... Tastes to me like spinachs (actually no, erase that, I do like spinachs). I've joined because some other place I won't mention bored me to death in two days. I'm an old cat above 30s who grew up loving forums and IRC, and yes I have written things and all that... And I still do,as you might have guessed. To describe my work is like trying to describe myself. Since I am the most interesting person in this world, the mere exposition of my characters, stories and concepts would make you laugh, cry, rethink your whole life (past, present and future), and of course write to the Nobel's people a single sheet with my name on it, written on a real quill with real ink, and of course with amazingly beautiful caligraphy, which you (of course!) must have learned from an illuminated monk from Tibet who ate the very last of the Phoenix's bird eggs... YES, it is THAT great, so... Love me, and we'll share together something beautiful : I love myself too. Ok... After many, many years of knowing my love for the worth of words (wink,wink), I've finally come to terms with the idea of sharing my work, even if I consider it way below the books that left their strong mark on me: Books by russian butterfly collectors, strange new wave english writers , writers who listened to ancient mariners (or who saw Daffodils long ago deceased, on a bliss I am quite guilty of indulging on myself), and I could go on, but those men built fundations way too strong for anyone to blow away: They were unique, themselves, and at the same time they were each and everyone of us. (There were women too, yes, but I'm quite unfaithful this time, sue me...) Writing has been a quite solitary job for me, so I look forward to share with you the old art. Right now I think it is the right step, to expose a side I've kept private (no, I did not kept it private because I am prone to rants about Phoenix birds or quills, though I sometimes still write longhand, and I still write things called 'letters'...). I wasn't very encouraged in my younger years as I confessed my ambition (well, the closest was a lit teacher's 'keep writing' and a loud 'On the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king'... No compliments, I know). On top of this, I am actually pretty good at what pays the bills, but my work colleagues are in general your average tech bros who mocks openly anything remotely 'artsy' (unless it has been coded, of course). I do not know anyone who does what I do... And right now, for whatever reason, I've decided it is not fun to keep archiving pages that nobody except myself will ever read. Some people have laughed at reading certain sections of my stuff (yes, they were intended as jokes), I think to share those moments is definitely worth it, regardless of/if/when your work hits the fan, and what is 'sucessful' anyways?! I do not know what 'writers' block' is, I've kept writing all these years when it 'comes' and when it doesn't, so I am more or less confident that I am not looking for any juvenile, existential confirmation of anything, rather this is what I do, which used to bother me since I wanted to focus on what pays the bills (built a 'career' on that, they say), but I cannot erase writing from my life, I have tried and it is not healthy for me, so I have to live with it and do something out of this 'blessing' (as another writer put it). How will it end I don't know (does anybody knows?), but I don't even need to try to 'enjoy it': I know I do. Have a good Morning/Evening/Night/Hallucinogenic Experience... And thank you for chewing with me this bunch of spinachs. Looking forward to hear from all of you. Vaughan.