Author has written 9 stories for Attack on Titan/進撃の巨人, and Hunger Games.
Hi I'm Erin - or you can call me Em - both are okay.
I'm 18 and I love to write fiction and make art.
I currently am enrolled as a Graphic Design major, but I hope to pursue my dream to publish a book one day.
I try to update as frequently as my inspiration will allow, and once I start a story I always plan to finish it no matter how long it takes.
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy what this page has to offer, and feel free to PM me whenever, I'm always up for conversation as well as criticism!
My Tumblr: nearlyer
Side writing blog (Tumblr): superdumbwritingblog
CURRENT IN PROGRESS STORIES (as of September 5th, 2015):
I feel the comfortable kind of warm you get after a long day in the sun, where your skin is toasted hot to the touch and the idea of a cold shower and a long nap is the most beautiful thing in the world. I roll onto my side and stare at his dresser on the far side of the room. A giant mahogany piece that holds drawers stuffed with possibilities such as socks and shirts and underwear. And possibly…
“Where do you keep your letters?” I ask, and then quickly regret it because even though I keep the letters he sent me doesn’t necessarily mean that he kept the ones I sent him
“The ones you wrote me?” The bed rocks as he crawls over and flops on his belly beside my head. I nod, earning him a mouthful of my hair which he bats away sheepishly, “Uhh…top left drawer in the dresser.”
I’m up and out of the bed before I even notice my actions. Carefully pulling the drawer out, I’m greeted with the sight of envelope after envelope popping out at me in a messy pile that rivals my own back home. I smile as I file through them, “I have to say, I’m relieved I’m not the only one who kept all the letters.”
“Well technically they’re not all there, because I only started saving them in, like, 7th grade…but yeah. You save yours too?”
“I recently moved them from my drawer to a wooden box, because it started getting this bad.” I hold up the piles in exaggeration, clutching envelopes between my fingers.
He chuckles lightly from the bed, “Yeah. It’s good thing that we stopped then, huh?”
I stop dead in my tracks at the sound of that.
So…it's official then. We’ve stopped sending each other letters.
The growing pile of unsent letters in my little wooden box flash through my mind; each one morphing into more of a diary rather than its intended communication method.
Mechanically, I return the envelopes and gently shut the drawer.
“Yeah,” I force a laugh, "Good thing."