Author has written 17 stories for La Corda D'Oro, and Ghost Hunt.
I am a Meep, therefore you may call me as such.
Meep is a procrastinator, an idiot, a perfectionist who loathes the process of polishing. She is a socially inept girl with a knack for offending everyone she meets. To her very bone, she is a person who is perpetually in the realm of boredom. She likes spicy foods, pencils and classical music. To be in control of everything is an obsession of hers; every single detail must be according to plan.
Strength: Obstinacy. Weakness: Obstinacy.
One addiction she has is reading fiction, and she gravitates mostly towards those of the mystery, suspense and paranormal genres. One particular title comes to mind when asked what her favorite series is: 'Ghost Hunt'.
Writing does not appeal to her as much as reading. When she reads, she worries only about the little stuff; flipping pages and suffering in suspense. When she writes, instead of the promised tranquility and fulfillment, she is rewarded with chaos and stress and tears and pandemonium. The only solution she can think of during these times of crisis is to chant, ''Stick to the plot-line, stick to the plot-line, stick to the goddamn plot-line,'' and thoroughly bash her head into whatever surface is available. She hopes this works for you, too.
Despite the pain and suffering writing brings Meep, she plows forward regardless. (Thusly, we may presume she is a masochist as well.) Current ongoing projects include numerous baby one-shots and two multi-chaptered stories. The latter are: 'Serendipitous Stumbles' and 'The Ghosts of Repentance Past'.
Serendipitous Stumbles is, to put it simply, a monster she regrets giving birth to, but loves unconditionally anyhow. Naught but a terribly vague outline supports it, the details are left to the whims of the Ad Lib gods. Let us pray for its future.
The Ghosts of Repentance Past is nary but a dream, a fantasy of the Meep of two years ago. It is a disfigured child, struck with several illnesses. The worst of which, namely: dreadful execution, idiotic metaphors and infantile logic. Still, she cannot let go of the shitty thing. She brought it to a doctor and was told that only one cure existed: rewrite.
However. Even as the heart and will are there, all efforts are ultimately stolen by an evil overlord called. In the scant spare time she saves for her two fugly babies, Tumblr seduces her with wondrous promises of reckless abandonment, of poorly managed time. And like the fool she is, she offers herself without any second thoughts.
And now she is off once again. Yes, right now. She's too lazy to think of a proper end to this lovely tale. No doubt, she's thinking of prancing away hand in hand with the latest distraction that has recently caught her eyes, which is: the Ace Attorney series. Seriously though, she's only playing the damn games because of Miles freaking Edgeworth.
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