#inspiringwriter

[motherstepher]

You act like what you preach is biblical,

When in reality it’s fictional.

Purposely making your life difficult,

Just to get people to notice you.

Mother Stepher

[chakraintimates]

"I had never experienced vulnerability in the way that I did the day of my surgery...I remember walking into the operating room. I thought of the thousands of people that must have been there before me....I wondered if they were as desperate as me, as desperate to feel joy within their bodies..." chilling excerpt from the deeply moving, "A Memoir of Teenage Disability", by (pictured here) Rachael Hanakowski in the Shelborne County Anthology, "Salt and Wind". 👏 What an honor to have the opportunity, through my passion project Chakra Intimates, to meet beautiful souls such as her. 💛 Look out for this amazing Goddess @rachael.annalisa as she continues to write and share her inspiring story of finding gratitude despite the challenges of living with #cerebralpalsy. 🙌 Thank you Rachael for the honest and raw insight into your world and the beautiful pic wearing your Unity Tank. 🙏#womenempowerwomen #inspiringwoman #inspiringwriter #naturenymph #womenwithspecialabilites #chakraintimates (at Nova Scotia Canada) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFng_n5nvde/?igshid=lcfvy3llsszk

[achaniece]

"Stand still! Let God move you and you'll be exactly where you need to be."

- A. Chaniece

[achaniece]

It's ok to be afraid as long as your faith is stronger than your fear

A. Chaniece

[debbiehepworthjorde-blog]

READING AT NIGHT: Experience reading in the middle of the night capturing absolute peace. Go away with Heather as you read her Inspirational writing❤️ https://www.debbiejorde.com/860/experience-reading-middle-night-capturing-absolute-peace/ . . . #inspirational #inspiringwriter #inspiringwords #inspiringwomen #writer #writerscommunity #readingquotes #livetoread #lovereading #autisticwriter #autism #disabilityawareness #overcome #overcomer #peace #peaceofmind #peaceatnight #lovetowrite #writetoheal #beauty #talented #love##being https://www.instagram.com/p/Bs1lBZJgqS_/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=e7w8o2co9yvj

[happymesspoetry]

• Gangster rap & Choplin • Don't you want a girl that can do both?

[happymesspoetry]

Hello beautiful souls,

I’m an inspiring writer, that finally decided it was time to share my words. I doubted my writing for so long… I really just doubted myself, but I came to realize that if something lights up your soul, and makes you HAPPY, DO IT! So here I am sharing my words with other souls. I’m excited to embark on my new writing journey, I may have a couple typos and mistakes from time to time…. but isn’t that a part of growing? Enjoy this little piece of me.

■ Remember beautiful souls, you’re one of a kind. ■

Be you. Be your beauty

Please check out my Instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/positivemess94/tagged/?hl=en

All my words I share our from my mess of a brain. I put my love and soul into each and everyone of them, so if you would like to share please tag and give me credit!

💫Sending love and positive vibes💫

[zephyravery-blog]

One more old excerpt! Sci-Fi this time.

The depth of space was unforgivably lonely for one travelling alone. Alone, except the buzzing of machines, the beeping of consoles, the programmed voices of droids, and proximity warnings. The girl found herself utterly grateful, at least, for the welcome presence of her ship, and the foundation of her mission. Mira sat in the cockpit, her legs draped lazily over the console, as her ship, W-941, flew autopilot toward her mission’s destination.

The Series 5 Syriak Destroyer, which she nicknamed Whiskey, after its designation, was an excessively rare ship. Decades earlier, at the height of the Syriak market, this ship was also incredibly expensive. And, in its current use, as a cargo vessel, it was also seemed unnecessarily imposing. Still, it was hers, and she treated it like family. In fact, she had received it from her father before he disappeared.

The once infamous bounty hunter had never had any part in her life, but one day appeared from the clouds on her colony world, gifting her the ship. This, of course, came with the agreement that she take on his old crew for exactly 10 years, until she came of age and took over the vessel herself. Her father’s influence on the men must have been absolute, as not one of them tried to backstab her when she came of age. They simply taught her what they knew, took care of her, and left.

But they were not her father, they were not her friends back on the colony, and she was lonely for those years. Still, she was grateful that her father came back at all, that he gave her the tools to get away from colony life. She was told her mother died in childbirth, and her father dropped her off on the planet when she was just a child. She was no stranger to alien races or costumes, and certainly no stranger to the general mistrust many races had for humans.  

