Okay, so I'm not exactly soaring my way to the top. It's more like I'm crawling, clawing at the dirt going uphill in a blizzard during a tornado with 100 mph winds shoving me backwards. But hey, I'm trying.
Being a well-known (or even heard of by one person) author or artist is all I've ever dreamed of. I've been writing/drawing/reading since I could pick up a crayon and put words together. And while many dreams have died and been buried along the side of the road of life, this dream has somehow managed to stow away in my heart, stubbornly clinging on to life and hope.
And though my hope in dreams has long ago run dry, this dream still believes in me. Persistent in its will to survive and waiting for me to make it flourish. So I'm giving it my best shot against all odds and trying my damnedest to make it happen.
I am currently working on a novel, an apocalyptic tale of a teenager seeking his younger brother in a chaotic world of death and madness. A world filled with cannibals, Dements, scavengers, insanity, and... the 'normal' or so Jacob and his friends call themselves, but are they really the normal ones? A sf/horror, "One of Us".
I've also done some short stories mostly horror, and though I've gotten the big 'R's I still have hope that they might be published one day.
It's been a long, hard road, but the dream lives on. And dammit, I don't care if I reach ninety and am on my deathbed, I'll still be subbing until someone sees something in my writing. For what good is it if no one ever gets to read it? I shall try until I'm dead to get my stories out there or die trying.