Writing, creativity, poetry, and the in-between moments.
● Featured Article
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There was no drama when they rose. No thunder split the sky. No graves burst open in spectacle. In Slavic lands, the dead returned quietly, slipping back into the world the way fog enters a valley. Slowly. Inevitably. They came at dusk, when the light thinned, and shadows grew long…
● On Writing
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I began writing before I understood why I needed it. My first journal arrived when I was six, and I used it to record the world as I saw it: small observations, fleeting wonders, fragments of days. At first, I was simply documenting. Then I began to marvel. And somewhere…
● mythology
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‘Just look at those fools,’ Marzanna sighed, squinting her dark eyes at the cheering group of villagers gathered around a burbling brook. ‘I thought you’d get used to it by now. They burn you and drown you every spring,’ replied Vesna. ‘And proclaim their undying love for you,’ added…
● POETRY
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They told me you were gone, and I just froze, Like the icy rain that fell that day and turned into cold sludge Out in the streets, where the cars still ran and people trudged On and on, in their own little ruts, towards some insignificant goal The rain turned…
● LATEST READS
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There’s a quiet resistance that lives inside most creative people when it comes to marketing. I’ve seen it over and over again. Writers who would rather do a thousand revisions than post about their work. Musicians who pour everything into a song, only to release it into silence, met only…
● Latest Articles
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On a Cloudy Day
The sun appeared out of nowhere and cast its golden breath across the furniture. It stroked the pillows, ruffled the plant’s rowdy leaves, upset the…
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The Grownup Magic: Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell
‘Unquestionably the finest English novel of the fantastic written in the last seventy years’ says the renowned Neil Gaiman about Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange and…
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Someday
‘OK, we’ll go there someday,’ she said and I said ‘Fine, great’ and walked away since then I’ve been waiting, every day hoping I would…
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The River
It smells like snow tonight The air splits open your lungs Every breath, a pale sprite Whispers in unknown tongues
● About Me
Welcome.
I’m Erna, the writer and creator behind this space. I’m a creative business owner, lifelong lover of words, and a devoted cat lady. Slavic mythology sits at the heart of my work, and here you’ll find my poems, book reviews, retellings of old myths, and glimpses into my own books and writing journey.
Make yourself comfortable. Stories live here.
● let’s connect
● MY BOOKs
Beneath the Surface
My poetry collection Beneath the Surface revolves around the secrets, weaknesses, and monsters that creep beneath the surface of everyday existence. Go here to learn more!
Myths & Stories 