But who would have thought that one of the newest, shorter-lived species like humans would become such an expansive and persistent race? If nothing else, they had to be commended for their adaptive and curious nature. Truly, the human race had nothing more than their persistence to thrive. Weaker in physiology, with such particular requirements in nutrition, short life spans, and prone to illness, humans were certainly not the warriors, or the long-lived philosophers, of the universe.

Yet, some of the most infamous bounty hunters were human. Even with their unnaturally long requirement for sleep, they still managed to be tenacious, almost greedy, creatures. They had expanded to almost every quadrant, either as drifters, with colonies, or as slaves. Humans were, after all, prized as artists and breeders. In this fact alone, Mira was grateful to not have been sold off when she came of age. There were not many young human men or women on the colony she came from, unless their family was there to lay claim for them.

It has to be said that her current trade was of no illegality. In fact, Mira had not once smuggled, stolen, or bribed in her job. Yes, most of her goods were rather dangerous to transport, sometimes rare, and always expensive, but never, in anyway, prohibited. This is where her ship came in handy. No one dare try and ambush her. She had pooled countless years of her life and credits into the vessel; state of the art Arturian warp drive technology, Sylvan defensive shielding, Menwaren camouflage, and Phinian laser cannons.

But, to Mira, a ship was merely metal without a heart. And Whiskey’s heart was a complex program of her own design. Mira had worked on Whiskey’s heart for years, relentlessly. 2 span before, she had spent a few hauls worth of credits on the bio-tech chip she had implanted in her own skull, near her temple, to keep her in constant contact with Whiskey. She gave Whiskey a pleasantly female, though alto, melodious voice. She vowed to stay away from the mechanical male tone, or the female soprano sound, attributed to most mechanical communication. No, Whiskey was unique, and she was the most special thing in the world to Mira. And no one would take that away from her.

---

“We have to get her away from that goddamn ship.” The Arturian complained. The other men listened intently, except one, who was playing with the fastenings on his pants, and barely paying the attention that the speaker seemed to demand. “Logan, do you have an interest in getting paid?” The speaker focused his attention on the distracted human male. The man, undoubtedly called Logan, cast his gaze up to the speaker. “I wasn’t aware you were paying me to listen to you ramble on. I understand the job, and I will get it done, which is what you’re going to pay me for.” Logan said arrogantly.

The Arturian, already naturally a deep shade of red, seemed to darken further, and opened his beaked mouth to retort, but Logan cut him off. “You know my reputation. That’s why you’re offering an outrageous amount of credits to me. I know my job. I read your case file, that’s all there is to it. You have these 3 brutes as muscle,” Logan motioned towards the stone-grey, hulking Phinians, “ and you’ve got me for the brains. So I don’t need facts repeated to me over and over again.”

He got up, brushing down his shirt, and picking up the red ale off the table. He quickly downed it, and without explanation, turned around to leave. He held up a hand, “I’ll be on the ship if you need something worth my time.”

  ---

Mira placed her laser pistol down, freshly cleaned, down onto Whiskey’s console. She often had a little bit of a nervous buzz nearing a drop zone, but she couldn’t shake this one. She made her way to the galley, to pour some Felas tea from the dispenser. The green and blue glow of the lights above her head only accented her blood-red mop of hair. It remained to be the only impractical part of daily uniform, but she could not bring herself to cut it.

She leaned against the cold metal of the hull, holding the small, fragrant glass of tea in her hands. Mira closed her eyes a moment, sighing, and losing herself in Whiskey’s mechanical whirring. Her bio-implant sprung to life, and Whiskey’s pleasant voice sounded in her head, “Ma’am, we are 30 minutes out. Still all clear.” She nodded, which was actually a gesture that the bio-implant and her software could recognize.

Her gesture setup was a newer addition to the programming, in case of situations where verbal consent could not be given. Whiskey had a number of new backup protocols as well, for defensive positions for both Mira and the software itself. The older Mira got, the more paranoid she became, but also she wanted to test the limitations of the software and her own imagination.  

This marked her 7th year alone is space, other than her brief encounters with planetary customs, quadrant border officers, and whatever groups needed special cargo runs. She was always quick, quiet, and professional. Her reputation spoke for itself, though there was always some initial shock when she met with traders.They seemed to expect some tall, imposing woman. Instead, they were met with a red-haired, short, pale girl. She had comments a few times in the first couple years, and they were all met with outright refusal of shipment from Mira. she could handle race distrust, but she could not handle the discrimination of her age or height.

