End Of Year Q/A! AMA!

After two seperate encounters this week, one in which a reader wrote in mentioning they wanted to write to me but wasn’t sure how to – and the other, talking to a new submissive about the very meaning of rules and protocol in a D/s relationship, I realise just how hard it is for someone – young or old – to sort out their feelings and to understand just what it is they’ve been trying to describe.

So since I didn’t do a November Q/A or AMA and there have been a few new followers from Tumblr since it’s purging of adult content (Welcome!), I thought I’d create this space for newcomers or people who have questions to ask them here or if they choose, at my email at darkanddominant@hotmail.com

Let me be honest – I’m writing this now for two reasons – the first because I will get a message in which the author apologises profusely for bugging me or taking up my time or for writing at length – and it doesn’t bother me at all. Not one iota. So reading that I can understand, but it certainly still breaks my heart.

The second because it occurred to me (as it does at several intervals in the year) how easy it can be to get lost inside your own head in a D/s relationship, especially if you’re young and new to the lifestyle – or just don’t know who to talk to.

It can be easy to take for granted what I know – but I forget – it doesn’t come easily to someone new.

To that end, please PLEASE feel free to write as much or as little as you’d like. No email is too long, no comment is too meandering. I don’t judge on naivety or inexperience and I certainly don’t shame or think people silly for their thoughts.

I can also use any questions in a forthcoming post so that it can be informative for anyone that has an interest in that line of questioning.

On My Religion, Sexuality and Love

If you’re a long time reader, chances are you’ve read me touch on my catholic upbringing as a child and into my teens and how that affected my sexuality. Talking or writing about it at length, though, is something I haven’t done here – and for no real reason, I just haven’t felt it was an interesting topic to anyone but me.

I want to address that. However I will ask you to bear with me, it might get messy.

My father and mother were devout Catholics and raised me as such. I did the whole nine yards – reconciliation, monthly confessions, communion, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday’s, Stations of the cross, Sunday Mass – the whole shebang.

We were a conservative Catholic household and lived a conservative Catholic life. Even the sheer sight of me shirtless around the house would cause outcry. Playful or not, I cannot say, but I just wanted to raise this point.

When I was 12, I started to catch on about sex. My dad, when confronted with the notion, told me flatly ‘Yeah, we did!’. As an adult, my mum would tell me it was my dad’s job to address it as she did to my sisters. As an adult, my dad would tell me he never did enough for me. I wonder if he remembers that conversation.

As a 12 year old though, I was weird sexually. I’m taking masturbation in the weirdest places, I’m talking being excited that I’d have the house myself so I can be naked, I’m talking the primal masturbating in the mud in a frenzy – weird.

Thing was, I was making sense of myself. I found the pulse within myself that reacted against my catholic teachings to be naked, to be primal, to fight back against the feelings of shame – which I very well have now writing this, even though I understand how implausible those feelings are.

This reactionary behaviour paved the way for me to explore myself sexually as a teenager, which led to writing erotica and eventually to the wide world of BDSM and kink.

Looking back as I write this, sex – for me – is a battle between two minds. There’s the part of me who is relaxed and in control and vibrant and flourishing and then —- there’s the insecure part of me, questioning – constantly questioning, telling me that what I want, what I’ve always wanted, won’t be accepted. Somehow I know this to be a product of what I was taught, teaching me that to be naked, to want degradation, humiliation, is all wrong. Disgusting.

These days I have good control over the other part of my brain, though it does exist during my most intimate moments. However, during my twenties, that wasn’t the case.

I can distinctly remember feeling the rush of being in the moment, sexually and as a dominant, and then coming down from that high terrifies, not knowing what that meant, guilty because of my actions – my need to command, to dress, to be sadistic.

I thought I was in the wrong for years, with every kinky discovery bringing with it a wave of shame and a terrifying feeling that, after so long of living my life, I would have to reboot EVERYTHING I knew. This feeling, this scary realisation, led me to suppress it, at this point strengthened by the fact that I was in a relationship with a woman I loved but had zero interest in kink, D/s or BDSM.

Hell, I don’t even know now, years later, if my depression and anxiety is merely hereditary or a manifestation of my upbringing as a conservative Catholic. I can only guess and say it’s hereditary plus the upbringing PLUS my social experiences as a teenager. I didn’t have a lot of friends. I was shy. I was quiet. I still am.

