Rebecca Lynn Ivey
Bio
I wield words to weave tales across genres, but my heart belongs to the shadows.
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Achievements (1)
Stories (308/0)
A Childhood Lost, a Love Denied
My childhood memories are a tapestry woven with loneliness, a stark contrast to the carefree joy most children experience. Simple pleasures like playing in the mud or by the creek resulted in harsh punishments. Toys, meant for exploration and imagination, were kept pristine on display shelves, untouchable.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey2 months ago in Families
Mamaw's Legacy of Love
This International Women's Day, in the auspicious Year of the Dragon, my thoughts turn not to world-renowned figures, but to the woman whose fire burned brightest in my life – my Mamaw. Unlike the mythical Dragon hoarding its treasures, Mamaw never had much in the way of material possessions. Raised in poverty, she carried that experience throughout her life, raising her three daughters with limited means. Yet, when she left this world, the wealth she left behind was immeasurable – a legacy of undying love and unwavering courage.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey2 months ago in Families
Beyond Gender: A Dragon's Year Wish for My Inspiring Friends
Dearest Male Friends, Happy International Women's Day! This year, with the Year of the Dragon in full swing, it feels especially important to celebrate all the strong, inspiring women who shape our world.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey2 months ago in Motivation
Nuwa
As the Year of the Dragon unfolds, celebrating strength, ambition, and resilience, a figure emerges from the mists of Chinese mythology – Nuwa, the revered Dragon Mother. On this International Women's Day, her story resonates deeply, a testament to the power of women to create, heal, and persevere.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey2 months ago in Motivation
Songbird of the Whispering Woods
My name is Wren, and unlike the other village children, I wasn't afraid of the Whispering Woods. The towering trees weren't just big, they were giants, their bark a canvas etched with stories and their leaves whispering secrets on the breeze. Mama said they were grumpy old things, only good for firewood. But I knew better.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey2 months ago in Fiction
The Witch of the Whispering Woods: Keeper of Balance
The Whispering Woods weren't known for their songbirds. The wind, however, was a constant vocalist, its voice swirling through the ancient oaks and elms, weaving tales on the breeze. In a clearing bathed in emerald twilight lived Elara, a witch as much a part of the woods as the gnarled roots and chattering ravens.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey2 months ago in Fiction
Eclipse of the Veil
The world dimmed with an unnatural twilight as the moon, a perfect circle, swallowed the sun whole. Cicadas, usually buzzing their summer symphony, fell silent. Birds screeched in a panicked flurry, seeking refuge in the inky shadows creeping across the land. I stood in my grandma's backyard, the air thick with the earthy scent of her freshly turned garden.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey2 months ago in Horror
Latte and Landmines
Discussing politics can be unhealthy for a few reasons, it can increase stress and strain for one. Political topics are often emotionally charged, leading to heated arguments and frustration. This can cause stress and strain on relationships, especially if friends or family hold opposing views.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey2 months ago in Humans
In a World Full of Flowers, be a Pickle!
Deep in the Whispering Woods, the small town of Petaluma sits nestled within the magical trees. In this beautiful floral town where houses bloom like tulips and cobblestone streets shimmer with dandelion fuzz, Dillbert was an anomaly among all of the magnificent, charming flower people. He wasn't a rose, radiant and proud. He wasn't a daisy, cheerful and bright. Dillbert was a pickle, a wrinkled, knobbly oddity in a world obsessed with aesthetics.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey2 months ago in Fiction
Resurrection Day
The Carver House loomed, a skeletal giant against the dawn. A hundred years of neglect had clawed at its once-grand facade, turning the gingerbread trim to dust and the windows into milky voids. My inheritance, they called it. More like a looming curse. Yet, on that crisp Easter morning, the house stirred.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey3 months ago in Horror
The Redemption of the Easter Hare
Sarah, tucked under her covers, squeezed her eyes shut at the rhythmic thump-thump-thump on her roof. It started every Easter Eve, this unsettling sound like giant, fluffy feet hopping across the shingles. It wasn't Santa's jolly pitter-patter. This was a low, heavy thud that sent shivers down her spine.
By Rebecca Lynn Ivey3 months ago in Horror