Beside the regular dream of the ultra deal with a movie of my book at the end, my dream as a writer, is a writing room.  This all started from looking at killer pumpkin, killer being a verb/adjective there, art prints and loving them.  I knew that if I bought any, there wouldn’t be a place to hang them.  My house has one of those dinning room/kitchen combo things and my computer sits smack in the middle of the two.  If I look left, I see the refrigerator.  If I look right, I see the dinning room table and china closet.

I want a room of my own where I can empty out my curio cabinet and surround myself with all of my moons and stars and skeletons and, all right, I’ll admit it, about 3 tons of unicorns.  I’d have a couple of those prints on their way, ready to be framed and hung about along with all of the other strange things I’ve found and sadly turned away from because you can’t really hang it in your dinning room.   I’ve been promised a room once I make enough money writing, which I know will happen eventually, but some people are even less patient than I am and expect to never have to build or pay to have a room built for me.  But when it happens, I’m getting that room and it’s going to look just like I want it.  It will be as weird or morbid as I want it to be.  It will be MY writing room and no one else will have a say as to how it looks but me and my imagination. 

I can’t wait for that day.  It will come, but I still can’t wait.  I’ve only been writing since I was about 11 and then it was in a pink girlie room full of stuffed animals, which I still love and the touches of the freak to come.  One day.  One day I’ll have it and I’ll love it.  I may get a futon or something so I can sleep there.  🙂  Oh, my gothlings, it’s good to have a dream to hold on to.

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