What helped me, what still does – is trying to remember that my own development is important, that my happiness is important and that people like you, my dear readers, or kitten will accept me and my kinks and that it doesn’t mean I’m insane or sick or mentally ill.

These days, I’m not a practicing religious person – but I am spiritual. I live by a set of rules – to be kind to people, to love openly and accept everyone. I pray for my loves and my life and my animals but I consider my relationship between myself and God something entirely different to what’s prescribed in the bible. If that makes me agnostic or something, so be it, but I’d like to think that love is all you need and that if God exists, He – or she – would want me to be happy to my fullest extent. Outside of that, I try to be as kinky as I want 24/7. True to myself, in other words.

So was religion / being religious the catalyst for my feelings during sex? My anxiety? My development as a man? I’m not sure. I cannot say. I’m only a writer, half naked, musing to himself on a cool Monday morning.

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #12 – The Dreamer

They were real to him. Every one of them.

When he slept they knelt by his ear, whispering their wicked delights, lamenting their haunted lives.

They crowded the room, waiting for their time, their chance to speak, to be heard.

When he woke, they appeared before him, always in his bedroom, in his living room, dressed from another life, waiting just for him. Waiting to continue.

When he wrote, they appeared in his dreams, guiding him as their lives fell from their lips in smooth velvet voices.

Their lives, their memories, their existence were as real, as living and breathing and flesh and blood and messy and alive as his existence was.

When he was done, they’d smile and leave the room, out of sight and out of mind, gone but immortalised, leaving room for the next of them to visit.

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #3 – ‘My Girlfriend Is A Sexy Alien’

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‘Okay, don’t freak out.’
I looked at her from where she sat on the couch, dressed in her Cookie Monster shorties and a loose black singlet.
My hands were cradling it – the thin long gooey thing, like a snake’s skin it left behind in the shower. Like wet rubber slimed up with jelly.
I found the slimy rubber-snake-suit thing cooler in the shower, first thinking it was done alternative product that wasn’t entirely washed away.
It had no smell that forced me to gag, I didn’t scream unlike the time the cat ran by my feet in the dark the other day, it was just a watered brown, translucent clump of slimy rubber. Like –
‘Don’t freak out’ my girlfriend Andrea repeated, breaking her own rule and looking freaked out.
‘Is there a snake inside?’
My voice came out choked and broken.
‘Honey, we don’t get snakes in Melbourne, I keep telling you that.’
‘So this is one of them body products then? State of the art?’
Andrea put down the PS4 controller she was still cradling when I stepped out into the open lounge room cradling my own new thing.
She had taken the day off to play the latest God of War and had been up before me to pick it up in store at 6am.
Andrea sighed, rather deeply.
I felt something wet and thick splatter down on my left foot and stifled a cringe. Suddenly it hit me that I was butt naked, still in an about-to-shower-mode. I must’ve wandered out here naked. Shit! Dripping this gooey thing all over the house.
‘It’s not a product OR a prank..’ she said, beating my own mind’s conclusions.
‘Am I…’
‘Going crazy?’ She finished. ‘Nope.’
A beat.
‘Will you sit down?’
‘No?’
My No came out feeble and unsure.
‘Okay. You know I love you, right?’
‘You have a pet snake?’ I blurted out.
‘No.’
‘And you haven’t told me!’
‘No.’
‘You’re having an affair with a man and you two showered together and this is some kind of thick come melding together that he left behind before he escaped.’
‘Jesus Christ, Ash! No.’
‘But. But…’
Mind racing, words struggling to keep up.
‘You can see this right?’
‘Ashley, I’m an Alien.’
Andrea had stood up, eyes locked right on mine. Those fierce blue eyes were burning darker now.
‘Like….in the video game?’
Andrea sighed, held her hand and index finger up in a WAIT! Gesture.
I waited there, naked as our cat, foot splattered by this stretch of something in my hands.
Andrea closed her eyes, squeezed them in fact, her brow creasing, her jaw clenched shut. She stood that way for a moment – and then…

