It's raw. It's a story I saw in a documentary and it made me cry tonight, just as it made him cry as he told it. THe first time we learn of injustice and cruelty, it is a harrowing thing. I had to write, and I hope I did it justice.

The link looks all wonky but this is the Twine game I've worked on for ages. I knew it wouldn't take long to do, but it... took me this long to finish it. I wanna change all the markup, I wanna change so much about it! But for right now, well, I'm just happy. It's a poetry sort of story, and you get to pick it. Let me know if you like it. 'Cause I do!

Whoa man this one has been hanging out for a while. I was staying with my friends Scott and Alissa, helping myself to their bourbon and attempting to woo the distinctly British cat, all the while writing and reading stuff. After reading like SO MUCH SANDMAN and painting my fingernails with Alissa's burgeoning collection of polish, I thought there was a story in them. More than that, there was a character who had fingernails with stories in them. The name Sempronia is one I found on a freakin' old tombstone in a Maryland cemetery. I have pictures. So it made sense that Sempronia is the sand witch. THis is a more sensual re-telling of one of my favorite myths, Pygmalion and Galatea. I've always wanted to get it right. After re-reading months later, I think I did a solid job of it. <3 http://nikaharper.tumblr.com/post/114425347960/sempronia-of-the-sands

....Hello my friends. I didn't expect to talk this much. I have a weird and unfortunate story that I haven't posted yet, and I will. That will be soon. I love it. It's ugly nd I love ugly things, especially writing concepts. I guess I started talking a lot tonight. I got angry at my friend and... well, this happened. I cut out a good chunk of my experience. Maybe that will go in that Community book I'm making, probably it will, but for right now, I essentially released chapter five. About your looks, who YOU are, about the visual part of you ain't you. It is, but it don't have to be. You are so much more than that. I talked a little about my experience, and I intend to make a book about it. The stuff I cut? too juicy. Too real. I have a business mind, I know what works on Twitter and what I wanted to say. I wanna say I HAVE ALSO BEEN VULNERABLE. I have been scared. And you ain't the you that people see in a fucking photo. So rock this. Please share it. It's full of me, it's full of bullshit maybe. But hey, I'm a tomboy who became a pinup. Share it if you dig it. http://nikaharper.tumblr.com/post/116370537455/you-aint Have a good time. Love yourself. That's what matters, Unless you're an asshole, but don't worry you'll be told if you are soon enough.

I've traveled and I learned that most places are the same. It might SEEM different, it might be something a bit unique or have special experiences, or weather or unusual laws. Bit a city is a city is a city. And I do love cities. So I am happy here. But I expected, thought, hoped, and PLANNED that when I came to New Orleans, I'd be so inspired that I'd just write my ass off. oddly, this is not to be. I am on Day 3 of my writing vacation and I have yet to write a damn thing. This terrifies me. I put aside time, and money, to focus on capturing what this city means to me... and strangely all I can think is how much I'd rather be walking around in it. BUT NO, I say to myself, I WILL WORK! I WILL BE INSPIRED BY DAY, WRITING BY NIGHT! ....I think I spent the last 2 nights upset that I just haven't cared to work at all. Wishing I could be out there in the world. Not feeling empowered at all. This isn't just a case of writers block, it's a case of I Don't Want To. And I've challenged myself, saying "I can absoluitely do this." But something is really off right now. I planned a trip to do nothing but write, and on day 3, still less than 200 words in the document. I really just can't give a shit. You want to know what I HAVE done? Spent 4 hours answering questions and ranting off about, well, anything on my new Ask.Fm. http://ask.fm/NikaHarper Made friends with... I don't know. Pirates and bartenders and locals and anyone. I haven't spent more than 10 hours outside the room in these past few days, and yet every time I do, I find that the RIGHT people like me. Innkeepers and cats and valets and local tour guides, whose tours I DIDN'T EVEN TAKE. I've traded respectful nods with pimps and laughed with liquor store attendants at the lack of vermouth. And I haven't been able to write about any of it. I've never had this problem on a "writing vacation" before. I've always written, always wanted to stay where I was and just keep going. But this time, it's not like that at all. How strange... how... how unique. New Orleans is a city like any city, but then, I've never met so many people I want to be friends with than here. So many people who I feel are 'speaking my language' from the pimps to the hotel attendants to the locals who roll their eyes at the feisty tourists. We share that same smile, like, how's your day goin'? I see you. We've all been there, and we're all HERE. I think I can't sleep well and can't write well because, honestly, I think this city wants me to be in it. I've never felt so craved. So why is this a paid post? I tried to drop some real honesty and knowledge on that Q&A site, I was happy with what I made. And I had bad dreams about wanting to perform for you, about letting myself down staring at the ceiling begging for something to happen when it just... didn't. And begging isn't how creativity happens. Nor orgasms. These things just happen, blossom. Trying too hard, thinking too hard, kills it. Yes, I just said creativity is like an orgasm. Know yourself well enough and it will come. Haha, "come." I had a dream where my long-dead dad told me "Don't worry about writing." And he handed me some money. Then some more. Soon I had fifty thousand dollars in my hand and I just dropped it on a desk. "Don't worry about writing." And I told him, don't think you know fucking anything about what I do. And I held all this money in my hands and thought, I'm going to write anyway. I don't have to, I don't have to do it FOR THE MONEY maybe, but that's not why I do it. This isn't my job. Just.... right now, it is. I'm going to make as many stories and words and writings as I can. I don't care how much money I have in my hands. You can't pay off my passions. You can't buy me out of the things I love. Now I don't have 50k in weird bills, and I don't even have a father, but what I do have is the passion to create and make something beautiful, or ugly, or interesting or... real. To make something. I will never stop "making." When I've looked back in any instance of my life, writing was always there. Like this invisible presence. I was ALWAYS writing, whether I took it seriously or not. So why did I charge for this post? Because tomorrow I might walk around this city that has been whispering to me. And I might make new friends or see new things or... god knows what. But I know that I am not my best person, and I am not a good writer, when I am worried. I am taking all this stress off myself in order to see what I SHOULD be creating instead of worrying that I'm disappointing myself by not being able. I answered a lot of questions, but this is one I think is really strong. How to write women... http://nikaharper.tumblr.com/post/117066249820/so-im-writing-a-novel-i-want-to-make-sure-i I'll be damned if I don't post some new wonderful thing by the end of this month. This is an advance to lighten the load on my shoulders. Thanks.

http://nikaharper.tumblr.com/post/117920071245/nickel-and-dime-man I'm happy with this, or I've had my first cocktail in 4 days of sickness and it has made me inordinately happy with my work. As I'm still not feeling too great (yeah yeah, I shouldn't be drinkin' when I got a cold etc etc) (but the grapefruit juice is vitamin C so like...?) I've been messing around on Netflix and playing games. Mostly Ultima Online, mostly... well, I spent all yesterday watching Twin Peaks. Which I stopped watching today because like. I just. I mean. I guess it just didn't do it for me and I GAVE IT A HELL OF A CHANCE. SEASON TWO IS LIKE 19 EPISODES LONG. Like no. So today I went, you know, let's try the Twilight Zone, let's get into it and oh my god it is so super my thing I can't even explain to you. I've written... this is the FOURTH short story tonight? The others I'm more wary of, but I felt confident to post this one. (Blame the tequila.) Anyway I like it, and if you have Netflix or Twilight Zone episodes at the ready, check out The Four of Us Are Dying. Because it is pretty damn cool. So far, the only story I didn't twist around too much. I liked it as it was, so I just made a prequel. That's what this is. Hope you like it.