English Is My Second Language - Blog Posts

Story #26 which is a CPE letter.

Dear Editor,

I am writing in response to the editorial about friendship published on April 1. It deeply resonated with me and I started contemplating my own connection with someone who is based in another country. As challenging as it seems at times, it also may be one of the most rewarding life experiences.

Similar to other people mentioned in the publication, we struck up a friendship over the Internet. N. lived in London. I lived in P. Five hours difference, and a foreign language between us, yet we came along just fine. Surprising as it sounds, seventeen years later we still do. I cannot remember who took the plunge and initiated the next step forward, but at some point, we embarked on a romantic relationship. Nobody realized though how inconsistent it would be with being just friends. We decoupled a year later not able to maintain a challenging cross-border relationship, but not ready to abide by the thought of the end of years-long connection.

Having a great deal of experience of being a long-lasting long-distance friend, here is my word to share. You might find yourself struggling to stay awake for one another and lend an understanding ear to whatever problems are poured out. Your advice, however sound, might be unsolicited, and wherever the wedge is driven between the two of you, without face-to-face interaction, it is quite hard to make amends. On the contrary, it is mostly easy to remember all the significant dates, as well as to share the most private thoughts once your friend is on the other side of the phone, not the other side of the table. Little signs of affection like postcards and occasional gifts will also do the trick.

To sum it up, any real world relationship is a seemingly uncomplicated breeze to embrace in comparison with a long-distance union. However, despite its complexity, being miles and hours apart from your friend is exactly what helps to let bygones be bygones; therefore, survive through thick and thin and become true friends.

Yours faithfully,

E. K.

Photo credit: Nadine Shaabana (Unsplash)

Story #25, which is another CPE article. Based on true events.

“It’s negative, no cancer markers found”, the doctor said, perusing the paper with dots and numbers which made no sense to me. I exhaled sharply, not realizing I was holding my breath. Like a prisoner awaiting execution. Like a wanderer praying for a fountain in a desert to quench his thirst. Inadvertently her words defined the happiest moment in my life. My child was healthy. I leaned against the wall feeling my legs going wobbly. Silent tears ran down my cheeks. Relief. Contentment. Delight. Joyfulness. Gratitude.

I couldn’t stop scrambling over my memories to the day when her words, so easily and sharply, shattered my world to pieces. It all started with medical advice to vaccinate a child. A one-year-old son of mine. Preliminary blood work was recommended to exclude medical conditions which might cause after-vaccination negative side effects. No big deal. We did it before dozens of times with my older kid. But that time some indicators in his blood turned out abnormally high pointing to organs where his body suddenly started failing him. Failing to cancer.

“It’s negative. It’s negative. It’s negative”, I kept echoing in my head time and again.  The walls of the fragile fortress of my mind were reconstructed back. Suffice it to say, the fact that my child was safe and sound was happiness in its pure form. That was a moment to treasure. The memory to cling to. Indeed, to catch these dear moments and keep them close to heart is worth doing.

To me, it was a major epiphany. One does not need to chase ethereal dreams and get on the top of their career to make every moment meaningful. No need to be married, get promoted at work, buy the latest Tesla to feel happy here and now. This day and age you are alive and healthy. That’s what matters.

Photo credit: me. My son Alex with his father, the best in the world husband. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Story #24 is an IELTS type of essay.

Prompt: In many countries juvenile or child crime is on the increase. What are the reasons for this and what are the solutions.

It is a well-known fact that some countries have a high rate of juvenile crime which increases annually mostly due to the lack of pastoral care by relatives. Many children have to be on their own, especially if the family breaks up. It is common that single parents tend to pay less attention to their children's whereabouts and activities since they have to work a lot to be able to earn enough for a living. The lack of money often results in poor housing; therefore, youngsters who live in bad conditions may feel envious of their richer mates and turn to stealing.

There are several solutions for that problem.  Governments should put higher involvement in child development. Programs related to after-school activities for teenagers should be promoted. If we can occupy adolescents with sports and other interesting things to do which will be accessible and available for anyone for free, we can succeed in reducing the crime rates in this age category. Social services need to collaborate with employers to provide young people with part-time jobs that they can manage with their school studies. This will give them the opportunity to earn some pocket money and feel less dependent on their parents.

I believe that children turn into criminals due to several reasons but the main ones always root in the family. It all comes from the atmosphere in one particular kin and this is where governments can help. Parents should spend more time with their children to be aware of their interests and problems. To put it into practice, it is possible to consider preferences for single mothers and fathers such as fewer working hours a week for the same wage rates.

