You’re reading the blog posts, so why not sponsor one?
Each new post gets about 1,000 reads within the first 24 hours of it being published.
And, with over 135,900 followers, this blog is one of the most popular blogs on art and culture on WordPress.com.
All shameless promoting aside, I believe it’s also a good way to earn some extra $, which would help me keep on writing full-time.
This month was probably my best month in terms of words written since 2010, mostly because I could afford to spend a lot more time writing, instead of worrying about bills and food and stuff like that.
Trust me, a hungry artist is a grumpy artist.
Anyway, here‘s how a sponsored post looks like. Or click here to see another sponsored post.
Sponsored Post –
At the end of one of my blog posts you’ll get a mention (short description of your blog or book or business) and a link towards that respective website.
That’s it. Quite simple.
Advertise your blog, or a book you self-published, and gain exposure to over 135,000 people.
You can purchase sponsored posts on my e-store here. All payments secured via PayPal, of course.
There’s this neat trick they do in television, especially in hour long TV dramas. It’s called a teaser and its sole purpose is to make you want more. It usually ends with a cliffhanger just so you don’t change the channel when that lengthy commercial break starts.
Sometimes the teaser is a glimpse of a scene close to the end of that episode. This is how I’m going to begin my story – with a short scene close to the end.
I guess the first thing you should know is where this scene is taking place.
Imagine a centuries old oak forest, one that would creep most people out. Huge trees, rotten carcasses, contorted ghosts. Boughs, now useless limbs, lying on the ground.
The second thing you should know is “when.”
Henry James thought “summer afternoon” to be the two most beautiful words in the English language. So let’s say that’s our “when.”
Summer afternoon. I bet you’re thinking about sunlight slipping through thousands of leaves, twigs greedily stretching skyward. But maybe it’s cloudy, maybe fog curls around leaves and branches, a trembling embrace. The forest has its own sounds that appear to be most sinister.
Your lungs gasping for air, you’re drowning in that sea of ash-colored fog. You can’t tell what is what, you fill every shadow with doubt. Continue reading
“Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.”
— Antonio Machado
The traveller sat down on a sand dune and saw nothing. He heard nothing. He feared the worst. He had reached a truly godforsaken place: a vast, mournful pan of emptiness where anything sentient resented anything else that was alive. Every sun-scoured scrap of fauna had barbs, hooks or thorns, every animal had poison, paw or claw. Scorpions scuttled and snakes hissed and slithered while they went about their grisly business of survival. Even sand was an enemy. It burned his feet raw, it stinged his eyes and acted as a surrogate for pain.
His skin felt like scraped by sandpaper, his tongue was cloven to the roof of his mouth. His eyes felt like they’d melted into the back of his mind, making everything seem mirage-like. He knew he was alone, abandoned, and doomed. A colourless heat haze had blurred out the background and his vision had become myopic.
Yet, through the silence, through the nothing, something throbbed, something gleamed. Continue reading
They had laid Abel on a bed of leaves and twigs and branches. Flowers covered his body. The woman sat to his right, crying. Tears flooded her eyes, trembled down her cheeks, fell down her nose. Tears dropped from her chin. Next to her, the man sat upright, peering at the furnace of the sun drawn against the purple haze of the night to come. It was going to be a dark and cold and empty night, he thought.
Soon, the night poured over them. All they could see were the stars nailed against the blankness. East of Eden, at the edge of the world, there was nothing but infinite emptiness. They had been given the greatest gift that had ever been offered to any living thing. They often gazed at the dark sky and could see the liquid mist of morning covering the land. They could see it clearly in their minds and spoke often of it with great pleasure.
“What is going to happen?” the woman asked. Continue reading
“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven…” – John Milton, Paradise Lost
Have you ever met someone who, objectively speaking, has it all, yet they are miserable, depressed, anxious? Have you ever met someone who is constantly seeking out problems, creating issues where they don’t exist, overreacting, overthinking, and spending most of their time trying to identify what exactly is wrong with their lives?
Have you ever met someone who could be happy and fulfilled if only they’d give up on a bad habit or addiction? Yet, even though they ask for help and always talk about changing their ways, they never do so. Continue reading
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” — Martin Luther King Jr.
Being mean to someone else, particularly when dealing with situations in which the other person is displaying incompetence, is effortless and often efficient. The result is that you’ve probably ruined their day. It can be difficult to keep cool in such situations, especially when you feel your precious time being wasted, but that’s the thing about being kind: it’s not supposed to be easy.
There’s often a choice to be made: efficient reproach, or less effective, patient kindness. Continue reading