A book by its cover

I have several activities that I am passionate including painting, drawing, and music. My biggest passions however, would probably being reading and definitely writing. I can spend hours, if I am allowed to, getting lost in the pages of a book. I love to imagine some of the ideas and places that are described in those works and I am always getting lost in my own, trying to put into words what I am seeing in my own mind. I would be more than content to do nothing more than get lost in those thoughts for hours and sometimes days at a time.

I would love nothing more than to be a fiction writer. While I do know that it would not be a viable way to make a living right at this moment it is something that I am not going to stop pursuing. That it is going to be difficult at first is something that only makes me want to try harder to become a published author. Also I also think that becoming an editor would be something that I would like to do in the future. While I know as an editor I have a potential to read some pretty horrible books along with some amazing ones I think it would be an amazing learn opportunity for me as a writer to read others works. To not only critic others to do their best in their writings, but to also see the different directions their writings and possibly my writing s could go in the future.

I want to encourage budding writers and to allow writers that have been working forever to still feel that love of writing. I don’t want to be a brow beating editor that crushes all creativity in a writer just to meet a deadline. I also don’t want to e an editor that is easily pushed over and allows horrible written material to be passed off as good. I want to allow writers to reach the full potential. I want to give he readers something that leaves reading for hours because they just can’t put the book down, not only from their favorite authors but by anyone who may read my works if and when they are published. I want any reader of whatever genre they are reading to be happy with the book and the author who wrote it.

 Red smearing across white

Hands flowing blindly
Filling in the spaces

Stopping at times
Uncertainty
Then swiftly dragging across

Hands dragging through hair
Pulling slightly
Before returning to their original place

Ruffling, shuffling, shifting
Hours passing 
Yet feeling like only moments

Eyes blurring
Hands dropping at last
The little end has occurred 

Stretching while standing
Tired and sore
It's only the first chapter

Note to self, use spell check next time.