Welcome to my world.
I write. I made my own world. I picked through a box of colourful, exciting, brilliant and zany words – and I found the ones that fit for me. These words made a world. The name? Well, I can’t tell you that yet… It’s a secret.
I want to be published someday. I want to walk into a bookshop and see my book on the shelf and feel…small? Big? Important? Special? Nervous? Awed? It’s a strange thing to consider, seeing something you made up, imagined actually, sitting on the shelf for people to buy. That’s “buy”, alrigth? That’s kind of big.
I feel strange admitting that, that I’d like to see my work on a shelf and see people reading what I imagined. But it’s not a pride thing. I don’t want to strut around with my head the size of a watermelon chuffing out phrases like “I’m so clever, look what I did.” I want to feel quietly proud of my work, in a good way. I want to feel quietly satisfied that I set out to do something and that I did it. That’s different to gloating, to being full of yourself and over-cocky. I know that can happen, to the best of people too. But that’s nto what I want.
I don’t want to be famous, or sought after, or begged for autographs. I just want people to see something that I saw. I just want them to read my book, take a break from their buy world for a few mintues and enjoy mine. Really, I don’t want them to be totally infatuated with it. I’m not writing something like Suzanne Collin’s Hunger Games, or Harry Potter, or Twilight. I’m just writing…well…my story. It is my story. I might not be in it, physically, but it’s still my story to tell. I just want people to read this story…as a story. And enjoy it.
‘Cause truly, it is my world. It is kind of colourful.
FIVE MINUTES. STOP.
Note: The picture is compliment of my pinterest.