I wrote some words once. I then followed it with some more words and then even more words.
Wash, rinse, and repeat until the day I can make a living from this or until the day I die-whichever comes first.
In college I wrote and produced a play called BAR. Some people liked it.
I have written volumes of poetry, prose, and other forms of wayward expressions. Yet I’ve self published only three – BAD POETRY FOR PRETTY GIRLS ,NOCTURNAL EMISSIONS, and APNEA
I felt a few of my ideas would make decent movies so I wrote a screenplay or two or five. I’m still trying to raise the coin to film them myself.
My writing has been called “…the bastard child of Charles Bukowski and Chuck Palahniuk.”
It has also been called pure crap.
Currently, I live somewhere I don’t really want to.