![]() ![]() So I decided that if that book could make it to print then I could do just as badly, but at least my book would have more sexy in it. One where I read and read and read and there was only ONE teensy kiss at the end of the book, and being the passionate person that I am, having no long kisses, no long make out sessions, and no sex, was very annoying. I simply wanted to be a writer and I consoled myself with a particularly bad romance novel I'd read when I was 15. ![]() ![]() Strangely, my lack of belief in myself didn't dissuade me. I knew I had "some" talent because the school newspaper would always choose some of my essays as material, but I never dreamed someone would want to read any creation of mine for more than a couple of minutes. I never shared my writing with anyone but I tried poems, short stories, anything, really. I started writing a little after I was 12. ![]()
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