I never believed the sky is the limit, therefore my passions are expansive. My interest in writing stemmed from poetry but my heart lead me to Sci-Fi Fantasy. Consequently, my stories are plot-driven with splashes of evocative elements.
Picture of Dorian Gray
He's a work of art, but only on the surface. Deep down, where nobody can see, he's horrid and rotten. His portrait knows and reflects his sins back to him. What would our portraits look like? Dorian's story certainly makes us wonder. But blissful ignorance helps us sleep at night.
Two Great Men
Homer's epic poem features Thespian sensibilities. A tragedy between two heroes destined to die- such is the nature of war. Vainglorious Greeks fought the Trojans. One hero died for the sake of honor and glory. His "enemy": a prince who fell defending his land. The unrequited rivalry was heart-rendering... Transcendental.
Daughter of Chaos
Death. Some people consider it a doom. Others, a reprieve. Such simplicity. Sadly, it doesn’t hold the same meaning and significance for me. I was born with tragedy infused in my blood- branded as death’s dealer. It’s been my identifier for as long as I can remember. A label that I resent, but will never be able to shed. Regardless of what good deeds I carry out in the shadows, I’ll always be seen as a monster.
A Book Series I Will Never Stop Recommending
Favorite book series ever? Well, no. But I feel like there's a lot to learn from them. Each time I read it, I feel like I'm seeing something new. From the critique of its society to its relationship dynamics, it's so rich. I'm always thinking about it after I read it, comparing it to other works. I honestly don't know what it is about this series that has me so captivated. Perhaps it's everything?
- Top Story - July 2023
Tangled in WebsTop Story - July 2023
We can all relate to the single truth that no one has a say in the circumstances into which they're born. No one's given the choice of the skin they wear or the name they inherit. Yet, ironically, we're all guilty of judging one another for those things. Might that be because we all secretly judge ourselves so harshly, and the only way to cope with our imperfections is to find them in others? Or can it be that we're all so envious, jealous, and covetous of one another, but are too afraid to admit these faults? Who knows? Does it really matter? It's a riddle we'll never be able to solve.