I am currently working on my own story, that may be a short or full length novel. It is a work in progress, that I am very excited about. Here is a small excerpt:
“Nana, I am just laying there, floating on the sea, with my eyes up looking, at the gaze of the sun.” I felt silly, because here I thought it was the funniest little dream I ever did hear: what do you make of a girl who's scared of floating? “I don't know whether I am alive, it's empty like the desert, I am laying the way a dead man would lie. I was laying like a dead thing would.” She was panicking. “Sweet thing,” I took her hands, clammy, like the sea drops that stick on your hands, and I just held her hand. She looked down, around, the kitchen, which was no longer warm from steam of coffee, but cold, like the cold skin feels when water is rushed off by air. I picked up her chin,'When you dream you are floating, it means that you have risen from sinking.” “What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean baby doll, that ain't no person in the middle of the ocean unless the body come from underneath the sea...don't you see baby, you lived. You are alive.”
I was the art editor for the Literary Arts Magazine as a part of the Literary Art Society (2012).My duties mostly included selecting the works from high schoolo which would be presented in the magazine. My pictures of doors were selected for the cover of the magazine. The reason I decided to put it under the writing section is because while I looked at art, I also looked at some of the writing too, allthough I did not contribute any writing of my own.