Today I took a break from writing my next book (mainly because I found out my first one has 4823572895 grammatical errors and it’s now all over the internet) and losing chips at poker. Instead, I rummaged through my old wardrobe to try and find anything good from when I was little.
I did find an old poem, and was kinda surprised at little 9-year-old me’s talent. It was about a lion, and I vaguely remember writing it a few years ago.
Mine is the roar, Loud and Fierce, As loud as thunder, The air is pierced. Mine is the freedom, That will never exist, I am the golden Sun, I am terrified like the mist. Mine is the sadness, Mine is the fear, As grey as a dusty shelf, When huntsmen are near.
Maybe I should write poems instead of books. Nahh.
I also found a few rogue rocks, elastic bands and some suspicious drawings of escape plans. What. The. Hell.
I also watched Con Air yesterday.
Anyway, tomorrow I go back to hell with fluorescent lighting (aka. school).
I also need a favor from all you lot who read this (probably only myself and the surrounding air). What would make you come back to this blog? AND what would you like to read a book about?