I’m a late twenty-something self-proclaimed feminist who has, for most of my life, fought bitterly the need to write.
I’ve found that the urge to write is less of a hobby or a past time… To me, writing is of a heavier nature. It’s almost burdensome in the way it begs to be born yet it’s reward is a satisfaction nearly supernatural. To call on a cliche quote of unknown true origins, I write because I must.
I once referred to myself as a novelist. Which, as most writers know, usually means you’re unpublished and broke while your shell of a creation sits mockingly on your screen’s desktop. But now I just refer to myself as awesome with a writing habit. It happens to the best people.
The government says I live in Kansas City but my heart is the shape of my home, Florida. My boyfriend somehow deals with my tomfoolery and awkwardness and my two dogs, a german Shepherd, Wrigley, and a mutt terrier thing, Millie, love me because I feed them and talk to them in embarrassingly annoying voices that they totally understand.
I am an ex-churched college dropout with a criminal record and I am not what you would think. You should follow me and read my posts. I’m pretty weird and have a strange writing style. Consider this a fair warning.
“A finely frayed soul in a contradictory world involuntarily succumbs or, fists clenched, survives.
She who pursues authenticity finds peace in quiet strength.”