Alright so maybe I've been denial or something but I am pretty certain I have had (what I have called) writer's block. In reality I just haven't taken the time to write. So after far too long an with one follower in tow I am going to write and with the bitter hope that someone stumbles upon this while Googling ways to make their hair blonder and for myself. So here's the beginning of story that I wrote in my second semester of my first year of college. I have no idea where it's going, but I'm not too worried about it. It's title in Word is In the Beginning. 

It was a dark, dank room. A window sat high on the left grubby, mossy wall, the light from the day outside highlighting the scraped and molded mahogany floors; once beautiful. The glass of the window was scattered with cracks and a few shattered holes. Ripped rags and torn cloths were squeezed into the openings, in some vain hope that this would keep out the bitter, torturous wind. Misshapen rocks and broken bits of brick were crammed into every open orifice in the surrounding walls. The wind slipped like a serpent through the crevasses, hissing and slithering, bringing with it it’s sense of dread, pity and despair into the devastated house. With that, he turned his back and shut the door on the past.

More soon,

The Blonde and the Bullshit