You've Got Male Models

A 20-year old prodigy heart surgeon, Chris Cahill, did not expect to share her apartment (or her life) with two aspiring male models when she finally gains her independence. A story in the process of their interesting (and equally hilarious!) adventures of three different individuals living in the present.


I write on a whim, and somewhere along the line, I have collected journals full of phrases and ideas that I use to spark a story. Got any ideas, feel free to share them. How would you interpret a JournalWord?


Gladiators, Bad-ass priests, Robots, Demons, Cowboys, Demon-Cowboys, Fast-food cashiers, Ninjas, Butlers, Pirates, Sailors... The list goes on and they all make me swoon! (We are instant best buddies if you feel the same, just saying)


Albeit reluctantly, Sarah finds herself with the responsibility of raising an angel after he crashes from the sky. Sci-fi, supernatural, and a little silly.


I'm a fiend. *cheeky smile*

Saturday, 31 August 2013

Disruption of Plans

I like being in control. More specifically, I like being able to control my own plans.

And not having others, particularly my parents, disrupt my plans for their own selfish reasoning. 

And without discussing them with me, either.

I feel like a child. Sugar-coating words and coddling me.

And I thought I was entitled to being treated like the adult I should be.

When will I grow up? When will you let me?

I'm not so easily pushed down. Shove me, toss me, push me. I'll get right back up.

I'm my own rock. I have a road I'm ready to take. 

I'm stacked and structure with passion. Motivation. Dedication. 

Just let me go. 

I've built my own world beyond this home. Beyond this city. Beyond this office.

My age is not limited. Nor is my innocent, doe-eyed face. 

My mind is beyond my life. And my life is beyond these restrictions you've all labelled and pasted onto me.

I'm not a tack-on board. Unpin me.

Friday, 23 August 2013


JournalWord: Bubble gum.


She blows a pink bubble as she waits for her savior from the dull crowd.

Her slinky silver dress sparkles under the undying shine of the chandeliers, casting slivers of light to bounce off the faces of her admirers. They flaunt their European suits and adoration at her like arrows after a scrambling herd, but she dodges their haphazard attempt to ensnare her. They are ready to pounce, but her black, strappy high heels impatiently tap on the tiles, toes facing the exit.

Snapping her gum between her wisdom teeth angrily, she almost neglects to hear the scrambled whining of a waiter chasing after her as she breaks from the mob. 

"Madam, you most certainly cannot be leaving!" he insists desperately when she doesn't slow her strides. "This is your party for the Nobel-"
She interrupts him by swiveling around to face him with a growl tweaking her lips to display her incisors and gums. Spitting her wad of bubblegum into her palm, she slams it onto the empty platter he has been holding up faithfully throughout his run.

He staggers to catch his platter before it tumbles, flabbergasted as she turns back around and spouts, "Don't need it."


Sunday, 11 August 2013


JournalWord: Chicken


She cocks her head up, staggering her crown as she stares, unabashed at me through the window.
As if to grind my nerves even further, she scratches at the ground with her demonic talons, further tearing apart the head of lettuce she has currently torn to smithereens.

Suddenly she flaps her wings widely, ruffling her grey speckled white feathers and releasing a wail to summon her brethren to the slaughter of my garden.

Clenching my jaw as my assumption proves correct with the horde of beady-eyed devils cluck maniacally as they clamber towards the hole in my garden fence, I turn away from the window with intent in my mind.

"He loves chickens. What man has a chicken obsession!"

I clutter the kitchen in my search for the biggest cleaver in the house, and when I find it, tucked safely in its matching block behind the canola oil and flour, I come to terms that this winter, we won't have any canned vegetables.

That's fine. It looks like this year we'll just have to live off meat.


Well, now I'm off for bed after a long day of shopping (clothes! shoes!) :P

Keep cheery!

Monday, 5 August 2013

My Love Is Late

Something about me that some have trouble comprehending in general.

I don't believe in love.

Sure, people like each other, tolerate each other, and then care for each other, in given time. A logical progression that creates an emotional tether.

And I understand the magic behind maternal and paternal affection for children, I mean, those cute little babes were genetically designed to be adorable so they could be dependent on others to survive. (Ingenious, really!)

It's all quite biological.

I'm just a skeptic about this strange figment that floats about in peoples' fantasies and dreams.

Love at first sight? Merely physical attraction.

So where this brings me: arranged marriage.

Of course, everyone has their own perspective on the case, and if you're not one of those that has ever experienced an arranged marriage, whether first-hand or by knowing someone who has, I'm afraid your validity to what I'm going to confirm will make you upset.

I am wholeheartedly agreeable to the notion. (Although, of course, if it involves non-consent from both parties, or involves young'ins who don't have a choice, I'd be very vocal at the inappropriateness!)

But, after numerous consultations with myself to discuss the non-existent chance I will "fall in love" (ouch!), the idea of finding myself a match that is beneficial is perfect.

You'll notice, if you've been paying attention to my writing, that I do dabble in love in various forms. 

But I will make clear, this "love" is actually a perception of the character and the character's dreams and beliefs.

So to correct myself, love may be real, for those that believe in it. However in my case, I don't.

And life goes on, so my mother and I have decided to book a trip to Indonesia in the fall/winter to start a hunt (Ohh, how predatory.. :P) on men, of which I would choose.

And yes, I know, from countless accusations, I am taking this a bit too logical. 

But again, characters and personalities dictate dreams and beliefs.

Oh! And relationships! They will forever be my muse. :D 


Just a rant I've shortened after being questioned while discussing my plans with some close friends. This is probably a large chunk of my personality that comes out in my writing, so I thought I'd share it.

Hopefully this is insightful. If not, don't be concerned. 
I can't change what is already perceived, I suppose.
And again, personalities and characters. (I still adore them!)

Have an excellent day,
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