Here's my life: I wake up in the morning and conk my head on the slanted ceiling (this is where I get my brilliant ideas). I roll outta bed onto the floor clutching my aching head and get over it. My regular non-weekend consists of riding the dull yellow Twinkies (buses) to the land of daytime educational facilities most of us know as school. I'm starting out my career in the arts even though my abilities, in my opinion (not so much by others), fail completely. My creativity is 0 but yet I excel in the arts and writing areas, though I usually fail to complete any stories. And so began my pressuring journey to become a member of this website. Maybe, just maybe, this site would pressure me into finishing a chapter or a story without dublessy changing my mind a billion times about the plot or this character or that. I never finish because of that. I must say, however, that is my real life story. Here's my fantical one:

Drowned in shadows beneath the creaky wooden bridge I hide until nightfall when the moon is lustrous and bountiful in light. There I seek the midnight hunt of night. Of course, human blood is not my fancy. I was raised on the liquid life of animals and the occasional animal cracker to suit my half human needs. My preference rested the night in which I was born from the flesh of my deceased human mother. I was raised by her brother to be human, even though my father was a vampire. He did love my mother and could not bear to convert her into another vampire. He always told me to be kind and blessed for my mother died for me. I lived out in the country and my father came to visit twice every month when he could. His smile touched and pulled at my heart when he left every time. He'd go around the world in search of others like him and every visit he'd bring me a little present from all the places he traveled. I left these memories behind. The remembrance was unbearable. I wished every moment would rewind so I could be a little kid again. Now I travel where I please and know not the whereabouts of my father. I was on my own, living in the plethra of forests in the midwest U.S. My 'bed' was in a canopy of the tallest trees around the lakeside. I usually took a pole and baited a fishing hook to fish for my meals. Can't say my day was eventful, but it was definitely something to do when I didn't want to run around the forest like an idiot. It's a life.

Not horribly well, but it's a start to writing, eh? Ideas and comments are appreciated!