Photo credit: Maxim Hopman (Unsplash)

Story #23 which is another CPE Review.

The prompt: A literary magazine has invited readers to submit reviews of non-fiction books. You decide to submit a review of a book that has influenced you greatly. Your review should briefly describe the book, explain what aspects of your life have changed after reading it, and assess the importance of non-fiction literature.

Whether you are a devoted vegetarian, want to embrace a meat-free day a week, or just look for new flavor combinations, Jamie Oliver’s “VEG” cookbook fits the bill. Inventive and varied, albeit pure and simple veg recipes, will bring vibrant phenomenal dishes onto your dinner table. Oliver’s collection of craveable recipes, full of gorgeous photos, will get you salivating and eager to jump on cooking right away. 

Having an impressive range of dishes from all over the globe will not only excite your taste buds but also widen your recipe repertoire. There’s hardly a dish that doesn’t taste utterly delicious. Oliver’s cookery book is packed full of nutrient-rich and healthy meals. Each recipe is followed by the nutritional breakdown beneath, and the paragraphs are organized in an “easy to follow cooking directions” way. 

At first, I was certain that such food would never float my boat. I couldn’t be more in the wrong! The book inspired me to be braver and bolder in my own kitchen and prompted me to make a concerted move to up my veg intake. It came at the perfect timing. Naturally, I turned into a voracious veg eater in the blink of an eye without any great efforts and complicated schemes! Should I mention the apparent positive effects it had on my body and overall health? 

If you dare to look at a simple cookery book from another refreshing perspective, you’ll see that it is all about facts rather than just a list of ingredients and instructions. Facts, structured and organized, so this book could be your quick solution manual, a source of inspiration, or an answer to a nagging question. You name it! In a world where people hardly know what to believe anymore, they crave not far-fetched stories from someone’s figment of imagination but clear-cut and specific facts. Don’t skimp on facts. They’ll give you the perfect new flavor to taste. 

Story #22 which is a CPE essay "Music"

For anyone who is not familiar with the Cambridge Proficiency (C2) type of essay, this is a discursive essay where you are supposed to read two short texts, summarize and evaluate them, and introduce a new idea.

“When words fail, music speaks” are the famous words by Hans Christian Andersen. It is claimed that music encourages creativity, develops one’s potential, and communicates our emotions best. How do we know, though, what shapes and forms music should take to bring about the best rather than the worst?

There are very few people who remain unresponsive to tunes whatsoever. From the majority of us melodic patterns elicit heightened emotional response, usually of positive nature, as they often trigger ingenious chords of our potential and impulses of compassion. What might be argued though is that, apart from being capable of producing inspiring flows of consciousness, music may also instigate aggressive behavior, especially if the tendencies pre-exist. There are criminal cases of appalling atrocities being committed while listening to Bach, Vivaldi, or Marylin Manson. It is, of course, highly debatable if the exposure to some particular musical listening patterns can push one over the edge, but the question still stands.

What is not debatable is the influence of music on the younger generation and its value when used as a tool of education. At the same time, it is widely disputed what kinds of music institutions should teach in their classrooms, and if we adhere to some particular style, how do we define what tracks exactly belong to it? First and foremost, we have to decide not on the content of the music we expose juveniles to but the form. However valid in rousing a person’s prowess the listening to music might be, the ability to play the instrument can be of more value, more impact, more worth. In this case we can reap benefits of both listening and playing music.

Whatever form and content are chosen though, it is beyond question that music is our outlet at times of trouble and we can always count on it to make us feel better.

Story #21 "It all started with a calendar" 2/2

This is The X-Files fanfiction story.

Read it on AO3

When Scully comes out of the bathroom, clad in her typical set of silk pajamas, her face bare of any make-up, Mulder is already in bed. He casts a coy smile in her direction, but his face is taut with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.

“I took a shower in the downstairs bathroom.”

He’s wearing a t-shirt and whatever he has down there is hidden under the blanket, but Scully prays Mulder's wearing his pajama pants. Just looking at him, she feels ready to fall apart at the seams. All of a sudden she is tongue-tied, unable to squeeze out past her lips a single syllable. She feels like a bride on her wedding night who's about to get cold feet but also as if it might be her only chance, which she’s not quite ready to blow. She’s terribly out of sync with her voice of reason, so in order to calm her nerves, she turns off the light, takes a few steps to the bed, and quickly sinks under the covers.

