It was a dark and chilly night. The dogs were carping around the graveyard which woke me up. I glistened to see around me was just heavy haze. Suddenly to my cognisant I was in the middle of an intense mob, delimited by the walking dead. The ghost breaks through me, how bizarre dreams are.
This Post is written for Day#12 of NaBloPoMo which challenges you to a blog post every single day in November. This is a great opportunity to publish posts daily, meet other bloggers, and try something new.
I write a lot, which keeps me off the streets and out of trouble. There is always something to write about, always a new story to craft. Not writing, for me, is like trying to hold back a sneeze. Learning to write was the most powerful influence in my life. I can still remember the awe I felt when I realized I could put real words onto paper and tell out a story. From that first ‘a-ha’ moment I knew I wanted to write.
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