Future Sarah

posts mostly selfies
future-sarah:

My Christmastime Romania trip is halfway funded which means I have October and November to raise another $1500. 
Which means: TIME FOR NEW INCENTIVES!*
If you go to H2H International and donate $15 or more, designated to Sarah Simpson, email your address to sesimpson4@gmail.com, and I will sign and send (anywhere in the world):
a copy of my book Inkslinging 365, a collection of 365 pieces of extremely short fiction, 
a copy of Occam’s Razor containing my short story Slippers (along with lots of great short stories, poems, and art by other students at CSU East Bay), 
and a copy of my short story Lucy George Turns Thirty, printed and bound in true zine-fashion.
Quantities are limited (I only have four copies of Occam’s Razor and six copies of my book), but we can work out an alternative. I have some embarrassing creative non-fiction I wrote in college about boys I’ve had crushes on that you could substitute if you wanted.
If you have any questions, my ask box is always open!
*Of course, you can still donate any amount and receive any of the previously mentioned thank you gifts if you would rather. Just be sure to email me or put a message in my ask box with your thank you gift preference.


Did you see the cover I made for “Lucy George?” I bought birthday candles, burned them, and took a picture. I think it looks very Xeroxed and hip.

future-sarah:

My Christmastime Romania trip is halfway funded which means I have October and November to raise another $1500. 

Which means: TIME FOR NEW INCENTIVES!*

If you go to H2H International and donate $15 or more, designated to Sarah Simpson, email your address to sesimpson4@gmail.com, and I will sign and send (anywhere in the world):

  • a copy of my book Inkslinging 365, a collection of 365 pieces of extremely short fiction, 
  • a copy of Occam’s Razor containing my short story Slippers (along with lots of great short stories, poems, and art by other students at CSU East Bay), 
  • and a copy of my short story Lucy George Turns Thirty, printed and bound in true zine-fashion.

Quantities are limited (I only have four copies of Occam’s Razor and six copies of my book), but we can work out an alternative. I have some embarrassing creative non-fiction I wrote in college about boys I’ve had crushes on that you could substitute if you wanted.

If you have any questions, my ask box is always open!

*Of course, you can still donate any amount and receive any of the previously mentioned thank you gifts if you would rather. Just be sure to email me or put a message in my ask box with your thank you gift preference.

Did you see the cover I made for “Lucy George?” I bought birthday candles, burned them, and took a picture. I think it looks very Xeroxed and hip.

(via future-sarah)

My Christmastime Romania trip is halfway funded which means I have October and November to raise another $1500. 
Which means: TIME FOR NEW INCENTIVES!*
If you go to H2H International and donate $15 or more, designated to Sarah Simpson, email your address to sesimpson4@gmail.com, and I will sign and send (anywhere in the world):
a copy of my book Inkslinging 365, a collection of 365 pieces of extremely short fiction, 
a copy of Occam’s Razor containing my short story Slippers (along with lots of great short stories, poems, and art by other students at CSU East Bay), 
and a copy of my short story Lucy George Turns Thirty, printed and bound in true zine-fashion.
Quantities are limited (I only have four copies of Occam’s Razor and six copies of my book), but we can work out an alternative. I have some embarrassing creative non-fiction I wrote in college about boys I’ve had crushes on that you could substitute if you wanted.
If you have any questions, my ask box is always open!
*Of course, you can still donate any amount and receive any of the previously mentioned thank you gifts if you would rather. Just be sure to email me or put a message in my ask box with your thank you gift preference.

My Christmastime Romania trip is halfway funded which means I have October and November to raise another $1500. 

Which means: TIME FOR NEW INCENTIVES!*

If you go to H2H International and donate $15 or more, designated to Sarah Simpson, email your address to sesimpson4@gmail.com, and I will sign and send (anywhere in the world):

  • a copy of my book Inkslinging 365, a collection of 365 pieces of extremely short fiction, 
  • a copy of Occam’s Razor containing my short story Slippers (along with lots of great short stories, poems, and art by other students at CSU East Bay), 
  • and a copy of my short story Lucy George Turns Thirty, printed and bound in true zine-fashion.

Quantities are limited (I only have four copies of Occam’s Razor and six copies of my book), but we can work out an alternative. I have some embarrassing creative non-fiction I wrote in college about boys I’ve had crushes on that you could substitute if you wanted.

If you have any questions, my ask box is always open!

*Of course, you can still donate any amount and receive any of the previously mentioned thank you gifts if you would rather. Just be sure to email me or put a message in my ask box with your thank you gift preference.

future-sarah:

I can’t tell if this is cute stupid or just stupid stupid.

