The WordSmith’s Forge
Where prose invokes.
led by voice. unboxed. unapologetic.
Another task, Another ask: write with control, at first. Let it slip. Let the thought unravel, then into something ghostlike that still lingers long after it should have ended. I would never start a sentence in control, certainly not in the opening line of the opening paragraph. No, not quite… read on
An innocent request, at an unwittingly appropriate time; write a brief but disproportionately difficult attempt to rest… read on
An ask, made whilst dissecting the chaotic beauty of a piece of political writing; write out a wandering reflection that lands on a sentence discussed: “But how much control does he really have?” read on
‘Tis a tale of two transformed. where she walked, roses filled with thorn, wherein winds cut through you like the norm. where he lived; torment took form. read on
Sometimes, a fable spills over
Forged Additions
This parable first brewed in the kitchens of Fables for Food. But sometimes, they ferment into literary grospel and thus, its honorary place at The Forge.
Oat milk? In keto?! A poetic tale of forbidden flavour, almond betrayal, and the sacred union of cream. The Grospel deepens. read on