: About Me

I am a pretty outgoing person and usually bustling about life. As the owner of my own small business which is focused around journals, books, quills and inks it is only natural that I have a love of literature as well as word-craft.

My time is spent working my day job (which really I consider my 'unreal' job because it is mundane) and then creating art, making books, writing my novel, or otherwise managing my own business.

Occassionally, my time gets usurped by the trio of satanic little beasts that live with me, otherwise known as cats.

I do not own a television and haven't for about 15 years now - I abhor that evil box and the churlish noises which emenate from it. I have a ton of books, play the flute, and listen to quite a wide variety of music.

Debate and intellectually challenging or stimulating conversations and topics are vastly interesting to me, I'd always prefer a well reasoned argument against which I can present my own and hopefully - like a blade to whetstone - come out all the sharper for it!

My passion is ...

creation!

I know too much about ...

there is no such thing as 'know too much'.

My parents always told me ...

to listen to the sound of the singer's voice, not just memorize song titles attributed to them.

My childhood ambition ...

to be a soap star

My favorite memory ...

unfortunate is he who can truly pick only one.

Why I write ...

the canvas of the page is where my mind paints a mural with words.

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

Cum Sancto Spiritu by Vivaldi / Heroine Diaries by Nikki Sixx

My first job ...

Busser at Giancarlo's

My best moment ...

Now!

My inspiration ...

what *isn't* inspiring in its own way?

Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Raking leaves

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"The forest of stories is covered with a thousand leaves." Her windy voice rustled through the thinning branches as the gardener swept together sheaves of autumn color which had splashed across his yard. Pausing to lean on his rake, he drew in a refreshing breath and quietly listened to the breeze as it whispered through the outstretched arms of the languorous beech and generous maple that made their homes in his yard. On particularly leisurely days, he often envisioned faces within the whorls of bark and knots. Other times as he pruned and planted, weeded and landscaped, he fancied that h...

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