Monday, 5 February 2018


The time has come to lay the fictional character of Sacha Hope to rest. I created the alias over six years ago, as a first year student at university. The alias allowed me to write more freely, since everyone at some point in their lives want to avoid judgement (especially from cringe-worthy writing....)

The alias allowed me to explore an untapped part of my character and in part contributed to both my personal and skills development. I think we all strive to leave something behind--especially authors, since we seem to be acutely aware of the fleetingness of time. The eternity of a moment versus the fleetingness of a decade being portrayed not only in writing, but in life all around us. So, it is in such an eternal moment that I close the book on Sacha Hope and embark on a new adventure.

Sunday, 26 November 2017

Free Books

Who doesn't love free books? I know, I is treason as a writer to say "free book downloads", an unforgivable crime for participating in such activity, because how will authors survive....(insert eye-roll here).  If you are into writing for the money...good for you...but for the rest of us mere mortals who likes free stuff, I have a great link for free book downloads, courtesy of my very nerdy friend who loves DB Super and all things cool!

 LIBGEN.IO ....thanks Owen.....

Friday, 24 November 2017

When Things Go Missing.....

Much to any writer's chagrin documents do not appear to be safe on cloud storage. I hailed the blessings of Dropbox in an earlier post, but seems the celebration was premature. Once more the pain of having lost all writings and musings, no matter how inept, stings sharp and bright in my inky heart.

It would seem my beloved Dropbox has a nasty bug, causing files to be deleted and/or corrupted. What is a word-smith to do in such adversarial conditions?

The first step would be to not solely rely on one form of cloud storage...(an obvious point which I should have foreseen ages ago.) The second step...accept the fact that all the work is lost, perhaps it was so terrible that the digital void did me a favour by deleting it sporadically.

So...if this happened to you...take a breath and start again. See it as an opportunity for a fresh start that is uninfluenced by previous scribblings and that ever-present temptation to simply "fix" that last draft (we all know it ends up in the "rewrites" folder never to be fixed).

Friday, 1 September 2017

The Rat

The Rat by Sacha Hope

I once knew a rat.
He was toothy, furry and fat, bitey and slimy and full of scat.
This rat, oh, this rat! Believing he was all that,
would race on the red mat. 
The stench from his lying teeth curdling stewing beef.
Graceless, greedy paws always searching for the next victim to claw.
Gleefully the rat would race along his imagined red, red mat.
Pilfering what he can along the way, I dare not advise any to stay.
away, away...
For this greedy, pilfering rat will not stop until his insides go splat.

The Lonely by Sacha Hope

Sadness, loud and clear ring through silent eyes,
Yet again you dealt in lies,
Eyes sombre and true never knew,
The freedom you feel by toying with our ties.
Would you weep, miss me when I die?
Would you chase another, continuing to vie for power?
Here I remain, prisoner, in your wretched tower.
Here I would die alone and anonymous,
Fed on lies.

Thursday, 31 August 2017

To My Lover

To My Lover by Sacha Hope

Gentle lover, how I wish to feel your embrace,
Your hands, your kiss, your face.
Dear lover how I wish time did not part,
How often do I ponder the life we could start?
Fearful lover, you turn from grace,
You push and retreat to an unknown space.
Harsh lover, you pained me in many ways,
Foolishly I stay.
Dog-loyal and convinced love unconditional being all you need,
Oh wicked lover! Do you see me bleed?


Aging by Sacha Hope

Woe betide winter eyes staring lifelessly at the wall,
Years waning, skin failing, hair greying.

What devilry is this?

Was I not in the cusp of youth but a few summers back?
Crows leave their feet,
Skin burn and sag,
The youthful bounce in shiny mane replaced by crackling straw.

When did vision become foggy?
When did it become effort to play?
Why would youth not stay?

Woe betide those poor fools seeking,
Desperately clinging to fleeting spring days,
For we all must surrender to winter and if we are lucky,
Being graced with age, golden and sage.