I don’t fully consider myself an author yet. One published work doesn’t seem enough. It might take three or even four published books in my hand before I feel I’m actually living my writing dream. But to start out, this wasn’t actually my dream.
I had originally wanted to go into the movie career, but since that door wasn’t very open at the time I decided to pick up writing because it seemed like the next closest thing. Now? I love it. My mind doesn’t stop informing me about all those unexplored places, new people, mysterious plots…
I write because I have a story to tell. It comes to me and I pen it down because I can think of nothing else. I write because I like to make up my own endings. Nothing was more heartbreaking than a horrible ending to a great story. I write because I have imaginary friends…or am I insane? They seem real. Sometimes I tell them what to do, sometimes they tell me.
I write because I’m always daydreaming. Focused? Nope,
my mind’s wandering. I write- because it’s a way to tell the world something.