Writes. Reads. Blogs. Draws. Makes (super-awesome) graphics. Interested in photography, web designing, computer programing, videography, film making, and directing. I am a Japanese enthusiast, too.

I am just a kid and yet, I would beg time to pause for one second to think, and think, and just think of my dilemmas a typical kid wouldn't have eh-vurr and try to answer them - another thing a typical tween wouldn't do, and again, eh-vurr.

I am dramatic, I think big and I insist it be perfect. I am expressive and I've set the characters in my books my ideals. I listen to the rock music. Most of them your parents and grandparents listen to during their time. You don't know them. Once you begin to like them, too, I'v already ditched them for something not sell-out.

Let me influence you. Twitter, Multiply, Facebook, Friendster, Live Journal, Tumblr, and Plurk.

My blog contains eternal rants with rather appalling use of curses, worshiping of things super-awesome and things all about myself, and myself only. If you find anything within or beyond the norms, may adolescence be blamed, for I have no wish to undergo this stage that brings me pain and humiliation. Naivete is deceiving.

'I think an old, deserted house is such a sad sight,' said Anne dreamily. 'It always seems to me to be thinking about its past and mourning for its old-time joys. Marilla says that a large family was raised in that house long ago, and that it was a really pretty place, with a lovely garden and roses climbing all over it. It was full of little children and laughter and songs; and now it's empty, and nothing ever wonders through it but the wind. How lonely and sorrowful it must feel! Perhaps they all come back on moonlit nights...the ghosts of the little children of long ago and the roses and the songs... and for a little while the house can dream it is young and joyous again.'

Diana shook her head.

'I never imagine things like that about places now, Anne. Don't you remember how cross Marilla and mother were when we imagined ghosts into the Haunted Wood. To this day, I can't go through that bush comfortably after dark; and if I began imagining such thing about the old Boulter house, I'd be frightened to pass it, too. Besides, those children aren't dead, they're all grown up and doing well...and one of them is a Butcher. And flowers and songs couldn't have ghosts, anyhow.'

Anne smothered a little sigh. She loved Diana dearly and they had always been good comrades but she had long ago learned that when she wandered into the realm of fancy, she must go alone. The way to it was by an enchanted path where not even her dearest might follow her.