She finished her tea, and made her way back to the cockpit, as she sat down, she placed the pistol back into her thigh holster and spoke out loud to Whiskey, “Disengage auto-pilot.” She took control of the helm with comfort, but never boredom.

---

Logan stood in front of his cabin mirror, methodically shaving his head with a straight razor. The faint crisp sound of the blade running over his skin could be heard of the ship’s hum. It wasn’t his own ship, it wasn’t his own crew, and it wasn’t even a job he particularly cared about. All he had was on his back and in his hand. His razor, his clothes, the laser multi-tool in his pocket, and the data spanner on his wrist.

Well, other than his various bio-tech; the port on his forearm and augmented irises. Not to mention the data translator he had installed 5 span back, accessible at his temple, capable of translating all known dialects, and most types of transferable machine language. Along with the port, he was able to basically speak with any machine he plugged into, and store it, uncorrupted. Of course, all the bio-tech in the galaxy, including the spider tech outlining the bones on his right hand, couldn’t match his expertise.

Even without it, Logan would still have work. Most machine specialists got their brains fried quickly, and it was a competitive, ever-changing, though lucrative, market. Even more rare was a human hacker, as their brains were usually poorly adapted to the high levels of data storage and processing necessary in the data trade. Humans tended to cave under pressure, and the stress of quick computing did not suit them.

Logan, however, did not suit this stereotype. He was, irrefutably, an infamous and unchallenged data specialist; ship security, planetary defensive grids, rogue droids, you name it, Logan had hacked it. He was both immeasurably impatient and laid-back, and while it made for an interesting, almost frustrating mix in a person, it translated into a calm and lightening-speed hacker.

Finished his task, he washed the razor in the sink, and with a flourish, whipped the blade from hand to hand, smoothly closing it with a snap of the wrist and dropping it into a pocket. He clicked off the cabin light, his already blue eyes glowing cyan in the darkness. His augmented eyes did not require time to see in darkness. Logan pulled his light, rolled-up shirt over his head, throwing it nonchalantly on the small dresser by the cabin bed. The quarters were cramped in the Arturian Avenger, but it was not designed for passenger comfort.

His tattoos, like his eyes, glowed softly cyan in the dark. They circled his torso and biceps in delicate, flowing patterns. Against his pale skin they made him appear ghostly. He fell back onto the bed, throwing an arm behind his head. The spider tech in his right hand not only made it more sensitive, but it allowed the digits to move an inhuman speeds, allowing his quick typing. His left wrist held his data spanner, which he now re-read the mission case file off of. His thoughts were transmitted into data, that was then passed to the spanner, allowing him to browse without touching the screen, or to pass verbal commands.

His right hand slowly felt his freshly shaven skull, while he read about the Syriak Destroyer, it’s sensitive cargo, and it’s owner, Mira. He had paused on her photo several times. A human girl, strikingly young for her accomplished cargo runs and ship, with curiously sarcastic green eyes and a mop of red hair. She wore a serious frown, and though the picture only showed her face, Logan could tell that her arms were crossed. She had an attitude, probably due to the fact she was human and she was young.

Logan snapped out of it, clearing his throat, and sitting up abruptly, and also clearing the spanner of the case file. He sighed uselessly, he felt unnaturally distracted. He was a man that trusted his gut instinct, and something felt off.

---

She was glad she wouldn’t need to wear an environmental suit for this run. And while she rarely looked forward to any landing, she wanted to get this one over with. Her anxiety had begun to peak a while before, but now was the time for action. One had to be naturally untrusting as a sensitive materials shipper, but she refused to take any chances this time. Mira secured the actual cargo, dilithium crystals, aboard Whiskey’s away vessel. And she set up identical cargo loads with both an illusion, and a weighted casket.

The hologram she set up in the exact place the dilithium crystals had sat, within the cargo hold. The weighted cargo, perfectly set to the weight and readings of the crystals, sat within Whiskey’s smuggler cache.

The actual crystals, aboard the escape pod, where covered in the incredibly expensive Menwaren material known rather anticlimactically as D-90. Of course, it’s colloquial name was widely accepted to be ‘Thief’s Quilt’. Completely obscuring whatever object lay underneath, it also displaced scanners, which was the more rare quality of the cloth. Mira was suddenly wonderfully grateful for the credit-breaking purchase.