Something strange happened. A spot appeared on her forearm. A polka dot, no bigger than a thumbnail, deep purple. Then another. And another. And another.
Purple polka dots began appearing all over her body, one by one, before they all became something more, like one big polka dot. No, her skin was a deep purple. Coarse, it seemed.
Her hair, her dark brown pixie cut was shifting into something else, a bright pink bob. A bowl cut? A what?
Her eyebrows faded; replaced by the deep purple leathery skin that was now…her skin?
Her eyes were the same; I could see somehow, but her lips…her lips were ruby red.
Her transformation or metamorphosis or whatever the fuck finished, she sighed, still sounding very much like Andrea.
‘Every so often, I purge myself of my old skin. It’s nothing sinister, just a cleanse. Like peeling off a face mask.’
‘You’re an Alien.’
I could feel my eyes widen and tighten.
‘Yes, Ashley.’ She said in a way that I understood she was trying to sound calming, but she was fucking purple.
‘I…do…do you eat people?’
‘No! I’m not a cannibal, Ash.’
‘You’re an Alien.’
‘So? We aren’t cannibals.’
‘We?’
Andrea sighed. ‘Yes. We. I…don’t want to talk about..’

‘So the family I’m meeting for Christmas..’
‘Are not human, yes. We’ve interpreted ourselves into society.’
‘Like The Thing!’
‘No, not like The Thing! Look – our species discovered Earth hundreds of years ago. Silently, we’ve inserted ourselves into your culture to…take a look.’
‘To become overlords?’
‘No! To study. We’re a race of scientists, mostly. Except I didn’t want to become that. I’ve wanted to feel. For the longest time, I’ve wanted to feel.’
‘Feel? As in – touch?’
‘Yes, Ash, as in touch.’
‘Can you read my thoughts?’
‘No. But I sense bits and pieces..’
Andrea, my leathery Purple-skinned Alien girlfriend, folded her arms and looked at me with those same blue eyes of hers.
‘So. The Andrea I saw….who is she? Did you see her on a billboard or something? Like, somewhere out there is an Andrea who knows nothing about me?’
‘You’re giving me way too much credit. I dreamt of myself as a human shortly before we arrived here. I brought her to life. I…am her.’
‘And that’s what you do? What you study?’
A smile spread across Andrea’s face. I’ve seen that look before, when she’s about to say something devious.

‘Sex.’
‘S-sex?’ I repeated, the words catching in my throat like some cartoonish gulp.
‘We are a race of….what you call, what call now I suppose, Dominants and Submissives’’
“What would you call it?”
Andrea seemed to smirk at that. “Arctumolongs and Saemptions.”
The words sounded gruff and guttural and low – and the fact that this was all coming from Andrea, my girlfriend of –
“We’ve been together two years-“
Uh oh, my mouth was running again.
“- why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I meant to. I mean I was meaning to. I mean I was meaning to mind the time I meant to mind but I just…couldn’t find the courage. Don’t be mad.”
My head was too busy swimming in a myriad of thoughts to be mad. Maybe ‘mad’ would come later, when I wasn’t looking at Andrea’s skin that looked like fine leather. Only purple.
“I have….so many questions…Was the Purple People Eater song named after your race?”
“What?” Andrea frowned, her arms folded.
“Nothing..How old are you?”
“Only 90. But that translates to 26 Human Years…”
“90? But that’s-”
“Look, Just….Can you turn around a moment? I want to change back, and…I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Digesting what she just said, my eyes unfocused as full processing power seemed to divert to my brain to comprehend. I thought of Jeff Goldblum in The Fly, all mutated and slimy.
“Please.”
I  felt the stress conveyed in her voice, and obliged. She was still Andrea after all. My Andrea.
I looked at our kitchen, somehow taking note of the washing up to be done later.
A few seconds past, a few beats of dread along with them, then Andrea spoke:
“You can turn around now.”

The Andrea that greeted me when I turned around was the Andrea I knew, the one that I saw after our fourth date together, when she invited me back to her apartment and told me to undress and stay very still, hands at my sides, while she undressed herself.
The way her small breasts rested, one slightly more full than the other, the way freckles sent a trail down her stomach, her slight tuft of darkened pubic hair in the form of a landing strip – no matter if Andrea’s human form was based off a dream, she was perfect.
Wait a moment – what did I just think? She told me to…?
“If you come from a race of sexy Alien scientists who are either Dominant or submissive….which one are you?”
A grin lit her face.

