NaPoWriMo: When Minjung Slayed the Dragon

There was a town upon a hill
Where the trees were green and the lakes were still
And the people lived in peace until
There came a mighty dragon.

Then every night it came to burn –
The sight would make your stomach turn –
Every man who’d tried to learn
How to slay a dragon.

The villagers, tired of its claws,
Tried oh so hard to make it pause
But soon learned just how cruel it was:
It was a brutal dragon.

But in this village, thankfully,
There lived a girl named Minjung Lee
Who wanted to live peacefully
Without a fearsome dragon.

The elders, they began to laugh
When she offered to slay on their behalf
The beast that shrank their village by half
And went by the name of dragon.

So up she stood without a word
And chose a sharp and deadly sword
And her footsteps were never heard
By the smug old dragon.

So, at the dragon, Minjung rushed
And soon its treacly green blood gushed
For, at last, someone had hushed
The deadliest of dragons.

So now they sing in voices gay,
Though centuries pass, they always say
It was quite the most joyous day
When Minjung slayed the dragon.

This post was written as part of NaPoWriMo, but also for The Daily Post’s “Time for Poetry” writing challenge. Check them out!

> I’m very touched that this post was selected for Freshly Pressed – Thank you very much!



Fifty Words: Escape

For this week’s challenge, you must write a fifty-word story. Not five thousand, not five hundred, but precisely fifty words.


Johnny could hear them coming. The beasts resembled dogs but were something more, something darker. He had to get away. A ladder stretched up a few metres from him, reaching up to the top of the nearest building. All he had to do was climb.

Shame he had no arms. 


More Fifties:

  1. 50-Word Stories #138 | boy with a hat
  2. Two of a Kind | Round The World
  3. Climb | katy warner
  4. American Pie | A View From My Summerhouse
  5. Take me with you | Capacity: Build it or Destroy it
  6. Around the Garden | Corned Beef Hashtag
  7. Weekly Writing Challenge – Fifty Words | At the corner of 14th & Oak
  8. Notice | christineespeer
  9. Goodbye | adventuresofaneverydaywoman
  10. Foiled Getaway | Bleached Bone Valley

Urban Living in the Year 3000

Today’s post comes from The Daily Post’s Writing Challenge. Why not check it out?

Lights flash, wheels spin and levers click back into place. For fear of stepping on a bug and accidentally killing the human race, I chose to test-drive my beautiful new time machine by travelling to the future. The year? 3000. Hey, if Busted could do it, why can’t I? I want to find out once and for all whether their report on the year 3000 is accurate. For science.

First of all, I feel that I must elaborate on the news that everyone lives underwater in the future. This conjures up images of everyone swimming around, happy as Larry, in some sort of New Atlantis. The water level is, in fact, only about a metre off the ground in most areas (of course, it’s deeper in valleys and shallower on hills). This can easily be explained by the fact that the sun is blazing down all day, every day. The ice-caps stood no chance.

With Scandinavia’s decline as a result of global warming (RIP Scandinavian Metal) and advancements in music technology, true musical talent is no longer needed in the year 3000. In fact, people aren’t needed at all. The task of providing music now lies on the new “ABBs”, or “Artificial Boy Bands” to you and I. These impressive inventions are mass-produced by ICBC and distributed globally. The “music” they produce could only really be described as Bieber-meets-Nyan-Cat. It’s really something… Though what that “something” is is unclear.

As well as the destruction of music, ABBs have had one other effect on the culture of the period. With no actual human musicians, the idolization of musicians is no longer a concept. As a result, pressure on women to be perfectly toned and dangerously skinny has been greatly reduced. Men and women are now welcome to be any size they wish, providing (of course) that it is healthy. The world still loves breasts, though. In fact, artificial third breasts are not uncommon in cities, with the most wealthy women having real third breasts transplanted onto their bodies. Women who can afford this luxury tend to walk around naked as a way of displaying their wealth. 

The changes made to society in the year 3000 are plentiful, and more-or-less true to the lyrics of the international anthem “Year 3000”.

One final point about the future needs to be made clear, though:

Your great-great-great-granddaughter is, indeed, pretty fine.


Why not check out these other time-travelling tales?

