The Last Hat Girl

@TheLastHatGirl

Writer at the end of the lane. I sometimes show up in short story, essay and poetry anthologies. I like folklore, flickering things and the fantastical.

The End of the Lane
Vrijeme pridruživanja: svibanj 2010.

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  1. Prikvačeni tweet
    1. velj 2017.

    The king saw a snail in his garden and frowned. The snail slid on, pitying the king for not being strong enough to carry his own palace.

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  2. 27. sij

    Every week, I write a letter while sitting in a candlelit cavern of stalactites. If you would like to get one, then put your name down here.

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  3. 24. sij
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  4. 23. sij

    I honestly try to take pleasure in life’s tiny joys, like fresh lemon in earl grey tea. But for crying out loud, just bring me an EPIC joy for once. Like soaring over mountaintops on the back of a giant golden eagle. Or kicking an evil ancient wizard off a cliff.

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  5. 23. sij

    Having one of those days where I can't concentrate on my freelance work as I'd rather be wandering up a cobbled lane and stumbling upon a mysterious antique shop, where I buy an enchanted music box that shrinks me to thimble-size.

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  6. 23. sij

    Tell me, is it too late for me to audition for that secret ballet boarding school in Antarctica? Where all the teaching staff are vampires? And where the best dancer of the year gets to be made immortal? Is it much too late?

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  7. 11. sij

    Just in case you're interested x

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  8. 11. sij

    Would you like little letters from me? If so, then sign up to my new newsletter. You will get weekly emails about creativity and anything that I find enchanting: See you there...

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  9. 8. sij

    This is the year when I stopped resenting winter, because I finally learned to embrace it as the safe little cave of insight that it is. It’s all about hibernating like a hedgehog, which I completely did. And to be honest, I’m dreading emerging from the burrow.

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  10. 6. sij

    I get as emotional saying goodbye to Christmas as I would to a complicated friend who shows up once a year in a red velvet cloak to give me fizz, biscuits and a cinnamon-scented hug. It's hard saying goodbye to a friend like that.

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  11. 26. pro 2019.

    My attic ghost gave me the best set of Christmas presents this year. A cup of moonlight. A holly sprig drawn in mirror mist. A siren’s song echoing through the air. It pays to be pleasant to your attic ghost.

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  12. 26. pro 2019.

    I’ve given a name to all of the days after Boxing Day: 27th - Santa’s Whispering From Behind Your Mirror Day. 28th - Ghost Of Frozen Chimney Sweep Haunts The Overclass Day. 29th - Your Pudding Sixpence Was Cursed Day. 30th - Next Year’s Horrors Are Gathering On The Horizon Day.

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  13. 26. pro 2019.

    The day after the day. The nutcracker has been tidied into its velvet box. The dancing soldiers are now just tin again. The Sugar Plum Fairy is a pale, barely remembered dream. Magic has retreated into the hollow of a tree once again.

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  14. 25. pro 2019.

    My friends were appalled to hear that I’ve been drinking Buck’s Fizz since 10am. I say it’s a classic Christmas breakfast drink. They say morning drinking is only for airports. Am I right? Or have I become Ozzy Osbourne?

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  15. 25. pro 2019.

    Merry Christmas, everyone. Maybe you’re having a brilliant day. Maybe it’s really hard for you for lots of reasons. Maybe it’s a slightly untidy, imperfect, cobbled together in between. Whatever it is, be kind to yourself today x

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  16. 24. pro 2019.

    Merry Christmas, friends. Tonight at midnight, an origami bird will flutter down your chimney. Unfold the bird and you will find a map. X marks the spot of your deepest buried desire. Find it and dig it up. Good luck on your quest.

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  17. 24. pro 2019.

    Home for Christmas for five minutes. Already a family member is making it a complete and utter nightmare. Could you send me some positive messages? It’s all completely overwhelming.

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  18. 23. pro 2019.

    Anyone who has a passionate opinion on this issue is my friend.

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  19. 23. pro 2019.

    I met Santa today, he was asking after you. He wonders why you don’t call anymore. I said you had got all busy and grownup. He pulled out a carved wooden horse from beneath his cloak and said he’d been waiting years to give it to you. Then he shuffled off to a bar. Man oh man.

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  20. 23. pro 2019.

    I miss Christmas. Real Christmas. The Christmas of excitement and joy and connectedness. I am convinced that it has been captured by the Snow Queen and is being kept in an iron box in her ice palace. I plan to go on a daring expedition to rescue it. You are welcome to join me.

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  21. 22. pro 2019.

    December, you have been face clawingly bad so far. If your reign doesn’t end with me luring you into the woods, trapping you in a bear cage, shooting you, then digging a six feet hole to dump your corpse in, then there is no justice in this world.

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