Writing.

All I do is think about writing. Even in my sleep, different stories come to mind. Most of them I can’t even remember. But even the ones I do I store them away and work on them on my phone. I love to write and read.

Working on my stories brings the best joy, I can let my mind run free and wild. Nothing can be wrong, everything and be fixed and reworded and striken from the page. I am in control and no one can change that.

Every once in a blue moon I get a writing streak, where I will literally write and write and write and write. Non stop, pages upon pages of pure. Utter. GIBBERISH. But it can be reworded and contexts can be fitted.

I can create my world and tear it down. Break barriers and taboos and make it work. For me and hopefully for my readers.

My journey is a map, I take life lessons and make stories of fiction out of them.

My transition, my family, my love, My hopes, my dreams, they fall somewhere into my stories. And I hope just one person will relate to something and be inspired to do something they love as well.

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