Okay, first, a little back-story before the actual story... story. (Whatever that meant) This whole thing started with me, as a child. I was very short then. I was also moderately crazy. Some things never change. Regardless – as a moderately crazy short person, I spent a lot of time living in the imaginary world inside my head. Again, some things never change. In fact, the only difference between my presently tall self and my formerly short self is that I have developed a convincing rationalization for the amount of time I spent wandering around inside my own head (and, consequently, the amount of time I spent blindly walking into walls and burning things on the stove.) I have taken up a career in the arts. Architectural designer by day, writer, photographer and space-cadet by night, I work tirelessly to confuse people and never finish anything I start.
This, however, I will finish. I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die.
See, the last twenty-five years spent lost in my own imagination have not been fruitless. (Insert appropriate/inappropriate ‘fruit’ joke here.) I built an entire world in that time. Wait. Scratch that. I built a part of a world. The city limits get a little blurry and then everything just sort of spills of the edge. Regardless, I built a house. I dreamt about the house. Then, as with all dreams, I borrowed pieces from my life and used them to fill it up and flesh it out. If I had a psychiatrist, he or she would probably say that this is why I have trouble deciphering fiction from reality. I do not have a psychiatrist, however. So there goes that.
Drawing Pictures of Birds is my first book. It’s almost done. Stop rushing me. I’ve only been working on it my entire life. There’s a lot involved in writing a book. You’ve got to work out the story, find and use real words that people understand, throw the manuscript out the window, dig through the bushes and pull it out, dust it off, get drunk, sober up, take some photos, draw some pictures, throw the manuscript out the window again, etc. It’s an endless cycle but I’ll be done soon. Promise. Swear to dog.
Check back soon for updates, excerpts, news and even more tantalizing self-deprecation.
Or, check out birds on myspace: drawing pictures of birds
Sincerely,
Your Humble Author
michele sherin piazza
This, however, I will finish. I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die.
See, the last twenty-five years spent lost in my own imagination have not been fruitless. (Insert appropriate/inappropriate ‘fruit’ joke here.) I built an entire world in that time. Wait. Scratch that. I built a part of a world. The city limits get a little blurry and then everything just sort of spills of the edge. Regardless, I built a house. I dreamt about the house. Then, as with all dreams, I borrowed pieces from my life and used them to fill it up and flesh it out. If I had a psychiatrist, he or she would probably say that this is why I have trouble deciphering fiction from reality. I do not have a psychiatrist, however. So there goes that.
Drawing Pictures of Birds is my first book. It’s almost done. Stop rushing me. I’ve only been working on it my entire life. There’s a lot involved in writing a book. You’ve got to work out the story, find and use real words that people understand, throw the manuscript out the window, dig through the bushes and pull it out, dust it off, get drunk, sober up, take some photos, draw some pictures, throw the manuscript out the window again, etc. It’s an endless cycle but I’ll be done soon. Promise. Swear to dog.
Check back soon for updates, excerpts, news and even more tantalizing self-deprecation.
Or, check out birds on myspace: drawing pictures of birds
Sincerely,
Your Humble Author
michele sherin piazza
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