  1. Weekly Writing Challenge: Time Machine | pollyannaeast
  2. Thoughts Tuning Time | A Nerdy Geek’s blog
  3. Nature’s Second Chance | Wired With Words
  4. If I could turn back time | Theoriesinthought
  5. Time Travel | Watching for the sun
  6. Turn Back the Time #fiction #addiction | Moondustwriter
  7. Coherence Insults My Intelligence | Bumblepuppies
  8. Time Machine | The Colours of Life
  9. Time traveling to my younger self | MindBodyBreath Malaysia – Yoga in Shah Alam
  10. cycle lost | Just Thinking

Weekly Photo Challenge: Street Life


This (somewhat blurred) photo was my attempt at capturing Belfast’s City Centre in the run up to Christmas. It was dark out, but people were still bustling about, trying to secure those last few Christmas presents before heading home. 

Until September, I had only ever spent any real amount of time in the countryside in Donegal and Somerset. There’s such a massive difference between living in a city like Belfast and living in the countryside. That may seem like a fairly obvious observation, but I simply could not believe just how different it was. 

It’s not just the size of the place, although that did take some getting used to. It’s not just the vast amount of people, even though that still does cause some problems. The biggest difference is the way the people are. In Donegal, if you walk past someone, you say “Hi” or “How are you?” even if you don’t know the person. Even in Monksilver, people might not say hello to you when you walk past, but they at least smile or nod in recognition of your presence. Here, it seems that everyone makes it their responsibility to pretend that there is nobody else on the street. It’s bizarre. At first, this made me feel incredibly lonely. It felt like nobody knew or cared that I was here. Now that I’m used to it, I find it almost comforting. I know that nobody knows or cares that I’m here, but there’s a sort of safety in that invisibility. 

So here is a photo of Belfast, and the people in it. And we can see all of the people in the photo, but it seems that the people in the photo can only see themselves. It’s very odd, but I guess that’s just city life.


Writerly Reflections

Today’s post comes from The Daily Post’s Writing Challenge. Why not check it out?

I’ve loved reading for as long as I can remember. Like most people my age, I grew up with Harry Potter. The first few books were read to me as bedtime stories but after a while, I was the reader. I eagerly awaited the release of each new book, devouring it as soon as it was in my possession. Other books I enjoyed at this time included Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit and Philip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” series. 

Needless to say, through this love of reading came a love of writing. Throughout primary school, my friend Phillip and I came up with countless characters – superheroes, mutants, villains, detectives, wizards, etc. We thought that we were creating absolute works of art, but looking back at the drawings, they’re not exactly professional standard! These characters were then written into short stories, comics, everything. This went on for years. 



Oh, so Fyreball shot fireballs? Shocking!

Eventually, in fifth class (I would have been 9 or 10 years old), my teacher stopped me after class and told me to stop writing stories about these “silly superheroes”. I was outraged. In my totally sensible 9-or-10-year-old brain, I decided that the best way to deal with criticism was to send my teacher a message, and the best way to send this message was to write a story that featured a murder and had a *scary* cliffhanger ending. My teacher responded to my super threatening message by writing a comment along the lines of What happens next? Where’s the rest of the story?”

Uncultured swine.

When I turned 13-or-so, the only writing anyone got to look at was work that had to be handed in to a teacher anyway, while my personal writing turned from gripping tales of daring do to angst-filled poems about someone in class not giving me my pencil back, or whatever was bothering me that day. The only poem I remember from my short spell as the next Sylvia Plath was a distinctly worrying ode to a dead badger I saw on the side of the road once. Poetic beauty? Perhaps not. The cringey poetry died off fairly quickly, thank heavens, but I still didn’t really let anyone look at anything I wrote until this summer, when I did a brief stint with my local newspaper (2 published articles, I’m SO VERY FAMOUS).


Still, even if a short summer job with a small town newspaper turned out not to be my big break, it certainly showed me what I wanted to do with my life, writing-wise. I realised that rather than writing stories about murders on trains, or even supercool superheroes, I prefer writing about things that actually happened (whether in my life or in my local area), or my real-life-actual opinions on things that matter (to me). In short, I like being a blogger, and when I finish at university I’m going to do my level best to be a journalist or a columnist or a jourcolumnalist or a mermaid (still not letting “the man” tell me what I can and can’t be).

And even if I don’t get to work as any of those things, and I end up working in a shop until the day I die, I’m still going to write. Yes, it would be pretty great to write for money. But mostly, I write for myself and that is something I can do whether people read it or not. I will keep writing because it is the one thing that interests me above anything else, and because English (reading and writing) is the one thing I’ve ever been good at. And that’s fine with me, because it’s all I need.

Keep reading and writing, I know I will.