S. A. Crawford
Bio
Writer, reader, life-long student - being brave and finally taking the plunge by publishing some articles and fiction pieces.
Stories (167/0)
- Top Story - April 2024
SpectatingTop Story - April 2024
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford18 days ago in Fiction
The Healer
"Life can be cruel-" words directly from my dragons mouth, and she's right. Life can be cruel, but Dannie is proof that we don't have to be, and that's a beautiful thing. I'm prone to darker feelings; I've heard it said that we each have a personal sin, and mine is definitely wrath. Dannie seems to me to be made of pure light.
By S. A. Crawford2 months ago in Interview
- Top Story - March 2024
Loving the UnlovelyTop Story - March 2024
We often talk about love as if it is something beyond our comprehension. Something divine or ethereal that cannot be touched or seen. We talk about it in hushed tones or scream about it, but usually when it feels distant. When we feel it slipping away.
By S. A. Crawford3 months ago in Humans
Freelance Writing: A Beginners Guide
So, you're certifiably crazy and you want to throw caution, and financial stability to the wind in pursuit of a career as a freelance writer... if this sounds negative, don't be put off. It's just my way; it's possible to make a good living as a freelance writer. I should know, I did it for nearly ten years, first as a part-time 'side hustle' then full-time as a travelling copywriter.
By S. A. Crawford4 months ago in Journal
When Hell Freezes Over
Snow changes the landscape; out of sight, out of mind and all that. Its almost easy to forget that the hungry dead are just a few feet below all this white powder. But that's a problem for another day. Today we deserve a break. Today the spiked wooden doors have been thrown open to the white wasteland and the children are skidding down the hills in their padded jackets on scrap metal.
By S. A. Crawford4 months ago in Fiction
Caring for Scars and Stretch Marks
This is going to be an unusual post for me; I don't think I've ever posted in the Blush community, but I'm spreading my wings this year. They say you should write what you know, and if there's one thing I know about it's damaged skin. Scars, bruises, stretch marks; we all have them, and I have more than my fair share thanks to a potent mix of recklessness, contact sports and, to put it gently, mental health problems.
By S. A. Crawford4 months ago in Blush
20/20
The irony is not lost on me as you bumble around the room in a dull witted panic; you cannot see without me, but you need to see to find me. If I could laugh, I would. Instead the beads of my chain click and jingle while you squawk at your husband and throw cushions to the side. It's not a bad place to start. More than once I've slipped down, down, down between the cracks and ended up somewhere in the darkness with the mothballs and the crumbs. Greasy fingers have reached down to grip me, then left me where I lay. My crime? Being the wrong shape.
By S. A. Crawford4 months ago in Fiction
20 Vocal Goals for 2024
I have never been the kind of person who aspires actively, instead I intend. I intended to get my Honours degree and did, I intended to get my Masters degree, and did. I have intended, in my life, to never aspire to much because I believe that it will;
By S. A. Crawford4 months ago in Writers
Back Into the Light
Have you missed me? I doubt it - there's always so much going on here, so many interesting stories, poems, and articles. It's so easy to feel like you're lost in a sea of voices, so many of which are much more articulate, elegant, and creative than your own. That's how I felt after writing "Deep Roots". I felt like a small insect, swallowed by a much bigger animal. I had officially reached The Wall. You know which one - the one where you press your face against the bricks and find no gap, no crack to peer through and wonder if you'll ever see the other side. The one where you think your best might never be good enough and its time to just give up. That wall and I are old friends; we know each other well. I used to pushed against it. I used to kick it and scream at it... hell, when I was in my early twenties I was ready to take it down with my teeth.
By S. A. Crawford5 months ago in Humans