So there I was, hands cuffed to the bars of our bed headboard, legs spread and tied to the bottom of the bed.
I could feel myself, against my own accord, slip inside Andrea, who sat straddling me, her hair covering her eyes, denying me of getting the chance to read her expressions.
One of her hands was resting against my left thigh, bunched up into a fist, draining of colour, while the other gripped a black crop that she used to trail my nipples.
Watching Andrea’s hips sway in a hypnotic rhythm, feeling her move on her own accord, easing onto my cock before easing outwards, stretching the moment out, second by second, I felt a part of something bigger than myself.

I just knew it.

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #2 – ‘Cult of Helen’

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Jodie came awake with a wheeze that rattled her entire body.
Her mouth was dry, her head dizzy and her vision was black.
Arms felling like jelly, she braced herself to push forward and sit up, but something strikingly cold tore at her wrists and sent her backwards.
A creeping sensation of cold began to sweep over her entire body, like her mind was only just catching up with processing. The same cool shackles tied her legs and her body….she was naked, completely naked.
Wherever she was, she felt the chill skirt up her thighs and across the curves of her breasts.

A strangled cry came tunnelling up her throat and out, wheezing into the space she seemed to be confined in.
“Sisters, lights please. She is awake.”
One by one by one lights flickered into existence – tiny blazing spots of orange all over the room.
Candles, Jodie thought, squinting, thankful she wasn’t blind. Candles illuminating women all around her. Women of all shapes and sizes and ethnicities. Each of them completely naked, bearing collars around their necks that linked a chain down to…
Jodie squinted…
Clamps attached to their nipples.

With the room fully lit, Jodie looked around, trying desperately to make sense of her surroundings. She was in a basement…no…an abandoned warehouse? Something dark and dank and dilapidated that smelt damp and stale.
Jodie looked to her left, found women, chained, nude, blank.
She looked to her right, found women, chained, nude, and blank.
Her mind fuzzy, she tried to get a hold of how she got there. It was the Christmas holidays and she had stayed behind at university instead of going home for Christmas because….
She racked her brain, what was it, what was it? Because she couldn’t afford it.
What else happened?
“Sister Melanie, would you like to begin?”
Melanie. Melanie was her dorm roommate. Melanie invited her to a party in the city. Melanie…drugged her?
“Thank you, Sister Tahnee.”

Jodie looked down her body at Melanie who stood at the end of the table Jodie was tied to.
The sight of Melanie, nude and chained like the rest, kicked her stomach into overdrive. She felt bile rising along with a wave of nausea.
Melanie was watching her and Jodie was looking back, unable to look away from her friend’s bare form.
Melanie was always pretty, came a thought to Jodie. Lightly tanned, piercing dark eyes. Her body seemed to match what Jodie saw before, her nipples and pubic hair as dark as her eyes and hair. Jodie felt a need to laugh, a terrible manic need, and silenced it.
“Sisters. We are gathered here in the name of-““
Melanie, what is this? A Prank?”
Melanie paused, looked at her, arms folded behind her back.
A beat – then she bowed her head.
“A-am I part of some haze?”
“She speaks” Said the woman named Tahnee impatiently.
“Mm, she has pluck” Said another voice, an older, weathered voice.
“She will do splendid then.” Came a third voice, low and flat.
“This isn’t f-funny, anymore.”
“Hera.” Tahnee commanded.
Footsteps approached, growing louder.
Before Jodie could find the words to object, her vision was snuffed out.
“Hey! No, Listen!”
Words tumbled out to grab someone, anyone’s attention, as her heart went into overdrive, but Jodie was left to the darkness, left silenced by the cloth now between her lips.
It was at that point, at the touch of the cloth on her lips, that panic sizzled hot and quick through her body, twisting and turning its way from the pit of her stomach out her lungs. She screamed.
It felt like a bomb going off in her head, shattering both sides of the mind, with all contents left to tumble out the hole in her head.
She felt tears in her eyes, there out of nowhere; as the sting from the object reverberated across her nipples, pain radiating outwards.