She can feel Mulder moving as far away from her as possible, trying to give her extra space, but it immediately becomes obvious that they can barely fit in that bed together. As Mulder still does his best to avoid touching his lovely partner, one of his knees accidentally bumps into the crease of her ass, and Scully’s whole body jerks so unexpectedly that she knocks him out of bed.

“Oh my god, Mulder. Are you OK?

“Jesus, Scully. You know, you could have told me if you changed your mind about me sleeping on the floor. No need to go ballistic.”

He looks up at her from his place on the floor, grimacing and rubbing a bump on his forehead. With those big puppy eyes, that pouty mouth and mussed hair, dressed only in a tatty white t-shirt and boxers he looks irresistibly cute, and Scully can’t fight the urge to reach out and lightly touch his cheek. The whole predicament is so ridiculously comical that the corners of her mouth start curving up slightly, and she quickly covers it with her hand but it’s just too much and in a second she bursts out laughing, glimpses of tears shine in her eyes. Contagious. Deep, loud, wake-everyone-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night laughter. Mulder starts laughing with her.

And just like that, the tension is gone.

“Here, get back to bed.” Scully makes room for him on the bed and throws open the covers.

Illuminated only by the dim moonlight coming through the window across the bed, she can see Mulder wiggling his brows playfully at her. With a wide grin still plastered on his face, he gets on his feet and slips under the covers. He nudges Scully with his shoulder and she dives under his arm, throwing one leg on his, her head resting on his shoulder. Like they always sleep this way. As if she belongs there.

When Scully first realized that she started having unpartnerly feelings for her partner, she designed a whole set of rules in the situations of extreme proximity to Mulder. It didn’t take much to make her see that she had trouble sticking to those rules lately. Mulder was her guilty pleasure. And she is coming to terms with the fact that any guilty pleasure if done in moderation is not something to feel guilty about at all. Mulder IS her guilty pleasure. The one she is going to indulge in tonight and get away with.

“I have a confession.” Scully nuzzles his neck with the tip of her nose and feels him inhale sharply. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

“That?” With a hand that isn’t caressing her back in long strokes, he waves between them. “Sleeping together? Hugging?”

“Sleeping, hugging, and all the rest,” Scully confirms quietly.

“The rest?”

“Yeah, the rest.” She lifts her head off his shoulder and eyes him lovingly. Their faces are so close that the wisps of air he lets out tickle her skin, and Scully draws a deep breath like she’s going to plunge into the water. When he first feels her soft lips touching his skin, right where the bruise is already marring his forehead, Mulder stops breathing altogether. She kissed him like that dozens of times before, but somehow this time it feels different. Intimate. Like a prelude to something else. Something more.

Mulder closes his eyes, relishing her tentative caresses. She kisses his cheek then, very close to his mouth but not quite there, and as she’s about to do the same on the other side, he slightly turns his face, and their mouths meet full-on. It's a chaste kiss, their lips are barely touching, almost hovering over each other’s. Her breath is shallow, and Mulder almost stops breathing at all. She wonders if Mulder can hear her heart pounding fast and loud, as blood rushes to her face causing her usually pale cheeks to blush. Her whole body grows hot and tingles with excitement.

When they finally part, their foreheads touching, for several long minutes they don’t move at all. The kiss is mind-blowing. Intoxicating. A promise made under the guise of night, the one Mulder has a full intention of delivering.

“Jesus, Mulder,” she says in wonder, just before his mouth lands full force on hers. One of his hands slides up to cradle the back of her head. In return, she wraps her own hands around his neck, weaving her fingers through his silky strands. When they take a break to breathe, he doesn’t let go but holds her tightly, face buried in her hair. He can hear her ragged breathing, warm puffs of air on his neck.

Scully’s eyes flutter open when he loosens his grip on her, and she slides one hand down his arm to entwine their fingers.

“Wow,” is all he is capable of. His voice is husky, and his smile grows wider as Scully ducks her head. Mulder’s absolutely enamored with her apparent shyness. His logically-minded partner is all of a sudden rendered speechless. So simple, unpretentious, and amusing in her pure wonder.

“Yeah,” she whispers, and then lifts her chin and leans down to steal another kiss.

“What else is in that “the rest”, Scully?”

She snorts and once again hides her face in his t-shirt.

“We are not doing that in your mother’s place, on your tiny bed, in the house full of guests, Mulder.”

