This is my first real blog post. Well, that is a lie. I had another blog, but I have not used it for over a year. It was about sewing machines, and the romance I had with them. It was not on wordpress, and I am not at all good at any of this kind of thing.
I am an avid reader. I stopped for 3 years to write a book, of which I have never finished. It was a fanfiction about one of my favorite Chronicles, but I found out along the way, that this story was difficult to write. I loved the characters so much, that I never wanted it to end. It would never be as good as I wanted it to be. It would be a horrid failure. All the things I complain about in others writing would be cast towards me and mine. So my writers block is tormenting me.
I was sad about my muse abandoning me and my story sitting there after 3 tedious years of pulling the story out of my ass,tweaking to get it right,making myself become one with it, and then..poof. My friend Tawni gets sick. Bam. She has terminal brain cancer, and everything fell. Who wants to write a silly fun romantic story when your friend is literally dying right in front of you? I could not. Writers block took over. She got worse, I was devastated. The last few months of her life I had decided to dedicate the story to her. I could finish it for her. She died. I did not finish it. I wrote on, hoping that I could somehow complete it for her. Then my mother got sick and my sister died. Words cannot fill the gap that emptied with her passing. Words never will. Like all brothers and sisters, we shared something that is impossible to show another. A light. Hers was put out. Mine still burns. But it is not as light as it was before. I miss her. Greatly. I gave up writing my story. It sits there. Unfulfilled, but not forgotten.
I went to a thrift store about a month ago and discovered that they were selling books for a nickle apiece. I bought a shit load of romance novels. I had not read one since I was a teenager. I swear that If I knew how much sex was in these babies, I would have picked them up sooner.
My father is also a reader. He reads three books a day if he has them. I read one to one and a half. Romance books are perfect. Not only are they an escape, but they make me happy. Romance prevails. Heros get the girls. I found out that all this time, I am truly a girl. Not tough like I want to pretend, but a real romantic. I cant help it. It is in my blood. I have over 200 books . Some of them are Old, some are new. I am going to give my opinion on them as I read them. Or I am going to write it down and if no one reads, that is okay with me.