Amber Rose Warner

Posted 7 Years Ago

Stories whip around in my head, begging to be written. The scenarios, anecdotes, interactions bounce back and forth. Editing themselves for interest.

“....the cold wind whipped against my face, blushing my cheeks apple red. I tucked my hair behind my ear and looked up. She was still talking. Telling me that I wasn’t worthless. That I had value. Rather, she was quite intrigued by the lady who could make her child laugh…”

But I’ve allowed the real world to interfere with me. I’ve permitted everyday living to dull the spark of creativity that I was born with. Growing up, my bedroom floor was littered with short stories and poems. Prose of fantastical women with beautiful spiderweb dresses travelling moonlit paths. I want to capture the surreal thoughts that dance through my mind. I want to tell the stories of those whose paths cross mine.

Instead, I write facebook statuses and file incident reports.