite stories fall into the vast and overlapping realms of fiction, fantasy, action & adventure, romance, and sci-fi, with the occasional side-quest into poetry when I need to scream beautifully into the void. Whether it’s following a cursed artifact through time, unraveling conspiracies in a galaxy far away, or watching two enemies fall in love during the end of the world (one of my favorite tropes)—I’m here for it. Bonus points if there's a sword, a secret, or a well-timed sarcastic remark (or better yet, a pun).

I’m fascinated by worldbuilding—the rules, the rituals, the ruins—and I love weaving in threads of archaeology, folklore, and science to make fantasy feel grounded and lived-in. I also enjoy the deeply personal side of stories: grief, love, resilience, stubborn hope. The kind of writing that makes you whisper “ouch” as you highlight a sentence you know will live in your head forever.

So, if you’re into stories that balance heart with high stakes and myth with grit—you’ll feel right at home in Writing Scraps.

Following the Ink Trail

I believe stories grow better when they’re shared. That’s why Writing Scraps isn’t just a showcase of finished pieces—it’s a record of a living, learning writer. I want this to be a space where we explore ideas together, where inspiration gets passed like a torch, and where curiosity never stops pacing around the room. Some of the stories I post may be early drafts (maybe even just an outline that got stuck). Others may be polished enough to submit elsewhere later. All of them come with open doors—space for you to leave thoughts, interpretations, and your own stories, too.

As a lifelong learner, I don’t just write because I know something—I write because I want to know more. Every story I tell is a way of asking questions, trying voices, and experimenting with the shape of narrative. I may know a fair amount about crafting character arcs, weaving in historical detail, or structuring plot, but I’m still on the path, like everyone else. That’s part of the thrill: the stories change as we do.

A Cub-Sized Story

First Line in the Ashes

Prompt:

The only thing she could read in the scorched journal was one sentence, half-burned into the page: “They never meant for it to survive.”

Who wrote the journal? What was never meant to survive—an object, a truth, a person, a memory? Is this post-apocalyptic, fantasy, or a quiet domestic mystery? That’s up to you. I’ll be writing a story based on this prompt soon and would love to hear what paths your imagination takes.

My First Quill Strokes:

This trip was a disaster. Everything that could possibly go wrong has, and then some. Name shook their head in exasperation. A flash of light and a crack of thunder jolted them from their thoughts. The storm was moving unnaturally fast. The lightning was ahead of the rain, though. Turning back to the dilapidated manor door, they pushed it open with heaving force. The solid oak only shifted enough for them to squeeze into the building's interior.

It smelled of dust, wet soil, and ivy in the dark foyer. A shiver ran down their spine with no warning. Something felt…off. Another crack of lightning, seemingly just outside the door, spurred them farther into the hall. They were cold; perhaps a fire would help to stave off the strange feeling. Choosing to go through the largest doorway, they found themselves in a large sitting room. ‘Bingo,’ they saw the ornate marble fireplace filled with ash on the far wall. Swiftly padding towards it, they checked the front pocket of their jacket for the small pack of matches they got from the Motel the night before. ‘Still there, good.’

A small pile of logs was covered in dust next to the hearth, reaching for a piece of wood, their hand froze. There was heat coming from the grey ash. Heat? Changing their goal, their hand picked up the poker from its stand. Carefully shifting some of the ashes around, a partially burned journal fell from the grate that normally held logs, along with a few red embers. The journal was open, partially burned, partially covered in what looked like a red dried liquid. ‘Blood?’ Leaning closer in morbid curiosity, the indent of words could be seen through the dried stain. “They never meant for it to survive.” Another involuntary shiver went down their spine. Someone, something was watching them. The ashes were still warm…

Final Scraps & Open Pages

Thank you for wandering into the den. Whether you're here to read, write, or simply observe, I hope Writing Scraps becomes a place where creativity feels a little less lonely and a lot more fun. If you enjoyed this first entry, consider subscribing to the blog and joining the den—it’s cozy, supportive, and the snacks are mostly metaphorical.

I’ll be sharing new short stories regularly, along with behind-the-scenes musings, story prompts, and creative sparks worth chasing. Subscribing ensures you won’t miss any scraps, and you’ll get first access to special content brewed just for the den members.

Let’s make this space a campfire for storytellers—where we trade tales, cheer each other on, and maybe even grow brave enough to share our own half-finished masterpieces. Your voice matters here.

Got a favorite genre? A writing ritual you swear by? A story you’ve been itching to start? Drop it in the comments—I’d love to hear from you.

Until next time: keep your pen close, your plots twisty, and your scraps ready to bloom.

There’s more to the story waiting in the den. Full posts share my creative process, story experiments, and reflections from a writer’s life—raw, real, and sometimes poetic. If you enjoy the mess and magic behind the page, come join me in the den for exclusive musings and literary moments.

Join my Den!