They both chuckle and he pulls her into a tight embrace, kissing her hair when Scully’s head returns on his shoulder.

“But the offer is on the table?”

“Mmm,” she hums in agreement. “You better pray there's no snow in the morning and the roads are clean, so we get back home fast and safely to try that “rest.”

“Far be it from me to tell you, Scully, how bad I’m at communing with deities.”

Scully shuts him up with another kiss.

“Oh, God.” Mulder breathes out.

“You learn quickly.”

“Can we do it again?”

“Absolutely.”

Story #20. "It all started with a calendar" 1/2

This is The X-Files fanfiction story.

Read it on AO3

This is not how she imagined getting into his bed. Not even close.

It all started with a phone call. No, scratch that. It all started with a calendar.

In the duo, Mulder, for all his photographic memory, is prone to being blissfully ignorant when it comes to dates. Her own birthday, not forgotten but rather celebrated in dog years, as he fairly dubbed it, perfectly illustrates an untold number of all the dates Mulder is conveniently forgetful of. Scully, on the other hand, always pays attention.

So she was the one to point at the calendar and circle Teena Mulder’s birthday in red ink. And Mulder was the one to make a face as if he bit on the lemon at her not-so-subtle inquiry if he was going to pay a visit to Greenwich.

He brushed her off, literally hiding behind a random folder and figuratively hiding behind the seemingly heavy workload, excusing himself out of that conversation. He explained later that he’d give his mother a call and FedEx her something nice. Something bright and shiny. Or something practical and utilitarian. Or something useless but obscenely expensive nonetheless. He didn’t really care. He was sure that his mother didn’t care much either. Missis Mulder and her son still happened to be at odds, and it was apparent to his partner that a nicely wrapped box with a ribbon, even with a “Love you, mom” card attached wouldn’t undo the damage. And Scully’s determination when it came to family bonds knew no bounds.

So she kept asking. And Mulder kept dodging her questions. Scully kept reminding. Mulder kept finding excuses. Right up to the moment when he found one hell of a legitimate reason to skip his mother’s birthday party (there was supposed to be a party after all, right?). A case of a teenager abducted landed on his desk, and Mulder leaped at the chance to shift his focus to anything that wouldn’t involve him in figuring out what to do with their mother-son convoluted relationship.

It was the divine intervention though that they ended up somehow in Connecticut around that fateful unfortunate birthday date to investigate an aforementioned case, and Mulder agreed to swing by Teena Mulder’s house if things went well. Not like he really wanted it, but more to indulge Scully. As luck would have it, the agents managed to solve the case in two days, which turned out to be a typical runaway, where an alien was the victim’s boyfriend, and the victim herself was abducted of her own volition.

Surrendering to the promise made earlier, Mulder and Scully drove to Teena’s place and arrived at the house in the middle of a nice family-like gathering, Missis Mulder surrounded by her peers. Good food, rich wine, lots of jokes, and laughter. Despite Scully’s concerns, Mulder felt at ease and seemed to enjoy himself.

The snowstorm came as a surprise. It was problematic to leave Greenwich then, not least because everything froze. They’d have to dig their car out, with one of them shoveling the roads clear in front of the vehicle all the way out of the state, and Scully definitely wasn’t going to let him drive in the midst of the blinding whiteness, let alone fly. Not even in the first class. Who are you kidding? She sighed heavily. Cattle-class flying is more like it.

“Well, now we have a legitimate reason to laze about.” She told Mulder when it became clear they weren’t going to leave any time soon. “I’m not sure about you, Mulder, but my circadian rhythms are terribly shifted out of whack, so I’m going to crash here,” Scully said with an air of finality. “And maybe even have a lie in. We’re not due anywhere until the storm passes. You shouldn’t skimp on your sleep either.”

The problem was that no one in Teena Mulder’s house was due anywhere. They all were stuck for the time being and there were only so many beds available.

This is how Scully finds herself standing at the door of Fox Mulder’s old room in his mother’s house in Greenwich, the one they resided in after his parents divorced, with her partner leaning against the door jamb next to her. The room is small but cozy, so neat actually that it’s the furthest from what Fox Mulder’s own place looks like these days. There’s not much furniture in there, a desk with some drawers, a couple of bookshelves, a wardrobe and a bed. The bed. The bed they’re supposed to sleep in tonight.