Somewhere Melanie continued to speak.
“…Sisters of Helen, we are gathered here….”
Jodie wriggled on the spot, feeling the chains carve into her wrists, burning. She could feel her drool pooling in her mouth, could feel the dampness of the room give it a cooling effect.
“….in celebration of the life of Helen of Sparta, Our one true Goddess…”
Jodie felt her legs start to buckle under the strain of moving out of the equipment that held her still.
Scathing, scalding, searing pain tore its way out from between her legs where the object, wooden it felt, wooden and coarse, had struck her.
Panic-fuelled pain tore through her body, the tail end of it being a tinge of pleasure – guilty, sickening pleasure.
“Before the feast commences, I would like to ask you all to bow your head in prayer.”
With that, Melanie fell quiet, leaving Jodie alone with the chilly silence.
She wanted to ask if they would kill her – and eat her – as part of this feastbut the pain across her tits and stinging lips held her in check. She didn’t want anymore.
A beat — then:
“Goddess, we give thanks for your wisdom, beauty and fertility.”
A murmur spread through the crowd, hushed and quickly.

“Sister Abigail. Begin. ” Came an older voice.
The one named Abigail cleared her throat. “Yes, Sister.”
Footsteps shuffled across the floor. Something unzipped, all the way around.
Jodie felt a whimper come out through her wet lips and suppressed it.
Silence followed, then: “We hope this soul appeases, O Goddess.”
They’re gunna kill me, Jodie whimpered. She struggled, tried to move, tried to kick her legs free. She could see it now in her minds – she could do it, she could run out of there, where ever there is. No matter of nudity.
That’s when she felt it – the cool metal object, slick and soft, ease into her ass, feeding into her, feeding off of her, filling her in a way that was uncomfortable yet came with an uneasiness that was exciting.
The toy in her ass seemed to lock her in a state of suspended animation. Jodie’s body stiffened, the pain across her body now giving way to the toy easing in and out of her ass, as gentle as could be.
The motion seemed to ignite the sting on her lips, coiling around her clit, snaking across every inch and setting it ablaze.
She was wet now, the breeze in the dank room solidified this fact.
How long the room was silent, how long this toy, handled by whoever, was slinking in and out of her ass with such gentle ease, she knew not. Time seemed to melt away, and her body and her worries melted with it.
Nothing existed but her and this toy – the toy that collapsed her mind, that spilled out both sides of her mind. The toy that locked her in place.

Jodie caught herself easing into the toy, savouring the feeling of drool pooling around her nipples, feeling…what? She didn’t know. No one had ever taken her ass before, Christ.
When her orgasm came, it sent jagged edges of pain mixed with pleasure across her glazed-with-sweat body. In her trembles, her anus squeezed shut around the toy, holding it in place, intensifying it, bringing wave after wave after wave of slithering shameful pleasure.
There was a click from around the room, but Jodie paid it no mind, she wrestled with the toy in her ass, wrestled with her mind.
When a second toy came to rest against her clit, sending vibrating pulse after pulse, Jodie let out a cry, wet, thick with phlegm. It travelled down her body in waves and in pools, sticky and sweet and relentless.
“Melanie, as the sister whose role it was to bring an offering this year, you may have first taste, praise Helen.”
“Praise Helen…”

Jodie had wrestled with breaking free of the pain and pleasure and orgasm, had wrestled with running free of this whackjob band of women, but when she felt Melanie’s mouth cover the entirety of her cunt, when she felt her tongue run across her slit and taste her, something within her broke, and she wasn’t Jodie anymore.

 

Just Write

So. I just got an email from a reader of my blog and it struck me as sad and it’s for these reasons that I want to write this piece.

If you’re going to write in to me, if you want to write in to me, there’s a couple things I, personally, want you to know and understand.

I’m not as busy as you think. I’m not running around like a headless chook, know that while I may work, I also definitely check my email daily and respond in full as soon as I can.

I don’t respond to emails to be polite to you, to what a reader described as ‘a self proclaimed fangirl’ – I respond because I want to. You must understand, I started this blog not just to share my fantasies and satisfy a part of me, I did it in case it could inspire someone as awkward as I was when I started off.

So I love hearing from people – young, old, male, female, Australian, American, Norwegian – the more the merrier. Language barriers be damned! I love conversing with people and I love talking BDSM and it’s lifestyles.

Whether you’re a fan or seeking answers or even if you a bone to pick with me about something I wrote. Grill me. I welcome all of it, criticism, friendly chatter, the like.

