Plagarised by Pooja.

I received an email from a girl I owe a great deal of gratitude to, Katie - a Plagiarism Fighter, telling me that my story Arabian Nights has been plagiarised.
My first thought was "oh, crap" and then I texted my friend.

Me: I've been plagiarised by a "Pooja".
Friend: What's a Pooja?
Me: An Indian girl.

:D

Cheered up by that, I began to think about it clearly. This Pooja has plagiarised over a thousand stories from Fictionpress writers and posted it up on a forum, she has been warned over the implications of her criminal actions and ignored them, refusing to take down the stories or to even respond with an apology.

I have since been considering whether to remove my Fictionpress stories and it's a hard decision to make, believe me. I love sharing them and I love that everybody can read them and express their opinions back to me. However, I do not like having my ideas and my hard work stolen. I have spent too long on them just for them to be violated in such a way.

"Pooja" may simply be a selfish, unimaginative person who thought she could get away with it. Maybe she didn't consider how hurtful it actually is but I am a big advocate of personal freedom and the right each of us have to behave in any way that we like as long as it is morally fit and does not hurt others. The way I exercise this freedom is through writing and sharing what I write. Plagiarism is simply another form of stealing this freedom; it is the theft of a voice and of the emotion behind it.

I won't waffle for too long and get to the point. It is because of the above reason and because I have received many reviews about how inspirational my stories have been that I am not removing my stories. I feel it would be like succumbing to bad luck or a bad person and giving up my freedom. However small this is in comparison to the greater struggles in the world today and throughout history, I feel it is a battle nonetheless.

If we all remove our stories then plagiarism wins and we'll have lost out on doing something we love. We just all have to band together and keep an eye out for plagiarisers. If everybody helps a little then it will make a huge difference. So...that's my plea, I guess.

A big thanks to Plagiarism Fighters who do it all out of goodwill and in their precious spare time. Truly you are great.

I also want to thank all those who have read my stories, who have put them on alerts and favourited them. I especially want to thank all the reviewers...it is because of what you've said that I'm happy to keep the stories up here. You mean a lot more than any plagiariser can.

Lily.

Happy Spring!

So...It is March! I love March! I love the spring. And weirdly, so does my inspiration. So I've been writing a lot more and generally increasing the daydreaming levels.

I won't make grand claims of how I'll amaze you with my new work. Daydreaming is often only pleasurable for me as I can't see thedumb look on my face when doing it.

Anyone else like spring?

But...
Three poems written on a bus:

-

Dreams

A girl, sleeps, she dreams,

London, Tokyo, Paris.

Of valleys and streams,

Cold, sunny days, a warm kiss.

No limit to what she will see

Imagination is like the ocean.

Not bound by impossibility,

Strengthened by raw emotion.

"Love wholeheartedly" she sings,

"Forget rationality, nationality,"

She weaves memories into a ring.

Welding it with her creativity.

She let's it adorn her finger.

She breathes as it glints,

One last look, she want to linger,

But back she blinks,

Back.

-

We

Years don't change us.

We will always be just you and me.

Matters of age and distance

Are Boundaries that we cannot see

Slotting back to habit,

Laughter and memory

We relive adventures

Keep them how they used to be,

We will never really change

You are you and I'll always be me.

-

Memories of Song.

You hear a song. A song that you've heard a million times before.

You know all the words, you tap your fingers to the beat.

It reminds you of a person.

It never used to. It was just a good song, one you loved.

It reminds you of you.

Who you were when you first heard it, when you played it on repeat.

You remember the way you used to dance in your room to it.

You remember how it became a part of the soundtrack of the old you.

You didn't realise you were amidst perfect moments in time.

You hear a song.

You long to go back.

You vow that you'd make the most of it, if only you could go back.

You shut your eyes tight.

You are still you. You are still listening to that song.