“Ah, Scully, you finally get to see my room,” fueled by a few glasses of Cabernet, Mulder gives her his best smile and unglues himself from his spot near the door only to hop into the bed and pat the covers in invitation.

It will be fine, Scully tries to convince herself. We go to bed, we sleep, we wake up, and head back to DC. She doesn’t want to contemplate how small and narrow the bed is and how awkwardly aroused she is at the thought of spending a night in Mulder’s arms. Hey, stop, where did it come from? It’s just sleeping. Nothing more than sleeping. That’s it. More fibs, Dana. Feed yourself with white lies.

“Could be worse, I guess. At least we don’t have to spend the night in a car.”

She has no choice but to grin and bear it. It’s not like they’ve never shared a bed before, let alone too small of a bed, but here, in Mulder’s childhood bedroom, she suddenly feels totally knocked out of the rut. It doesn’t bode well with the fact that she has it really bad for him but has no idea if the feeling is mutual. Mulder manages to get under her skin even staying in another room with a closed door between them, but she’s not so sure she can keep her walls up and her heart shut with him literally breathing down her neck.

“How are you even going to sleep without TV?” Scully asks randomly just to distract herself.

“You are my favorite box set to doze off to, Scully.” He flirts with her shamelessly and she feels how her cheeks start burning and blush creeps down her neck.

Keep your chin up, girl. But if she can’t tell him in all candor about her feelings, she at least can be brutally honest with herself. She isn’t just tired of holding back. She is tired of making the decision of holding back. Decision fatigue, they call it. Each tiny fraction of his body to hers makes her resolve waver. She can already feel how in the darkness of the night, with his body hot and impossibly close to hers, the arguments previously solid and credible become mired in uncertainty.

Mulder, a perceptive one in their partnership, seems to feel her distress and offers quietly: “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Scully immediately jumps at his rather weak attempt to protest, her voice of reason drowning out in a cacophony of thoughts and blood rushing down to her groin.

“If you sleep on the floor, you’ll feel even more groggy than before you nodded off. Come on, we are adults, we can make it work.”

“Can we…?” He asks with his voice barely audible, and when Scully lifts her eyes she sees that he’s not smiling anymore. Is it possible that he is trying to pull off that con scheme with sleeping on the floor not to save her virtue but because he actually feels something to her, something that she dares hope is as remotely affectionate as what she feels to him and doesn't want her to be uncomfortable? That's just too much for her hazy alcohol-filled brain to process right now.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Scully grabs her overnight bag and in a matter of seconds hides behind the bathroom door.

When Mulder hears the shower running, he growls in frustration and slumps back against the pillows, not even bothering to undress.

Story #19, that is about another amazing workshop I hosted for the Writing Incubator Project.

As we are about to embark on a fall season, I’d like to share a few words about the session I was honored to host in May 2022. 

The workshop I prepared was about “Stealing lexis from real articles to use in your CPE articles” (and any other articles as well). 

So how do you write a CPE article? Bet you’ve heard dozens (hundreds, thousands even?) of times that you should read real articles, explore the language, highlight some nice examples, and make lists of collocations or idioms you could use in your own piece. You do it mostly intuitively, just relying on your inner self to cue you, which is the right thing to do.

But where do you begin? How do you know what’s a good and what’s a bad choice? That’s what we had a look at in our Writing incubator project in May. And here I will succinctly summarize it for you in a god-knows-how-many-words blink. 

The technique we used is called investigative reading. However, before you even start opening your favorite sources, be it NY Times, The Guardian, or the Washington Post, for authentic articles in order to mine any good lexis you could borrow, create your template. And what do I mean by that? Find or invent the prompt of the article you intend to write and go through it.  Then start reading articles on the topic. Highlight the language. See what you can borrow. Explore it. Put it in your article. Toss some away. Experiment.

Is it something you can do with real articles for your blog? Sure thing, just keep the plagiarism rule in mind. Three consecutive words is borrowing, and more is stealing. 

The trick is, the more you write, the more you notice, how words and phrases naturally and effortlessly find their way into your pieces. You’ll start having your own unique style with a bunch of favorite chunks and structures. NO secret here. You just read some more, write some more, rewrite some more. 

On a related note, it occurred to me that I've never posted the article I wrote for that workshop following the aforementioned guidelines. So here it is, story #37 on my blog.

Story #18, that is another CPE article.

The prompt: An international travel organization is publishing a book entitled Travel Changes Lives and has asked for contributions. You decide to submit an article about a travel experience that has changed your life. You should briefly describe the experience, explain what made it so special, and assess the significance of the changes in your life as a result.

