I think I'm a literature whore. Or maybe I am a literature slut? I don't know why but I gravitate towards things with words. I have writen poetry and reviews and essays and reviews and I swear-I SWEAR-I am writing 8 different books at once.
Currently my new interest is one called Breathing. It's about a girl, 17 year old Carla Langley, who's best friend drowned near her. Carla has lost all faith in humanity and feels like her best friend, Keilsy's, death is her fault. And so she meets these twins, Ryley-she has 4 years left to live because of lung cancer-and her brother, Nolan-who's gay amd is picked on but still remains happy and optimistic about life. They show her that her life didn't end with Keilsy and that she should just keep breathing.
And there we go. Literature slut, right here! So far this is one of the longest I've written with almost five chapters and already an epilogue (don't ask questions. These things just come to me for some reason). So far I'm optimistic about this one. Also this one speaks out in the cluttered of my minds thoughts.
So far I have 2 people reading it as I go along and giving me feedback. Go Hannah! Maybe I might actually finish this one. *gasp* Hehe. I'm crazy about these things. Don't ask why.