Post 1: My World

My favourite part of writing is world-building, so here’s a little slice of mine.

In a far-off corner at the bottom of the map, where eucalyptus rides the wind and four seasons pass before lunch, a writer named Z.L. Whitcher follows her own rules: write daily, dream often, and put hot sauce on everything.

North of the river, in a district tangled with graffiti and bikes, she sits in a cosy café sipping a magical brown liquid. A quick breath. Fingers poised. She channels her power through chipped purple nails. Some days, the words pour out, spilling onto blank pages like spells. Other days, even after multiple cups of magic, the black cursor blinks back at her... unimpressed.

Home is four sunlit rooms filled with half-dead plants, dog-eared paperbacks, and the smell of peanut butter toast. Woodsy candles flicker. Spiders take up residence in her scuffed Converse. The birds scream at 5am and nobody knows why.

Books are sacred here. Read and reread. Highlighted, underlined, loved.

One day, she hopes her stories will live on these shelves too.