Write, read, and dream.

When the prose goes, nothing flows. Nothing sooths the sick, bleeding heart. I'm not too smart; writing on the fly, but I must try. My emotions are running high as I hear the bells of Poe. I can't rest until I've done my best. Dear reader I may be young, but I feel very old at the moment. There isn't much rest in sleeping, and very little peace from pain. This is the only personal note you'll receive from me. I'm attempting to write two short stories to publish. Why? I once had a dream in which Stephen King was hitting me on the head with one of his Novels. "Write before the words float away!" I have some strange dreams.

I wrote this while chasing my tale, still haven't caught the Frockin thing. Opps, I think I let a little geek out.
Always my friends,
Lone Wolf @ unscripted