Category Archives: Writing

Asking for Forever

It’s unfair to ask, and perhaps selfish to dream that you might stay with me, but my heart demands that I do. So I did. I asked you for forever and you said the sweetest thing. I can give you time, you said and promised nothing more. I smiled despite myself, wishing away my ridiculous request. It struck me then just how down to earth you really are, completely aware of life and averse to false promises. You offered me time and I realized that’s all I really need. Your honesty is blunt, but filling. It is sincere and comforting. I am ever thankful for that, I hope you understand. In the past I have struggled to show what’s inside, but you’ve pulled it out of me like colorful ribbons from a hat. So please pardon my selfishness because 1500 miles is a difficult place to see and I know full well that the future is a mystery. I could ask for forever all day, wishing for a simple yes, but you made me realize that false pretenses have no place here. I have come to understand that I have what I need, and I’ve found my place to be. My only hope is that it lasts, maybe not forever, just long enough to know you better.

Written By: Hollie Barringer, 2016


Stuck between

The want to do, and

The will to won’t.

Echoes bounce

In and out of shadows, and

Trace black lines across the dune.

Screams of rage

Bloom in the stillness, and

Color the room.

Time cracks

The cage is jammed, and

All that’s left is dripping sand.


Written By: Hollie Barringer, 2016



He is decided,
I do declare,
A chosen sort
To train the wreck
and curb the kick
To wound the dress
And stitch her down

He has asserted,
He did declare,
A hold of sorts
Over head and heels
And bleeding heart
Over the influence
And conscious indecision
To piece the pickup
And bind the ties

He is proclaimed,
They at last declare,
The dreamt of King
A desired thing

Written By: Hollie Barringer, 2016


Writing Excuses

Growing up, I used to write a lot. Throughout my day I would imagine scenes and dialogue, some of it laughable but some of it serious. I would jot them down in notebooks or on little scraps of paper and keep them in a drawer. These were my ideas, my stories, and the sad part is that most of them are incomplete.  

I was once given a synthetic purple leopard print notebook. I remember being overjoyed by that gift (probably) because it was fuzzy and soft, one of my favorite colors, and had the pattern of one of my favorite animals. I used to be obsessed with big cats when I was little, their feline grace and ferocity always intrigued me. The longest story I’ve ever written to date was written in that book, I think maybe 70 fleshed out pages of story with a beginning, climax, and end. If you’re curious, the story was about a jaguar of all things because in those days, like I said before, I had an obsession with big cats. The story is first person where the events play out from the jaguar’s perspective who I strongly modeled after the generic super hero character. I know what you’re thinking, but just keep reading for a minute. Now I know 70 pages is merely a drop in the bucket to a well-read individual who (on average) can bust through 200 pages in about an hour, but consider the fact that I was only 9 when I wrote that story. Yes, my 9 year old self wrote a story about a jaguar that saves people and yes it is awful. That’s besides the point though; the point I want to make is that I actually accomplished something- beginning to end.

I was reflecting on this today when I woke up. Thoughts of writing filled my head and I kept asking myself what I should do with all of these story ideas and bits of dialogue that I’ve been stockpiling in a drawer for over 12 years. At one point I thought just write, you dumbass. The obvious answer. Of course it’s never that simple. Life is just too busy sometimes, especially the older you get when your priorities shift from what you want to what you need. Unfortunately some of us need jobs to pay the bills and as a result our availability and free time is a limited thing. These are excuses, I realize. I won’t pretend that I can’t make more time to write and maybe actually finish another story in my lifetime. All of that is very possible if I’d give myself the opportunity. 

You ever get that urge to write but the words just aren’t there? Or your motivation to write comes at the worst possible time and somehow vanishes into thin air the moment you pick up the pen? First we have to eliminate the excuses. This revelation dawned on me when I started listening to a podcast titled “Writing Excuses” where each episode discusses a specific writing topic, a book of the week, and even offers daily/weekly writing prompts. The podcast is hosted by Dan Wells, Brandon Sanderson, Mary Robinette Kowal and Howard Tayler. As someone interested in exploring the writing process and various methods of planning, I highly recommend you taking a listen to the podcast. They run approximately 15 minutes each episode and share opinions and advice on various aspects of the writing process from brainstorming all the way to publishing. 

Writing excuses are a serious problem for writers, so if you feel like this relates to you, I encourage you to give the podcast a listen sometime. Maybe it’ll help. 

Taking Flight

At the precipice I stand, teetering on the thin line between safety- my comfortable perch- and the vast unknown. In the distance, beyond my scope of vision, I hear something calling to me: the allure, my reason to let go. In the past I would have hesitated, but this time is different; it’s a familiar voice calling me forward. It’s a familiar touch steadying my balance and there’s a gentle breath catching my wings. The drop is deep, the fall would hurt, but I know I won’t. So here I stand on the precipice, finally ready to take flight.

Written By: Hollie Barringer, 2015

We Will Rebuild

Stare grimly into the faces of the despondent

Wondering what words they’d speak,

Should their voices erupt in chorus.

Chains shackle them to the undertow,

Juggernaut strength wrestling with their souls.

Tumultuous cries and unparalleled ferocity,

Raking soft flesh like claws of the beast.

As strength wanes and the tide breaks,

Their skulls wash upon the beaches of eternity

Where we will build anew.


Written By: Hollie Barringer, 2015


My Hell Is You

It took me awhile, but I’ve finally figured it out. I now know from whence those taunting whispers come. You ridicule my indecision and shove me toward a cornered space. You are that black light illuminating my every stain.

I watched the trades, burning soul for soul until the carapace crumbles to dust. I memorized the pattern, swirling anathema into the depths of ruin. I felt everything, suffocation beneath the weight of an invisible force.

It took me awhile, but I finally figured it out. My hell is you, and I want no more.


Written By: Hollie Barringer, 2015


Hunger drives the hunt, clawing and devouring like the carrion feast deep within the gorge. Cold commands a bitter bite and shoves the strongest into a slow deliberate end. The blaze of summer demands the source, a fount of cool liquid and place to rest while scavengers lurk. And when things become too uncertain, there is the instinct to run. Running is the race that only ends once all other needs have been met. 


Written By: Hollie Barringer, 2015