****

I was stuck. Not in heavy traffic or at the airport waiting for a layover, but in my life. Suspended between maternity leave one and maternity leave two, with the mantra playing like a broken record in my head: cook, clean, feed, repeat. I swear a ten-hour redeye would be a mix of joyfulness and buoyancy in comparison. So, when my husband asked if I wanted to embark on a solo trip, and despite having barely traveled on my own before, let alone in the middle of winter, I was uplifted by the idea so much that I could fight tooth and nail for it if needed.

Italy was cheap and relatively easy. I whiled away my days eating (amen to Italian food), praying (to Italian gods of food, of course), and loving. I was more full up with love than ever. I learned to love myself again. I woke up so early that the stillness hung over unpeopled avenues and squares, and then strolled down the riddle of streets to a bustling quarter of the city, checking cafes and shops strewn everywhere where my eyes landed. It became my daily routine for three days. Better yet, three lovely days. I was so overjoyed with my newfound self that even a noisy couple in an adjoining room of the hotel, which walls apparently had been made of cardboard, didn’t bother me in the slightest. 

One might think there was nothing special about my getaway, but let me remind the readers about two toddlers left at home, basically tied to me 24/7, and no personal space left. So every minute of that trip was counted, stored away in the memory box, and treasured. I was a walking commercial screaming out loud “good memories are priceless; for everything else there’s Mastercard.” For once, I could put myself first and feel no guilt over my decision. 

Everything good comes to an end, and so did my holiday, which I do not regret in the slightest. Eventually, it was that trip that helped me if not cut, then at least loosen the umbilical cord connecting me to my offspring. The distractive overprotectiveness reframed itself into mentorship and friendship. The kids discovered the kindergarten, and I rediscovered myself as a professional. We still spend plenty of time together as a family but now everyone is given enough space to breathe and explore the world around us.

Story #17 which is a CPE article about traveling.

That was based on a prompt that asked to describe the experience of “Traveling with a companion who spoiled your vacation”.

Imagine a pretty woman in her prime age traveling worldwide five times a year. Imagine her sacrificing tour adventures for such mundane things as raising a child. Imagine the woman jumping on a plane and flying to the seaside after three years of home-locked existence. Wasn't she all that excited? I bet she was! Well, I am that woman. 

After my long-standing maternity leave, I was finally ready to head off somewhere to dig my toes into soft ivory sand and feel the vanilla-scented breeze. I envisioned myself with damp hair sticking to my neck and sun-kissed cheeks, jogging along the beach at the crack of dawn and buying strawberries in a Styrofoam cup at the local market. The only thing dissimilar from my past pilgrimages was my infant daughter Ann standing as my travel companion. I thought ahead of everything: a hotel with high junior chairs, an allergy-free menu, and a childcare center nearby. My suitcase was filled to the brink with diapers, pacifiers, soft packs of fruit smoothies, and formula Ann was still sipping first thing in the morning. There was nothing I failed to consider. Or that's what I thought. 

Our private paradise ended abruptly on the third day. I remember reaching for Ann at night, wincing suddenly as if my hand had been burnt. I've never felt her so terribly hot trembling as if she was close to having a seizure. Next several days we would have spent in a hospital. On the 10th day, the GP gave her a clean bill. On the 11th we left for home. 

It could be argued that our situation was no more than an "unlucky" break, but there is something I have to say if you are a parent traveling with a kid. Take it easy. I bet if you try, try really hard, you’ll be able to find something good even in that seemingly terrible predicament. Good memories are priceless. For everything else there's MasterCard.

Photo credit: Marissa Grootes (Unsplash)

STORY #16 which was born from the exercise in the Creative Writing Club

The original prompt: finish the sentence using a simile "His promises were like..."

He always was a funny, kind of naturally gifted, guy whenever it came to storytelling, able to pull off a story in a way that drew the attention of every single person in a room. As natural as his verbal talent was, on the paper he turned out to be a godsend. The writing was what he was born for. At some point, books were pumping out like bags tossed on the belt conveyor, which was a funny twist of fate since that was exactly how they met. Mistakenly, she picked up his bag only to discover later that the bag itself was the only thing that was similar to her own luggage. She called it divine intervention. He called it kismet.

