It was in the darkness of the eve of a misty spring day when the girls on Princes Street shared a bottle of zesty white wine. The girls were a little deflated, defeated and a bit down about not having creative freedom. Writing was their go to, their happy place, and designing on top of that was only a dream floating in their heads. Creativeness without compromise, rules and just some amazing writing, what more could two girls hope for.
Two glasses in and the girls were on fire. Ideas were sparking like fireworks dancing in the air. The room was tingling in anticipation, eagerly listening as the girls designed their magazine in their minds.There was inclusivity, diversity, articles that could be risque, raunchy and exciting. The night moved on.
Three glasses down and the girls on Princes Street were done, the night had drawn to a close and it was time to lie and sleep off the vino. Two tired girls were to rest their pretty little heads on fluffy pillows that night, dreaming about what they had created in their minds. Bloom existed, although it had been only in spirit, during a tipsy, happy daze and it rumbled the brains of the girls in ways they had never imagined.
And so they began meetings, only without the wine. There were charts, ideas floating, name suggestions, hits and misses. There were sketches, mockups, first drafts and lists. Endless lists that seemed to get bigger and bigger. The girls were surrounded by word documents, drives, printouts. There was work to be done and the girls were not shy.
They had quickly gone from drifting ideas briefly in a living room full of exotic plants, where anything and everything was possible to action, and they loved it. Now there was only the heavy part left, the final drafts, the endless editing and finding a group of writers to make the magazine come alive.
Together with their IT wizard who they found roaming around the flat, the girls started searching high and low. They searched across the lands and up through the trees for writers that they could trust and rely on. With a lot of asking, articles flew in from all over and the girls were happy. Their wall was coated in a dizzy array of pieces like detectives solving a crime. Pages were added, pictures were taken. The final words added.
And like that the magazine was born. Two happy girls and an incredibly helpful IT wizard could finally lean back and observe their magical creation. Their work was finished, the website was up. It fit together like a puzzle piece perfectly aligned. The girls on Princes Street looked at each other, and cheered to the first but certainly not the last, edition of Bloom.