#alexisecrivaine

[alexis-ecrivaine]

Learning to be kind to myself has been one of the hardest battles I’ve ever faced—but also the most rewarding.

This one is to my body: thank you for surviving the wars I used to wage against you ❤️‍🩹

[alexis-ecrivaine]

🖋️ We’re keeping it classic for October’s last Writing Prompt Wednesday:

📝 In honor of spooky season, create your most haunting Two Sentence Horror Story and share it in the comments!

🪶 Read my version on the last slide or below… IF YOU DARE. 👻😈👹

I stared at my reflection, something about it feeling off—uncanny in the quietest way—and then my arms moved without me.

My face twisted into expressions I didn’t make, and when it finally walked away, I realized I wasn’t just looking at my reflection; I was trapped in it.

#writingpromptwednesday #writingchallenge #writingprompts #twosentencehorrorstories #spooky #creativewriting #halloween #reflection #writing #freelancewriter #alexisecrivaine

[alexis-ecrivaine]

✍️ Writing Prompt Wednesday!! ✍️

In five sentences or less, write from the perspective of an everyday object that has quietly witnessed someone's life.

📝 Write your version in the comments, or share your own take & tag me so l can read it!

🪶Here's my take on the life of a cypress dresser:

The cypress dresser never wondered which forest its bark had migrated-the only home it ever concerned itself with was the one that held tiny hands and sticky fingerprints. Its wooden stain faded with each need for warmth, contently guarding socks and sweaters like treasure, unbothered by the dulling of its varnish after each hurried morning or midnight rummage. Although its age could no longer be read in rings, each weary screw and squeaky bolt whispered subtly of its years. And though each hand that reached for mis-matched socks and fraying sweaters grew steadier and less tacky with time, the cypress dresser stood where it always had-knowing no forest could ever compare to the home of guarded warmth.

[alexis-ecrivaine]

Today just so happens to be my birthday! So for this Musing Monday, I’m posting my favorite kind of literary writing—prose poetry! Here’s a little reminder that even still hearts can learn to beat again (with a cute, but very rough animation to go alongside it!). 💙

Heartbeat:

When your heart stops beating, you do not feel it—there’s no pain, no warning, no sign. Your bones still grow, but your soul feels defeated…and you float in perpetual time.

You don’t know the moment the blood stopped flowing. You don’t know when it withered and died. You just wake up one day, and you know the unknowing—and you wonder how you’re still alive.

Even though your heart has stilled, there’s existence still to be had. So you stuff it with feathers and pretend that it’s filled… and that you’re not too numb to feel sad.

When you live with no heartbeat in a world meant for pulse, other parts of you fade from your core. The color of your spirit slowly dulls, and you miss who you’re not anymore.

There’s beauty in a silent heart—it doesn’t have to stay lifeless forever. It takes time, loss, and pain for it to restart, but it breathes again stronger than ever.

So you self-resurrect, you pull out the feathers—your very own angel of breath. It calls for patience, with all that it weathered. After all, it just danced with death.

And when your heart starts beating, you do not feel it—there is no throb, no tremor, no rush. Your bones still ache but your soul feels needed, and time doesn’t torment as much.

You don’t know the moment your veins started pulsing. You don’t know when it finally revived. You just wake up one day and know you are growing… and you realize that you’re still alive.

[alexis-ecrivaine]

I didn’t even know a 2-in-1 washer/dryer unit was a thing until I moved here 😅

This little routine was picked up pretty much immediately—because trying to focus with all that racket felt like I was writing inside of a jet engine 🛩️

Anyway, happy Freelancer Friday and enjoy my pre-laundry survival ritual 🧺✨

[alexis-ecrivaine]

Hi there! I’m Alexis—a freelance creative, script, and copywriter!

If you’re interested in my writing services, reading some of my writing, or just want to follow along on my journey, check out my account: @alexis.ecrivaine

You can also check out some of my best work + services right on my website: www.alexisecrivaine.com

Give me a follow, if you’re about it! Or don’t! That’s cool, too! It’s pretty neat over there, though. Just sayin’.

I’m fairly new to making content, so I’m just kind of winging it at the moment (ha, “winging it.” Get it? Like a crow. Because crows have wings—and I compared myself to a crow in the slides. It’s funny because it’s a play on words)!

So. Yeah. Follow me!

Or don’t! We’re cool either way.

It’d be pretty chill if you did, though.

But you don’t have to!

But it’d be chill if you did. Follow me, I mean. No pressure, though (only if you’re about it).

(Or don’t!) (That’s chill, too!)

(Like, “winging it” because, you know, a crow has wings—but also like the idiom that means to improvise or figure it out as you go!)

(It’s pretty neat over there!)

(You know, on my writing account.)

(Just sayin’.)

(Okay, that was it!)

(Love you!)

(Bye!)

(That’s why I said “ha” earlier—because I’m winging it by blindly going for it without really knowing what I’m doing yet, but also comparing myself to a crow again.)

[alexis-ecrivaine]

There’s beauty in descent—calmness, stillness. 🌊

Until you realize you’ve forgotten to come up for air. 🌬️

I Am Drowning:

I am drowning.

My hand

is outstretched—

at least,

I think it is

…isn’t it?

I am waiting for someone to save me,

but this ocean

is endless

and I am moving with the current

like the water.

I am drowning,

but you wouldn’t know.

My screaming sounds like seagulls.

My hair is intertwined and braided with seaweed.

My lips turn blue to match the coral.

I am drowning,

but you couldn’t tell.

You build your moats and castles

with the very water

that fills my lungs.

You are blinded

by the rays of the sun

and deafened

by the crashing waves.

I am drowning,

but you don’t notice.

I jumped in to save your sinking boat

after I taught myself to swim.

But I never learned

to hold my breath.

So I float with you on my shoulders,

while I paddle desperately to shore,

while the salt water burns my nostrils.

We are drowning,

but I hide it well.

Do I hold your boat and sink us both,

or let it go for my own air

and hope

you brought

a life vest?

Do I pretend to not see you

drowning?

I am a lighthouse—

expected to never burn out,

entrusted to keep you safe,

to bring you home.

I am the lighthouse keeper—

who never changed the lamp

because I jumped in

to save your sinking boat.

In this self-inflicted darkness,

I blindly swim to a shore

that may never come

and pretend to forget

I am drowning.

[alexis-ecrivaine]

On this week’s Freelancer Friday, another tour through my office—with more things that definitely make sense to me and absolutely no one else 🤗

Do you have out-of-the-ordinary things in your office that keep you inspired?