Author has written 1 story for Harvest Moon.
I am a seventeen-year-old adult, maintaining my life is a precarious bit of luck balanced atop a slightly less precarious bit of chance. I have spent the best years of my life growing out my bangs, searching for a really good cell phone, and penning prose. I do not understand being skinny, organized sports, fashion, or the iPhone. Once upon a time, I used to think the world was not at all complicated, just add water and breathe, but into the forefront of my life came world hunger, the impending extinction of honey bees, population growth, healthcare reform, the cancellation of Charmed and, somewhere along the line, I grew up.
I have talent; I have a large bag of talent, and I keep it under my desk, next to my dirty socks, which generally reside over top of my chilly feet. I have a big bag of talent; my little black birds bring me fresh shreds of talent every morning. They steal it from artists and other pretty girls going by. My little black birds steal talent from others like they’re stealing hairs from atop little heads. All morning, my little black birds bring me stolen shreds of talent, which I trade to them for peanuts.
My life is fueled by beauty. From moment to moment, I work to find beauty in the world around me; in the kindness of its human inhabitants,in the dazzling wonders of our nonhuman counterparts, and in the alluring shades of our urbanized habitat.
I speak English, Italian, and am learning Spanish.
I change my interests almost as often as I change my mind.
Conto i mie benedizioni. I count my blessings.
I do not know how to write of grand drama and epic worlds, I do not how to write you evil, and him good. I do not know how to write like Tolkien, or the unnamed author of Beowulf. Because, you see, no one and nothing is good or evil - but thinking makes it so. I simply record life as I see it, and all I can see are complexities. I write you empty words and open hearts, autopsied corpses and unexplored caves.
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