I just realized that this stupid joke doesn’t even work except on paper because Guy in “Guy the Frenchman” isn’t pronounced the same as guy in “guy of your dreams.” 

future-sarah:

I can’t tell if this is cute stupid or just stupid stupid.

I just realized that this stupid joke doesn’t even work except on paper because Guy in “Guy the Frenchman” isn’t pronounced the same as guy in “guy of your dreams.” 

I can’t tell if this is cute stupid or just stupid stupid.

I can’t tell if this is cute stupid or just stupid stupid.

How my handwriting actually looks.
I stayed up past my bedtime to transcribe handwritten bits of my screenplay and am staying up past-er my bedtime to scan and share one of my favorite lines with you.

How my handwriting actually looks.

I stayed up past my bedtime to transcribe handwritten bits of my screenplay and am staying up past-er my bedtime to scan and share one of my favorite lines with you.

“Bomb Boy” Made Into a Poster!!

andlohespoke:

Hey everyone!! My Bomb Boy flash fiction has been turned into an awesome poster by the team at theneweryork! Two sizes, w/ or w/o a frame. Big props to Nils Davey for the incredible art and design :) 

This really means a lot to me—“Bomb Boy” is one of my favorite works, and theNewerYork has really gone the extra mile!

Thanks so much for your support, everyone <3

Great fiction + great art = so great!

4 months ago - 14

Bad books on writing tell you to ‘WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW’, a solemn and totally false adage that is the reason there exist so many mediocre novels about English professors contemplating adultery.

Joe Haldeman (via maxkirin)

Lol

(via sabotabby)

This explains sooo much of my creative writing curriculum in college.

(via nerdloveandlolz)

I spoke to fifth and sixth graders about this. I told them to write what they know, but I made sure to tell them too that “write what you know” doesn’t mean they have to write about upper middle-class kids in suburban elementary school. They know about feeling scared and alone, about being brave, about loyalty and betrayal.

For me, “write what you know” is the key to writing real stories in unreal settings. Do not trash “write what you know.”

(via thepurpleglass)

future-sarah:

image

I have this dream every so often, where he and I get locked in a room together, and in order to get out, we have to talk to each other and work out why we broke up. It’s not like there’s a voice over an intercom explaining our predicament. We just know.

Sometimes in the dream, we yell at each other for so long that the oxygen runs out, and we both suffocate. Sometimes, we are civil and discuss things in the same way that groups of us used to discuss group projects, sharing the responsibility, splitting the tasks evenly between us: “You examine the decline in our communication, and I’ll look into our physical relationship.” Sometimes, I end up literally tearing him to pieces, but there is never any blood. He is made of paper.

And sometimes, we don’t speak at all. Sometimes, we turn our backs and retire to opposite corners where we turn to statuary. Sometimes, we fall into each other’s arms, forgetting that we had ever even parted. Sometimes, without a word, I climb onto his shoulders and unscrew the cover on a vent in the ceiling, and we escape through the air ducts.

(Illustrated by Sharkeye Jones)

18 February 2014

I expected my heart to skip or stop altogether. I expected to flush, for my fingertips to tingle. I expected the moment to feel momentous, to feel like stepping off of a ledge into the open air.

But there was just a blink of hesitation, my brain asking one last time if this was really what I wanted, and then, all I felt was resignation. I didn’t know if the choice was right or wrong - I suspected it would prove to be the wrong choice - but it was the choice I wanted, and I had surrendered to whatever came along with it.

5 December 2009

Brandon Bosko broke up with Lucy about three months after her fifteenth birthday, just about three months after raising a plastic party cup to make a toast.

"To fifteen years of Lucy," he had said. "And to the next fifteen." The rest of her friends had raised their plastic party cups in agreement. Then, they all drank to her, Sprite and Coke and Mountain Dew. Lucy had blushed and smiled and blown out the birthday candles for which she had told her mother she was too old, but before she blew them out, Lucy made a birthday wish. Of course, she never told her wish to anyone.

Her birthday wish was this: that Brandon Bosko would be there fifteen years later to make a similar toast.

Fifteen years later, to the day, Brandon Bosko was in a hotel ballroom in Chicago. Rising from his chair amid applause and polite laughter, he rang a dessert spoon against his refilled champagne flute for effect, but his guests chimed in until he was forced to hold off on his intended toast to lean down to kiss his bride.

"I thought this day would never come," he said once the room had grown quiet again. "And to be honest, there were times I prayed that it wouldn’t." He smiled down at her playful frown. "But, darling, my life would be empty without you in it. When I imagine the future, you’re all I see." He raised his crystal champagne flute. "To tomorrow and the day after and the day after that, et cetera. To you, Lindsey."

And they all drank to her.