Works by N. L. Mello

Everybody can be an author; write me your thoughts.   Contact Me   

My name is N.L. Mello, and I write. A lot.

untropicahl asked: Honestly I was wondering how you wrote that "eulogy" so beautifully (I'm in tears) and then I came here and saw that you're a writer. So that makes sense. That was very nice and I completely agree that there's no need to say goodbye. Anyway, thank you. xoxo -Morgen


Thank you so much, Morgen! I’m glad you agree. It made me too sad to say goodbye, so I said all that. 

Thank you, again. I was in tears writing it. We may have lost him, but we’ll never lose what he’s done, remember that. We keep him alive.

— 1 month ago with 1 note
#untropicahl  #answered  #robin williams 
I Want To Say Thank You

I don’t think I want to say goodbye to Robin Williams. I think I want to say thank you.

I want to say thank you for the smile on my older brother’s face when he watches ‘Hook’ - again - and remembers that he’s still a kid, even if he’s technically all grown up.

I want to say thank you for my younger brother’s laughter when we witness another chaotic riff on a new episode of ‘The Crazy Ones’, a show that we got to enjoy together.

I want to say thank you for the look of adoration and respect on my father’s face as we watch old reruns of ‘Mork & Mindy’, the show that made my young father feel that it was okay to be different, it was okay to be odd, it was okay to be yourself.

I want to say thank you for the way my mother’s face lights up when ‘Mrs. Doubtfire’ is on TV, even if she had a bad day, even if she’s tired, and how she laughs every time.

I want to say thank you for the way my little nieces watch ‘Flubber’ and ‘Jumanji’ for the first time, with wide eyes and laughter and clapping hands.

I want to say thank you for the chorus of my friends’ voices singing along to “Friend Like Me” and “Prince Ali”, and for those same voices telling the Genie that they’ll miss him, too.

I want to say thank you for the timeless films, for ‘Good Will Hunting’, for ‘Dead Poets Society’, for ‘Patch Adams’, just as much as I want to thank you for the nonsensical joyrides, for ‘Robots’, for ‘Popeye’, for ‘The Birdcage’.

I want to say thank you for the songs that ring through my house, permanently burnt into our brains. I want to say thank you for the smiles that come to our faces every time we think of you. I want to say thank you for your comedy, for your tragedy, for your affirmations, and for your dedication. I want to say thank you for your flaws, for your interviews, for your stops in coffee shops, for your words of wisdom on the street. I want to say thank you for your sensitive side, your caring side. I want to say thank you for your humanity. I want to say thank you for your little jokes, and your big ones. I want to say thank you for making it okay for someone to be a little weird, a little off, a little chaotic. I want to say thank you to Robin Williams for making the world a happier place.

I want to say, “It’s not your fault.” I want to say, “Carpe diem.” I want to say, “You made your life spectacular.” I want to stand on a desk for you and say, “O’ Captain, my Captain.” Hell, I want to say, “Nanu nanu,” and I want to shake your hand. I want to say thank you, for everything you’ve done, for this world you’ve touched. For everything you have left behind, that will continue to shape our world.

So, no. I don’t think I want to say goodbye to Robin Williams. But that’s just because, while we lost a man, we will never lose who he was, what he became, and what he’s done for us. We’ll never lose the smiles, the songs, the tears, the laughter. We’ll never say goodbye to the world as he made it.

Thank you, Robin Williams.

— 1 month ago with 31 notes
#robin williams  #musings  #eulogy  #in memoriam  #long post 
I can see the man, circling round and round-

I can see the man, circling round and round-
my head, my head is going to burst-
and he stops in the middle of the street and leans-
the weight is pressing against my forehead-
and he looks in the neighbors’ windows across the way-
the pressure is starting to build, up and up-
and he turns around and looks towards me-
my hands shake when they push into my face-
and he leans into his car and presses the horn-
I want to cry out, but I am trapped inside-
and stands back, and looks into my window again-
my temples sting where my fingertips dig into them-
and he gets back into his car where he parked it-
I clutch at my hair, pulling at the roots to feel new pain-
and he starts up the clunker piece of shit car-
my dog growls out the window, runs back and forth-
and he revs his engine and peels up the street-
my brain is going to explode out my ears and eyes-
and he disappears into the night without seeing me-
my mind is leaving, losing the lopsided battle-
and I live to tell the tale of the man who came for me-
my head, my head, myheadmyheadmyhead-
and the way that he got in.

— 8 months ago with 1 note
#prose  #poetry  #original  #works by n.l. mello  #Works by N. L. Mello  #nl mello  #n.l. mello  #n. l. mello 

She can see, for the first time in years, what lies beyond the cityscape. The windowed walls that look out over the bright lights of a thriving metropolis are now so much more than glass. Were she to push one open, and take a step, they would be an escape. Were she to shatter one and trigger the alarm, they would be another broken piece of her life, shards of glass lying there in pieces at her feet.