He seemed to be pretty content at home, only rarely mentioning how LA lights beckoned him. They always had. So it hadn’t come as a surprise when one day they headed to where the lights shone brighter as ever. He said it was to pursue his American dream. She said it was to chase the dollar and fame. Producers called him a real deal. Publishing houses labeled him a writer with a capital W. In a matter of months, he became everyone’s most wanted. Fiction turned into scripts, scripts turned into endless nights on screen sets, take after take, beds in nameless trailers, “shots” heard at any time of day and night. She had yet to realize that LA lights would never shine quite as bright as in the movies*.

He promised they could be happy there. All she ever wanted was to be happy. All she ever got was misery. He promised it’d be a step forward. He promised it’d be a chance to look into new perspectives and open themselves up to new opportunities.  He kissed her. And the kiss was a promise too. His promises always looked quite solid. Painfully so. Just until they weren’t. Like fall leaves with their reddish thin veins running across the yellow canvas, they laid on the carpet of grass, innocent and beautiful, only to turn later into the dust crunching under his merciless feet. He didn’t even bother as much as to look down.

Nothing panned out as he promised.

She kept waiting. Waiting to grow accustomed to that new bohemian lifestyle, waiting for him to deliver his promises. Just waiting. They were two worlds in collision but when the smoke cleared, he wasn’t there. What was there left for her…? Only his empty promises.

*“LA lights never shine quite as bright as in the movies” is a quote from the song “Catalyst” by Anna Nalick

Photo credit: Alex Motoc (Unsplash)

STORY 15 which is another CPE review "A Little Book of Hygge" by Meik Wiking

The prompt: A literary magazine has invited readers to submit reviews of non-fiction books. You decide to submit a review of a book that has influenced you greatly. Your review should briefly describe the book, explain what aspects of your life have changed after reading it, and assess the importance of non-fiction literature.

Imagine yourself waking up in the crisp blue morning, snuggled in a soft, warm blanket, still hazy and disoriented, but well-rested and content. Imagine yourself taking that feeling of coziness and comfort, bottle it up, and carry it with you throughout the day: no stress, no chagrin, just pure joy and happiness. 

“The little book of Hygge” by Mike Wikking is your guide to the Danish concept by the same name of life devoid of anxiety and tension. Step by step, from picking the right light for your bedroom to planning weekend dinners, you’ll learn to recreate an atmosphere of the place where you feel shielded from the outside world and can let your guard down. The principles of this 10-part manifesto, full of gorgeous photos and illustrations, can be applied in the familiar space of your house, in the office environment, while traveling or walking by anyone from executives and mere employees to homemakers and students.

To me, Hygge is the epitome of tranquility. Curled up on my couch, with the ripple pattern baby afghan I had knitted for my daughter, I read through the book in a couple of nights. Prompted by the Wikking’s work, I put on the rubber gloves to clean the apartment of junk piling in my bookcase, my wardrobe, my cupboards. Little magic rituals like cocoa by candlelight and a game of Monopoly with kids on a Saturday night naturally implemented themselves into my routine. Hygge was that magic ingredient in my recipe for a stress-free life.

Lost in a hectic race to achieve some bigger goals, people forget to appreciate little mundane pleasures, such as a smell of a fresh-baked cake, or a bedtime story to children. Meanwhile, what could be a more effortless way to be reminded of the value of life? It’s the very time to turn to books of facts. They might not provide a fantasy world to escape like fiction, but become our tools for a quick-time solution, an answer to a burning question, or just a piece of advice. Perhaps, next time you ponder what kind of read to indulge in, attempt reality over imagination.

Photo credit: @stellarose Unsplash

STORY #14 is about something that was supposed to help me stand out but instead sank me down.

You see the irony here, huh?

So where do I begin? This is the video I recorded for the #TheReservoirTimelapse contest run by #davidduchovny and #akashicbooks.

I had a bunch of ideas for the video but the point is that I gave up the idea of a sunset/sunrise right off the bat since it was an obvious choice. You just google the “time-lapse vid” and tell me what you see. Anyway, it had that being-like-everyone-doing-like-everyone ring to it.

I wanted to claim all the credit for my creation. But how can I claim credit for something that has always been there? I mean, I needed it to be the thing that’d not just be there, but be there because of me. I wanted to do something that would require effort. And somehow I was certain, it’d stand out in the flow of sunsets and sunrises. Like it would be waving at you — come here, look at me, here I am⠀- refreshing and original. Well, I believed t was entertaining, easy on the eyes, and unique. But maybe in the eyes of a stranger, it was nothing short of dull, mediocre, and unoriginal.

