Hey all~ I'm a seventeen-year-old from Massachusetts and I aspire to become a professional freelance novelist some day. I write generally novellas, novels, short-stories, and poems, but occasionally I like to change it up with various other types of writing. (essays, plays, etc.) I'm pretty serious for a girl my age, or any age, although I do love hangin with my freee-enz.
I prefer storywriting. My poetry is bad. At least I think so. I'm a severely harsh critic of both myself and others, and it hurts sometimes, more myself than others, but I get stuff done. So basically, if I send you a comment with compliments in it, I mean them. Alas, because I so loathe the seeds of my own inept fingertips, I often burrow away my works where no one will find them. Other people, however, seem to like my work, and I like reading theirs, so to fill both requests I got a fictionpress account. And that's my story. ^_^ (= super happy chibi face)
Other than writing, I like to read, draw, sing, act, and, duh- shop. Below here I have quoted a few of the poetry snips I liked best in my pro. OCCASIONALLY, as in, rarely if ever, I will ask an author to put a snip oftheir work in my profile or elsewhere. Hope you enjoy these as much as I did!:
"Weaving with the thread
of interwoven tears, the dry bones
that flake off at their knobby edges
of unheard voices from unmarked stones
jutting out of aching grass,
desperate roots instead of flourishing,
grasping on to and for life,
to form the unquestioning,
if only these knots would hold."
Numbing the Roses
"It's not Him you should be talking to
The gardner's watching you, little girl
Watering the flowers and spreading his lies
Queen of Diamonds - she's licking the flames
Oo, midnight's serenading you to sleep
And the waves are washing up to your shore
Walk into those waves and say good-night
Oo, the rhythm's taking you away, darling"
"Crimson air stains every tongue
Bloody breath fills every lung
Woe and death of last fornight
Night of sorrow and that of plight"
- Singing After Dark
Laying forgotten and broken
Under a silver veil of dust,
Her glass eyes cannot show loneliness.
-by Passionate nothings
Darkened by grey snow
The oak breathes the smell of dusk
Ravens on each branch