Lets see, well my name (fiction press name) is violet eyes (as you can all very well see) and I amtwenty years old. I have auburn hair and I am five foot one right now and it doesn't appear that I'll be getting any taller.
My best friend is Jesus Christ, savior of my soul. I don't see as there's much I can really tell you about Him except that whatever you'd like to know is best found out by asking Him. Honestly.
I used to have a list of favorite actors and actresses here but I really don't see how it could be of any importance to you seeing as it isn't all that important to me
My favorite movies change from time to timeand there is absolutely no way I can ever have a favorite book. I think it is safe to say I loath homework.
For now, the majority of the fictions I post will be short stories I have written in Creative Writing. This is just where I've decided to start. Not all are actual stories so much as descriptive happenings. For example, "Flight at Dusk" is just a descriptive piece on the feelings of a girl walking home. Others, like "Bridge over Lemmon Creek" are only descriptions of fictional places. I have written a few poems however and they usually have some story to them.
A while backI posted a short story called "Little Ball of Sweetness" which is quite unlike anything I have ever written before. It is the product of a strange series of events including but not exclusive to: Mylast creative writing teacher having our class read dark humor story after dark humor story, My library selling a copy of Interview with the Vampire for a dollar, My mother writing two terribly twisted stories for class and making me read them before hand to give her feedback, A friend of mine writing a about story about a money-grubbing man who looses his fortune and kills himself,AninterestI had at the timein reading all about The Vampire Lestat, and lastly, although this may also be a product of the previous,a taste for Vampire movies so that I went outone night and rented Interview with the Vampire, Queen of the Damned, and Underworld. This faze did pass but every once in a while I would like to indulge inthe sick sense of humor which I actually inherited.
Recently I posted the first chapter to a story entitled Moonlight and Roses. I actually hadn't intended to post it here until I'd finished it however as of late I haven't been able to muster up the willpower to devote myself to even finishing the third chapter. I am hoping that somehow posting it here for all to see might give me some incentive to finish what I believe aught to turn out to be a grand story. This story is about a young woman who (for reasons unbeknownst even to her) left her home in the states, bought a stunning powder blue vespa, and decided to travel along the Italian coastline. It is only the beginning of the unraveling of her mystery when she finds herself drawn to a specific Italian estate located on the coast of the Mediterranean. I originally wrote this chapter out of sheer frustration at my inability to satisfy my horrid yet inevitable competitive nature. The creative writing class I'd been attending was held once a week and every week we would be given a prompt for whatever short piece we would write during the week. Once I'd found that my teacher could indeed be compelled to read a story aloud to the class for its quality, I found the tiny competitive elf inside me screaming for attention. Try as I might though, I couldn't write a piece that was either inventive, attractive, or otherwise eye-catching enough to be noticed by my professor. Finally in a fit of frustration I decided to completely ignore that week's prompt and write for myself. All the pent up flowery language inside of me shrieked to get out. All the flagrant colors and seductive scents danced inside my head, eager to become something solid. I wrote what I thought might be the gaudiest, sickly sweetest, most overflowing-with-delicious-descriptions piece I could imagine. And, quite unexpectedly, it caught his eye. Hooray for beautiful words! And so, I give you the first chapter of Moonlight and Roses.
And nowI can't really think of anything more that I have to say about myself or my writing. Thank you for taking the time to read this though.
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