You’re not bothering me. At all. In all my years of blogging, in responding to the kind people that write in, I can honestly say not one email has bugged me, not one. Even if one person has a laundry list of questions, I’ll sit down and work it out with them until they’re more spent then I am. Seriously. So never ever think that YOU are the person that will be too much for me, because that just won’t be the case. Try me, I dare you!

Do you want to write but don’t know what to say? Do you feel stupid because I can talk so openly and you find it rough to? I’ve had years to process how I feel, to work to rise above my own shyness. I was the same as you in the beginning. We all start somewhere and blossom on our own time.

I will say this though – just write. Don’t worry about grammar or context or anything, just write. I honestly care not for long novel-length texts, I read every word and respond. I’ll even write a long novel-length email of my own.

Start at the beginning. Write how you feel. Find a place to start at, to get the ball rolling, and then just let it go – just write and let it loose. If it feels good, write it. If it doesn’t, write it anyway and send it.

Too many times have I read that someone wanted to write in sooner or deleted several iterations of the email they just sent – and it breaks my heart.

I know I can’t TELL people what to do. I know I can’t get people to talk as frankly as I do, but I’m writing this because I want you to know, anything you have to say, in any way, is perfectly A-OK by me and that you should not feel shame or delete what you write, because I mostly certainly want to read it. Don’t even press that delete button or I’ll slap a crop against your knuckles!

Be yourself. That’s all I ask of you. Everything else, please don’t worry. I’m not as scary as your mind makes me out to be!

TD&D

30 Days of Kink – Day #27: I’m a Day Dreamer!

Do your non-kink interests ever find their way into your kinky activities? If so, how?

I’ve been do slack putting these up the past few days – my deepest apologies to the person following this daily.

To answer the question, my non-kink interests always find their way to kinky activities. Where you there when I wrote about Ariel submitting to Ursula as a Slave in exchange for human legs? I’m a huge Disney fan! I set a path to Disneyland and World when I visited the states.

Did you ever read HERA? It was a story for a competition I created last year or the year before. In it, a group of spacefarers investigate a dormant spaceship floating quietly in space, only for them to fall victim to a erratic AI becoming conscious and developing the mindset of a mistress.

It incorporated another favourite genre of mine – science fiction – and has ties to Greek mythology as well, both things I am an avid fan of.

When it comes to writing erotica, I like moving against the grain. I find to do so makes for a challenge to me as someone creating the world in ways it will pay off at the end of the tale – but I also like to challenge the reader. It’s always nice to get an email saying ‘I’m not normally a science fiction fan, or like anime, or I don’t like rape fantasies – but this really took my breath away” – to me that’s a job successfully done.

I can’t help it either, you know? Being inspired by the world around me, or incorporating other things I like into genre. For me, it just comes naturally that I want to experiment with ideas – and there’s freedom to here because I trust readers will definitely tell me what works and what doesn’t. It’s a good place to experiment.

The long-running VALHALLA is another example. I love Norse mythology and fantasy and put both into the story around the more kinky aspects like the M/s dynamic. I actually borrow a lot from old Norse texts, lifting Valkyrie names from the Prose Edda and putting them into the story. Kára is one Valkyrie from the Prose Edda, envisioned here as a fiery soul, like a feisty middle child with problems of her own.

I know what you’re thinking though – yes, yes – enough about what you like to write about, what about your sex life? Well does psychology count as a non kink activity? I mean it IS kinky too to a degree but it doesn’t quite fit into the spectrum.

I’m interested in how minds operate and why. I’m interested in encouraging minds to break free of whatever aspect that is blocking them from that liberation. I’m interested in chipping away at armour in someone piece by piece to see what’s underneath and how we can play with that together.

There’s something really REALLY sexy about finding an aspect in someone that they never knew existed. Maybe it’s an interest, maybe it’s heightened pleasure. To break them when they say they can’t be broken.

Then it’s something as simple as walking out the door right? I walk out the door, ready to grab a coffee for the day (praise and glory be to the coffee) and all of a sudden I’m thinking how I can push kitten against this wall and making her whimper.

I’m constantly thinking about the world and the people around me and turning them into stories I can write about.

I’m a day dreamer.