Fun Fact About Me: As a result of an old basketball injury that healed wrong, I have a permanently broken right index finger that makes it painful to write more than 100 words at a time with a pen or pencil. I am therefore eternally grateful to whoeverdesigned the computer's keyboard.
Race: My Dad's pure-blooded Maltese (think Italian gene pool) , my mum is 100 percent American mongrel.
Sex: Male (Yeah, a male on fictionpress-- deal with it)
Eyes: Dark green.
Singing voice: Baritone\bass.
I like to. . .: draw and watch anime; play hacky sack; run; play DDR; use-fix-fiddle with computers; read; write; do math; drink fruit juice, chai, and coffee; eat chocolate (Godiva is the best brand in the world); raise dogs (I have a siberian husky mixed with a german shepherd); read some poetry; play soccer and ultimate frizbee; watch So You Think You Can Dance and One Tree Hill; maintain e-mail correspondence; have someone to talk to; have my back scratched; smell really nice.
I don't like to: read anything that sucks; get a massage; get a haircut (I get them anyway though); live where I do; hang out with people I don't like; be judged by my age's supposed maturity level \ be patronized; receive negative, unhelpful, unconstructive criticism that is good for nothing more than to crush my ambition for work; be told "you wouldn't understand" (Girls, if you ever have something bothering you, tell the guy what it is, then tell him he doesn't understand); work around cows, or any other farm-related crap (clarification: This does not mean I dislike cows or farm-related crap; it means only that, after pregnancy-checking as many cows as I have in my lifetime, I'd really rather not work with them).
My current favorites:
Movie: Good Will Hunting
Song: Fireflies - Owl City
Color: Green all the way
Book: The Harry Potter series. I've never re-read anything so many times.
Writers: Me! Just kidding. The truth is, I've never really gotten along with me, and his work is so full of errors, I feel like burning every page I read. Seriously, though, in order of favor: J.K. Rowling, Amy Tan, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Joyce Carol Oates, Michael A. Stackpole, Timothy Zahn, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Alexander Dumas (Only for The Count of Monte Cristo), Nethaniel Hawthorne (Only for his short story "David Swan". It's my favorite short story).
Quote: "After all that death and destruction, in the end they never found the weapons of galactic destruction that they said we had." --One guy to another while coming out of the theatre after watching "The War of the Worlds."
I welcome any and all e-mail correspondence.
P.S. I really love thank-you reviews (and all other reviews, for that matter), but I'd like to say two things:
1. You don't have to say thank you in the review. I check the profiles of everyone who reviews my work, and will know if it is in reply to one of my own reviews. I feel that to mix an insightful review with a "thank you" cheapens the value of the review itself, so let me say here to anyone who is reading this profile after I reviewed their work: You are very welcome, and it was my pleasure. If you're just plain bursting with gratitude, and have to give some token of thanks, please simple send me an e-mail.
2. This second thing does not apply to those thank-reviewing me for my own review of their poetry, but to those who review my work in thanks for a work of their prose fiction I reviewed. You are, of course, not obligated to review my work in thanks, because I write reviews for my own satisfaction. If you wish to thank me, however, I'd prefer if you reviewed my own work of prose fiction, rather that just one of my poems. It's very easy to look over a profile and see that daunting "100000+" words and skip down to one of the little poems in hopes of fulfilling your self-inflicted obligation in as short a time as possible. I know this, because I myself am tempted to do it at times. I don't mind if you like and wish to review my poems, but the work that takes the most effort is my prose, and I feel cheated when the authors of prose fiction that I review do not offer their knowledgeable (and indeed valuable) opinions concerning my own work, but rather rush through a poem as a balm to their own petty obligation. Savvy?
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