Tag: dailyprompt

I would choose Luna Lovegood from the Harry Potter series—specifically the version of her that lives in the books. There’s something about Luna on the page that feels quieter, deeper, and more real to me than what we see on screen. She isn’t just “quirky” for the sake of it—she’s someone who has learned to be unapologetically herself in a world that doesn’t always understand her.

Growing up, I related to that more than I could explain at the time. I was a weird kid. Not in a fun, attention-grabbing way, but in the kind of way that makes it hard to connect with people. Making friends didn’t come easily to me, and there were moments when I felt like a loner—like I was somehow outside of everything everyone else seemed to be a part of. Sometimes that feeling turned into thinking I was a loser, even if I didn’t fully believe it deep down.

She’s teased, overlooked, and underestimated, yet she never reshapes herself to fit in. She doesn’t chase approval or try to hide the things that make her different. Instead, she moves through the world with this quiet confidence, as if she understands something others don’t—that being different isn’t something to fix.

In middle school, when I was getting picked on, I didn’t have that kind of confidence. I think that’s part of why Luna stood out to me so much. She represented a version of strength I hadn’t learned yet. Not loud or confrontational, but steady and unshaken. By the time high school came around, things got better for me, but that earlier version of myself still connects with her deeply.

If I could be Luna, it wouldn’t just be about being in a magical world. It would be about having that level of self-acceptance from the start—the ability to exist as I am without constantly questioning whether I belong. Luna reminds me that belonging doesn’t always come from fitting in; sometimes it comes from finding the people who see you clearly and choosing to see yourself the same way.

I want a library named after me. Not in a quiet, humble way, but in a dramatic, history-book, future-field-trip kind of way. Think the Library of Alexandria, but reimagined as the Library of Eryn — a place where stories live forever and people walk in feeling like knowledge is sacred and cozy at the same time.

I want it to be bigger than the New York Public Library, which holds over 50 million items and already feels like a universe of pages. Mine would hold even more: cookbooks, diaries, zines, playlists, handwritten letters, blog posts, and tiny pieces of human life that deserve to be archived.

No dusty silence, just warm lighting, soft couches, and endless shelves of possibility — a monument to curiosity, creativity, and cozy chaos, and that books can build worlds.

Daily writing prompt

When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?

View all responses

I was probably a little too young when my mom first introduced me to her favorite author, Stephen King. To be fair, she started with The Eyes of the Dragon, which is technically more of a children’s story. She always told me it was something he’d written for his daughter when she was young, so in her mind, it felt like a safe place to begin.

But that was just the beginning.

Not long after, she was reading me Dreamcatcher—and even let me watch the movie. Looking back, it might not have been the most age-appropriate choice, but at the time, it felt completely normal. It was just part of our routine.

Every night, we had this ritual: she’d sit with me and read aloud. Those moments became something I looked forward to all day. Stories weren’t just entertainment in our house—they were an experience, something shared, something alive.

I didn’t realize it then, but those nights shaped me in a big way. Somewhere between fantasy kingdoms and Stephen King’s darker worlds, I started to fall in love with storytelling.

And that’s where it began—the quiet, growing feeling that maybe one day, I wanted to be a writer too.

Daily writing prompt

What’s a secret skill or ability you have or wish you had?

View all responses

I swear I’m a magnet for softballs, baseballs, basketballs, and soccer balls—and the magnet is aggressively pointed at my face. Which is actually tragic, because I’m a full-blown sports fanatic.

Like, I love sports. I’m watching, I’m invested, I’m yelling at the screen like I’m on the roster. I understand the rules, the plays, the drama. Mentally? I’m in the game. Physically? I’m a liability.

I have this very specific, slightly humbling wish: I wish I were naturally sporty. Not in a hardcore athlete way, just in that effortless “oh yeah I play sometimes” and then casually being good at it way. The kind of person who joins a random game and isn’t immediately dodging for survival.

But the second a ball is thrown at me, it’s over. Coordination gone. Survival instincts are not activated. I become the weakest link in real time.

It’s not that I wouldn’t try—I would. I’d love to be the kind of person who just jumps into a beach game, runs around, gets a little competitive, laughs it off. And I will try… but there’s always a 70% chance I’m also about to get hit by something.

So for now, I exist in this very specific identity: emotionally athletic, physically questionable. I’ll bring the energy, the commentary, the snacks, the team spirit. Just maybe… don’t pass me the ball

If I had to compare myself to an animal, it would 100% be a rabbit.