She also made sure to carry, and update, a few illusionary grenades; small holographic devices used to create mirrors of people or objects. Mira completed the defense with a small, sharp, throwing knife tucked into the back part of her uniform. While plain weapons were out of style, and incredibly useless when one has the option of thermal detonators, laser cannons, and disrupter rays, the blade was untraceable and reusable. And besides, it had become a lucky companion of hers. She threw the blade over and over, every night before bed when she couldn’t sleep.

Mira had installed a frequency magnet in the hilt of the blade, which matched the bio-tech she had implanted in the palm of her right hand. That way, after throwing, a simple gesture guided the blade back to her hand. It was a crude and unexplored route to weaponry, but it suited her just fine. It was more a hobby than a defense, but all the same, it made her feel better about the drop.

Her contact was a Syriak named Fesic. Ever since pulling out of the market decades prior, the Syriak had all but disappeared from most quadrants of space. They stuck to their own system, and guarded it with every bit of power they possessed. Passage was not permitted in or out of the system, unless sanctioned by their government for supplies or projects. They asked for her, and her alone, with respects to both her skills and her vessel.

Militarily, the Syriak were unparalleled in technology and army. She had only ever seen them in pictures, and their immense height was not the only intimidating thing about their species. Leathery, onyx skin covered their angular, tall frame. They could reach incredible speeds over short distances, and their huge grey eyes were said to be frightening calculating.

Their mouths appeared non-existent, and since they rarely opened them in another’s presence the shock was great when, in battle, a Syriak would open his mouth, revealing a jaw to jaw set of large teeth, set in multiple rows. However, their voices were said to be surprisingly soothing, as they used telepathy for communication.  Needless to say, she was both nervous and immeasurably curious to meet with Fesic.

A calm, translated voice sounded over her thoughts, coming from the planet below, “W-941, we recognize your clearance codes. You’re cleared for docking. We require that you limit propulsion to no more than a level 2 thrust within our atmosphere. We also suggest boosting shields in entry, we are sending details now. Please report directly to bay 47C. Thank you for visiting Cerian-14.” Mira scanned the details quickly, regarding the increased temperature in their mesosphere, likely due to the near completion of the terraforming project on the planet. She recalibrated shield density to compromise.

The planet, Cerian-14, was the last of a phase of terraforming completed by the Sylvan. The system was one of many in the neutral quadrant with the ability of becoming a garden world. The Sylvan took great interest, and no little expense, in transforming the planet with their unchallenged terraforming technology. Many worlds were used for agricultural supercentres, though some wildlife sanctuaries for regenerating extinct and endangered species. Few, though, became tourist destinations, with the exception of Cerian.

With 2 small moons, a close proximity to the orange star Erybu, and pleasantly long and warm days, it was a natural candidate for a vacation destination. Naturally, the Sylvan, who did not mingle well with other species, heavily raised the costs for visiting Cerian-14. This process included a number of background checks and the requirement of donations made to terraforming projects.

Above Cerian, the planet appeared wonderfully green, with flowing patterns of bright blue cutting through the landscape. There were no large oceans, but an equal amount of lakes and rivers. A gentle, well-distributed collection of white cloud moved lazily around the globe. This picturesque sanctuary clashed violently with the unease that was once again settling within her. It was time to land, and see if once again, her gut instinct was correct.

----

The clearance codes had been easy. He had pulled the codes from a wealthy Arturian family, that was supposed to be visiting some time in the next span. He changed the dates, the ship, the passengers, all the details he could. It had been simple.

What was more difficult was making it past the Sylvan security. They had wonderfully complicated and cleverly designed firewalls, and their code was an enigma within itself. And if one did, which one rarely did, get past the the defenses, they were often rooted back, either frying their equipment, or their ports, which meant death or imprisonment.

Most data specialists used a strong offense to hack, but with Sylvan coding Logan had long since decided that a stronger defense was more important. People only found him because of his reputation. They only found him because he allowed them to find him. He knew his strengths, and he played them.

What had also posed a problem was faking the life scans that the Cerian security would most certainly perform. This bit of illusion required bio-scans, as well as a flourish of quick coding. There existed bio-scans libraries, if one knew where to find them. To a preliminary scan nothing would seem out of the ordinary.

But, while he did have an attitude, he did not have the patience for acting, and formulating schemes that required him to act like anyone else them himself was not his forte. It would be a different story once they landed on Cerian-14, but, he had only been paid to get them past security and back out again, and disguise the pickup from the Syriak vessel. Whatever else happened had nothing to do with his pay.

---