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  • Behind the Blog

    Hello! My name is Ash.

    I am an artist, writer, and blogger.

    My head is often up in the clouds. I am a chronic daydreamer and spend much of my time lost in my thoughts. You can typically find me sitting in front of my computer, mulling over ideas and planning new content, or out enjoying what nature has to offer.

    My goal is to provide content that is educational and informative. I hope to entertain and inspire you through writing advice, prompts, resources, and works I’ve written.

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  • Character Aesthetics: The Red Horizon

    The Red Horizon is an unfinished novel of mine. It follows Kol Nordskov, a spirit, who helps the Gagnon siblings — Olive and Jonah — try to communicate with their recently deceased father.

    Character aesthetics are a type of mood board popularized by Tumblr users.

    These are the character aesthetic boards I created for my three main characters: Kol, Olive, and Jonah.

    Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright to any of the images featured in these mood boards. These boards are for entertainment purposes only.

    Kol Nordskov

    (“dark” + “north woods”)

    Olive Gagnon

    (“olive tree” + “cultivator”)

    Jonah Gagnon

    (“dove” + “cultivator”)

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  • No Guts, No Glory

    I opened my eyes and tried to sit up, but I already had my back to a wall — no, a concrete barrier. The cold stung my skin through the thin fabric of my shirt and pants.

    My hands flew to my legs before I knew what I was doing.

    My legs were stretched out in front of me, still attached and seemingly okay. I couldn’t stop touching my legs, fingers sliding over the soaked fabric as anxiety rose in my chest.

    I pinched my skin through the pants.

    Despite the heavy downpour and the biting wind, I felt both the pain from pinching myself and the resulting irritation it caused.

    I stared at my legs in amazement. I straightened and shook them out.

    My pants were soaked and muddy, but my legs were okay.

    I heard shouting. I looked for the sound, barely audible over the raging storm, and noticed — for the first time — a man several feet away from me. He lay in the mud, his uniform soaked through, and waved at me erratically.

    “Get down!”

    I slid down so fast that I ended up on my back, too stunned to move. I watched the turbulent gray sky as rain and wind roared overhead. Then came more shouting.

    I rolled onto my side and looked for the man.

    He was still shouting at me, but this time I couldn’t understand him. I stared as he screamed at me, but his efforts were useless. I could barely see him, let alone hear the words coming out of his mouth as the downpour drowned everything out.

    The man army crawled toward me. I froze as my breath caught in my throat.

    I reached for my rifle, but my hands came up empty. I looked on either side of me.

    My rifle was gone.

    The man reached me and grabbed my shirt collar.

    “Hey!” he shouted over the wind. “Are you hurt?”

    I shook my head.

    The man patted my cheek with a calloused hand. He released me and scrambled behind the concrete barrier I had been hiding behind.

    I followed him.

    “Where’s your rifle?” he asked.

    “I don’t know. I must have dropped it!”

    The man glanced around. He rolled up his pant leg, unsheathed a knife, and thrust it at me.

    “Take this!”

    The knife slipped from his fingers into mine. I barely kept hold of the handle.

    The man slapped a hand on my helmet.

    “Are you ready for this?”

    I laughed in his face.

    The man regarded me with a look that I didn’t understand. It was like his face was blank, unable or unwilling to show emotion, but his eyes burned with raw intensity.

    He grabbed my shoulder and shook me.

    “No guts, no glory,” he said, eyes boring into mine.

    I nodded.

    The man released me. He removed the rifle from his shoulder and readied up. He took a moment, either to pray or to psych himself up and then he disappeared over the concrete barrier.

    I glanced around for other friendlies, but I couldn’t see anyone. I was alone.

    I longed for my rifle, but the knife would have to do.

    I squeezed the handle. I adjusted my grip and flexed my fingers.

    “No guts, no glory. No guts, no glory. No guts—”

    I clenched the knife and threw myself over the concrete barrier.

    Ashley McIlroy

    Ash is a freelance writer with a passion for animals, humanitarianism, and travel. She has a B.A. in Political Science and resides in Canada with her family.

    Do you enjoy my work? Consider donating to my ko-fi page. All support is appreciated! ♥

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  • My Content Writing Portfolio

    Here is a complete list of my articles:

    You can find all this and more at medium.com/@ashmcilroy.

    Ashley McIlroy

    Ash is a freelance writer with a passion for animals, humanitarianism, and travel. She has a B.A. in Political Science and resides in Canada with her family.

    Do you enjoy my work? Consider donating to my ko-fi page. All support is appreciated! ♥

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  • My Copywriting Portfolio

    Here is a complete list of my copywriting portfolio:

    You can find all this and more at behance.net/mcilroyam.

    Ashley McIlroy

    Ash is a freelance writer with a passion for animals, humanitarianism, and travel. She has a B.A. in Political Science and resides in Canada with her family.

    Do you enjoy my work? Consider donating to my ko-fi page. All support is appreciated! ♥

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  • “Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.”

    Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor, It Devours! (Welcome to Night Vale, #2)
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  • The Woes of Writer’s Block

    Lately, I’ve been stuck in a bit of a rut. You know the kind — writer’s block.

    Well, our dear old friend simply won’t let me get on with writing. It’s been a long and difficult process these past few months, to say the least. It doesn’t help that I’ve been stressed out in my personal life — you know, IRL, where nothing good happens most of the time.

    I’ve decided that I’m going to have to get on with it and write anyway, no matter how bad or boring or ugly my prose is. I have to give myself permission to write poorly, to write cringe, to write god-awful stories because that’s the only way I’m going to push through this block and get on with writing.

    I’ve been excusing my lack of attempting to write because I’m stressed out and my mental health is poor, or I feel the need to focus my energy on other things.

    The truth is I need to make time for writing. I need to carve out time for writing, get into the routine of doing it, and stick with it. That’s it.

    So, I’m going to write something every day, whether it’s six words or sixty, and I’m going to work up to my goal: writing flash fiction pieces between 1000-1500 words.

    This is an achievable goal. It is something I can accomplish.

    Now I need to put in the work.

    I’ll see you around.

    ~ Ash ♥

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