First off, the buck teeth situation is already on brand. Can’t fight biology. But the personality? Honestly… it’s a vibe.

Rabbits throw tantrums. I throw tantrums. Sometimes over literally nothing. A carrot? Missed nap? Existential crisis over daylight saving time? You name it, I’m flopping dramatically like a furry little soap opera.

And yes—they’re judgy. Rabbits will side-eye you like you just betrayed the very laws of the universe. I do that too. It’s not mean, it’s just… extremely observant and slightly scandalized energy.

So there it is: buck teeth, dramatic flair, and judgment for days. Basically, I’m a rabbit and proud of it. Bonus: I hop through life and somehow survive on snacks and chaos. 

I would choose a bookstore.

Books have always been one of my favorite things to buy because every book feels like a new world waiting to be explored.

One of my favorite birthdays actually involved doing exactly that. A few years ago, I purposely cleared off a credit card so I could spend the day buying books without worrying too much about the cost. I went to a bookstore and let myself wander through the aisles, picking up anything that caught my interest. By the end of the trip, I had filled two tote bags and bought eight books. It definitely put a noticeable dent in my wallet, but it was completely worth it.

There is something special about leaving a bookstore with a stack of new stories and ideas to dive into. For me, a shopping spree surrounded by books is the perfect way to celebrate.

The biggest thing that helped me grow? Getting kicked out at 21.

At the time it felt dramatic. A little embarrassing. Very “main character hits rock bottom in act one.” But honestly? It was the push I needed.

I was living at home, comfortable, not saving money, shopping like the economy depended on me. I wasn’t acting my age. I didn’t really have direction. I was in that in-between stage — technically an adult, but still operating on teenage settings. My drive was low. My impulse control was lower.

And my parents? At 21 they were already parents. Responsible. Building a life. Raising a whole human. So there was this quiet tension in the house. Not because we weren’t close — we’ve always been close — but because we were in completely different chapters. They were looking at me like, “It’s time to grow up.” And I was still trying to stretch the “I’m young” excuse as far as it could go.

Getting kicked out forced everything to change.

Suddenly I had rent. Bills. Real consequences. Landlords don’t care about your vibes. I had to budget. I had to think long-term. I had to figure out who I was without the safety net. It was uncomfortable and humbling, but it built something in me that comfort never could: independence.

And the wild part? It actually helped my relationship with my parents.

Space shifted our dynamic. We went from parent-child tension to adult-adult understanding. I started seeing them as people who had once been 21 and scared too — just with way more responsibility. They started seeing me as someone figuring it out instead of someone refusing to.

Distance didn’t weaken our bond. It strengthened it. There was more respect. Less strain. More appreciation on both sides.

Getting kicked out didn’t ruin me. It woke me up. It forced me to step into a version of myself I probably would’ve kept avoiding if I’d stayed comfortable.

Sometimes growth doesn’t look inspirational in the moment. Sometimes it looks like packing your stuff and realizing you can’t go back to who you were.

And honestly? That was the start of everything changing for me.

When my mom was 28 turning 29—aka my current, mildly confused but doing-her-best age—she was already deep in Mom Mode.

She had me (nine years old and probably dramatic), my two-year-old brother (sticky), and she and my stepdad were about to get custody of my stepsister. Three kids. One small apartment. And—plot twist—she was just learning to drive.

Ma’am.

Meanwhile, at 28, I am out here trying to peacefully coexist with two dogs who act like unpaid interns with behavioral issues.

I genuinely don’t know how she did it. Three kids in a small space while figuring out adulthood in real time. Learning to drive. Managing custody paperwork. Building a whole stable life from scratch. And she’s still here, still standing, still very much alive and probably shaking her head at me.

The only thing I can confidently say I beat her at? I learned to drive three years earlier than she did. That’s my one flex. My one ribbon. Please clap.

But honestly, it’s wild to compare timelines. At my age, she was building a family of five in a tiny apartment. At my age, I’m building routines, boundaries, and a lint roller collection that rivals a small retail display.

And sometimes I do feel behind. Because society loves a checklist. House. Kids. Stability. Gold star. Meanwhile, I’m over here celebrating when both dogs nap at the same time.

But maybe life isn’t a race. Maybe it’s just different chapters. My mom’s 28 looked like diapers, custody court dates, and driver’s ed. My 28 looks like chew toys, budgeting apps, and trying to remember to drink water.

Both are real. Both are hard. Both count.

And if nothing else, at least I can give her this: she raised three kids before she mastered parallel parking.

I raised two dogs and parallel parked first.

Balance.