Because Of Joan

Foreword- By: The Author

    It is incredibly important that I make it clear to you how new I am to writing. I've been writing since I was six years old, and still I consider myself as an apprentice to the great business of it. I've never had trouble creating stories. I can easily hold entire conversations between two characters, and I've been prone to spending hours in my bathroom acting back and forth between character monologue's, trying my best to hold their facial expressions and attitudes. Yes. I can do that. Does that make me a loser? No. It makes me a writer. I have no doubt in my mind that buried in my blood, that is what my being has amounted to from the beginning of time.

    Yes, I can tell stories. But can I write them? Yes. Yes I can. I can write. For I have been since I was six. Even younger if you count scribbles. When I was young and unable to read, I drew picture books with scribbles beneath the drawings, because I believed they served the same purpose as words. When I was older I made another picture book with a pen, writing in wobbly letters, a story that hardly made sense, but a story nonetheless. Older and older I still grew and eventually I adopted the practice of typing on a computer.

     Typing was my nemesis. I recall with very little dignity, despising a particular class in school known as "Technology", where for 45 minutes a day, we would have to copy the written letters on the screen. Sometimes it would be pangrams like: "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog". Other times we'd simply type out strings of random letters and symbols to practice typing synchronicity even in the chaos of said letters and symbols. At these computers I would gruel over typing Aq2:8jJk and etcetera, etcetera. I hated it. At no point in the beginnings of my life did I believe that someday the very thing I hated would be something I would eat, sleep, and breathe.

     When I took up typing my OWN stories, I can only be lead to believe that I started off "chicken-pecking" my way through stories (as that is what my memory of my lack of typing dexterity has lead me to believe.) Somewhere along the way, however, my fingers got faster. I'm the type to quit in the middle of doing things, but as I pushed through stories and poems, I somehow managed to teach myself how to type in my own fashion.

    It is here I type, still young, and yet I can type as once of the fastest in my class! I tell you this story so that you will understand that typing is my deepest passion and that I hope you will help me in my pursuit of this. As I said earlier, I am a mere apprentice.

    The story I bring before you is not finished, and I hope to build off of it in time. I face writer's block at the moment, the kind where I need to get from point A to point B, with none of the words between to bring me there, and yet all the knowledge of what I want there pounding away inside my skull.

    I offer it before you and ask that you read it, and enjoy it, and give me feed back. There are some things I feel I should explain of myself, but it is also in my belief that a good writer should not have to explain himself/herself if the writing is sufficient. So if my writing is good, and you can understand the quirks in my writing and the reasons, than I will know that I am not truly terrible, and I may just have the will to continue this story.

   Terrible feedback won't stop me either, but constructive feedback will certainly help me along the way! Message me, and feel free to unleash any criticisms if they are constructive. If I find them to be harmful or otherwise not at all constructive and blatantly rude, I will simply block you. Therefore, kindly do not waste yours and mine own time by simply insulting me. If you wish to tell me my writing is bad, tell me why, and wish me luck!

   With that said, I'll quit my jabber, and allow you to read "Because Of Joan"

-Author