I’m stupendous, that doesn’t mean I’m stupid
It means I’m spectacularly lucid in my abilities to create astounding images via words
Though madness to writers can become great hazards
I am embellishing little worlds in my mind
All of the time
I have the habit of stopping what I am doing to write more, ideas queuing, paper ever strewing across the floor
I am incessantly scribing the lives, losses, loves and findings of imaginary people, people who I am god to
This is what I do
I love to write, I love to draw, I love to strew paper across the floor, but even more than that I love, the eyes that look in awe
For I am a writer and nothing more