Instead, rather than doing any of that, she presses her palm against the chilled glass. She blinks away the tears that blur her vision, and she focuses briefly on the stunning lights. Just beyond them, though - just beyond her house, just beyond the windows, just beyond the buildings and the city and all those lights - there lies something greater.

It is a mountain she sees. Great, and looming; waiting, casting a shadow over her. With the lights swallowed by the mountain, she can see the stars overhead. She presses her forehead against the glass, and cranes her neck. The stars are stationary; none shoot by, and she understands - the stars are waiting.

— 9 months ago
#prose  #fiction  #non-fiction?  #literary non-fiction?  #who even cares  #Works by N. L. Mello  #works by n.l. mello  #original  #mine  #n. l. mello  #n.l. mello  #all about me 


Hey, guys!

As you all know, life is hard, nobody hires anybody anymore. It’s harder to find a job than it is to work. As a result of my unreturned phone calls and ignored applications, I have decided to start doing commissions.

Now, I’m not an artist, but I am a writer. I write things, you see. Most people prefer to have things drawn for them, but I can’t draw, so I’d rather not make you pay for that. Instead, you can help support me by buying a piece of writing. The prices are on the blog; you can click here to see prices, and click here to see my promise.

I will write anything from original work to fan work. Prices vary based on word count, as you can see if you go see my prices. You can see some of my original work here and here, and some of my fan work here. People love getting things as gifts, too; for you friend who loves Doctor Who, I’ll put him in a story. For your niece who loves the zoo, I’ll write about her. Just click here to contact me, or email me at

Please signal boost this, even if you’re not interested. Thank you!

— 1 year ago with 17 notes
The Impossible Girl

She is young.

She is bronzed,

with pale skin,

backlit by gold;

with dark hair,

arranged in curls;

with bright eyes,

awash in sunlight.

She has small hands,

with smaller fingers.

She is thin.

She yawns,

and she has a pink mouth,

with white milk teeth.

She smiles.

I reach out to touch her,

and she -

it -

the whole world -

the false reality, it collapses.

I realize -

she is impossible.

— 1 year ago with 4 notes
#poem  #poetry  #the impossible girl  #Works by N. L. Mello  #works by n.l. mello  #original 

Blond is new.
Close is new.
Tangible -
tangible is definitely new.
The smiles are new
(as are the touches,
the winks,
the fidgeting,
the smiles,
the laughing,
the arguing).
The imperfection is new.
Reality -
reality is new
(and feels like a ton of bricks).
Subtle - you’re subtle.
That’s new.
The casual nature,
the long absences,
the uncertainty -
all new.
And, yet, I keep coming back to -
The blond.
That’s new.
It registers first.
It’s new.
You’re blond.

— 1 year ago with 2 notes
#blond  #poetry  #poem  #description  #punctuation  #original  #Works by N. L. Mello  #works by n.l. mello 
So Sweet, So Splendid

“So sweet,

so splendid,”

says I,

my face turned up,

my eyes locked on the tips of trees.


“‘Tis nothing,

‘tis nonsense,”

says he,

his face turned down,

his eyes locked on reality.


“Very dull,

very dry,”

says she,

her face turned away,

her eyes locked on the middle space.


“So sweet,

so splendid,”

says you,

your face turned up,

your eyes locked on the tips of trees.

— 1 year ago with 1 note
#so sweet so splendid  #so sweet  #so splendid  #poetry  #poem  #original  #Works by N. L. Mello  #works by n.l. mello 
Brother Nature

Your skin is soft grass,
carved stone,
cool ice under my hands.

Your hair is gentle wind,
rustled leaves,
flowing water in my fingers.

Your mind is brilliant sunlight,
thriving nests,
singing birds in my grasp.

Your sigh is a bee’s buzz,
a stream’s splash,
a cloud passing through my head.

You are nature alive,
present, tangible,
here to be beheld by my mortal person.

— 1 year ago with 3 notes
#brother nature  #poem  #poetry  #original  #Works by N. L. Mello  #works by n.l. mello 
Tacos: A Play

“a play about tacos in which there are no lines and rehearsals include eating tacos”

TYLER sits at a park bench, Taco Bell bag at his side. His taco meat is soaking through the shell, but no matter. It is a taco, and this is enough.

HANK comes up next to him, his own Taco Bell bag clutched tightly in his right hand. He looks at the space on the bench beside TYLER expectantly. TYLER shifts his Taco Bell bag to rest in the grass at his feet. HANK sits and pries open his bag.

It seems as though TYLER wants to say something. He opts not to, instead taking another bite of his taco. HANK pulls his own taco out of his greasy bag and does the same. The two sit in relative silence, save for the odd crunch of a particularly hard bit of shell.

HANK gestures to his taco as though trying to say something to TYLER. TYLER just nods understandingly. HANK feels understood. This is a friendship for the ages.


— 1 year ago with 10 notes
#edwardspoonhands  #hank green  #tyler oakley  #tacos  #taco play  #original  #play  #Works by N. L. Mello  #tyleroakley