When I was around seven I made a list of all the jobs I wanted to do when I was older.
I had so many future careers I ran out of fingers to count them on.
And of those ambitions, somewhere in between being an actress and a dancer a singer and vetinarian and having 14 kids and drving a bus... was the dream to be a writer.
And when all those dreams began to fade away, being a writer was the only one that remained. And the same passion I had then, I have today, only it's much stronger without the other ambitions fogging my vision.

My passion is ...

Jesus Christ.

My parents always told me ...

Nothing ventured, Nothing gained.

My childhood ambition ...

To have at least ten jobs...

Why I write ...

When your called to do something, 'Why' is of little significance, you just know you have to do it.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

All the books I can... and whatevers on the radio.

My first job ...

babysitting?

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Home

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Chipped paint and a broken window
Leaky pipes and a roof to low
Creaky floors and no cabinet space
For a house this is an aweful disgrace

A roof with no shingles left
To old and useless for even theft
A lonely and broken rocking chair
For a house it just isn't fair

No running water or any working lights
So dark even the days are like nights
All those who see have to look away
This is no place they'd want to stay

But in these walls there's something beside
The flaws of everything that's died
Laughter and joy echo down the hall
This isn't a house after all

Smiles were ...

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