Like many stories this is a journey, a tale of darker times, of love and loss, of messy minds and deflated hearts, of beauty and badness. there is nothing new here, nothing that hasn't already been told a thousand times, it is only mine.I never aimed to write an autobiographical piece, I’d always much preferred to create enchanting worlds and complex characters.
Then I started to feel sad, not a melancholy that passes, a sadness that was anchored deep down with in. All of my worlds and creatures had disappeared and I could only seem to write about myself or about the monster that was living with in me. Forgive me for sounding like writers greater than me, when you come to ask them how they came to create such wondrous worlds. I am not great, nor have created anything. I've merely retold what already is and was.
Still my answer is the same, the story just kind of wrote itself, I wrote the first draft of this book in four days, I didn't sleep, eat or wash, my only concern was getting the words from my head.
Then I started to feel sad, not a melancholy that passes, a sadness that was anchored deep down with in. All of my worlds and creatures had disappeared and I could only seem to write about myself or about the monster that was living with in me. Forgive me for sounding like writers greater than me, when you come to ask them how they came to create such wondrous worlds. I am not great, nor have created anything. I've merely retold what already is and was.
Still my answer is the same, the story just kind of wrote itself, I wrote the first draft of this book in four days, I didn't sleep, eat or wash, my only concern was getting the words from my head.