I lost. It took me about twenty minutes to wallow in my own misery, but then I thought “what the hell”? I can’t really blame the guy for wanting to see another record of the sun painting the sky with every color of the rainbow, can I? So what if the man has a penchant for looking at the sunrise-sunset-sun-sky-etc.-thing? It’s up to him. On a related note, I could use that as an opportunity to turn my loss into a win. So here I am - turning it into a story, for the sake of mastering my writing skills.

And this is what I have to say. It’s no big deal. It wasn’t the first time when I failed, and most likely not gonna be the last one. As DD so much likes to recall himself - try again, fail again, and for crying out loud - fail better.

P.s. Please, be gentle, I did that shit for the first time ever 😉 (painting by numbers, I mean).

P.p.s. I know I might sound a tad envious but this is benign envy! Chill out, I’m 100% happy for those who won.

Story #9 “Stolen Socks”

To the chief of police

From George W. Harrison

Alexandria, Virginia 

Statement

That’s one hell of a byzantine plot I’m going to unfold here, but bear with me, please. I’ll have to go back to square one to explain myself. It all started with The Blue Lagoon. I never watched the movie, it’s a 100% girly thing, but when Mary invited herself into my apartment to watch Brook Shields and her caveman skinny-dipping and necking in crystal clear waters, I couldn’t say no.

Detailing the story point by point - I cleaned my abode and bought some staples. A six-pack of Shiner Bock, lots of popcorn, and even butter. She loves it with butter like a true American. I changed the sheets on the bed. I didn’t mind making out on my oldie creaky couch, but hey, it’s about Mary, and she deserves better. Also, I’m a guy pushing my forties, so you can’t really blame me for wanting to get comfortable! Back in the day, that little black thing saw lots of action. Not like I was going celibate these days, I’ve just been waiting for the only woman I’ve ever been interested in, and finally, slowly, we were making some progress. Earlier that day she said that dating me was like taking a leap of faith. I deem it necessary to bring to your attention, officer, that I wasn’t about to disappoint this woman. We were finally getting down to business of getting down to business.

Anyway, as I started getting dressed for my first in 7 years date, it dawned on me that it was my laundry weekend. No clean undergarments. I felt fine with going commando, a t-shirt and jeans would just do that, but not with my feet bare. Bare feet were a no-no. That’d be like an invitation to skip all the pleasantries and jump each other’s bones right off the bat. Don’t get me wrong, Mary has stuck to my side for what feels like forever, but I didn’t want her resolve to waver at the sight of such neediness. I couldn’t let her have any second thoughts. You see, she’s the woman anyone is lucky to get a date with. She’s way out of my league and I’m considered off the rocker. So, yes, I am one lucky son of a bitch.

A glance at my watch let me know that I still had some time to drive to Giant and buy new socks. This is how I found myself maneuvering through the aisles in search of a stall with socks. When I did though, I grabbed the item and strode towards the checkout, only to realize that I forgot my wallet!

Usually, I am an exceedingly calm man, but at that moment, my stomach got knotted and I felt panic rising within me. Sweat broke above my upper lip. Oh man, that wasn’t nice at all. Actually, nice was too flat a word, too squishy. It was anything but nice! OK, I seem to go off on a tangent here again. I knew it was now or never. I couldn’t get back without a pair of clean neat socks. I rejected out of hand the idea of rushing home, finding my wallet, and then driving back to the mall. Mary was going to show up at my door in 15 minutes! So, when I noticed that the item in my hand had no anti-theft magnet on, I sneaked into the dressing room, shimmied up the socks, and in a matter of seconds was on my way out. Unfortunately, my little escapade was caught by the security camera, with a hell of a powerful zoom lens. Well, there was also an eager operator (maybe even too eager) who miraculously noticed that I went in with socks and went out without ‘em. 

I know that I am liable to the proper punishment here and I’ll cover all the costs. It’ll never ever happen again, officer. Scout’s honor!

 The thing is, as it turned out, Mary doesn’t care either for clean socks or for me having a record! Otherwise, she wouldn’t come here to bail me out with that beautiful toothy grin all over her lovely face. We probably still can make it to my apartment and spend a nice evening together. Maybe even skip the movie part. God, how I love that woman.”

__________________

That’s when the officer raised his eyes from my statement and looked me in the eyes. Uncertain, I mumbled, “So, what d’ya say, officer?”