The Price Of Beauty

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The price of beauty is pain, and hard work, which are sort of the same thing, really. When people gaze upon a beautiful piece of human creation, be it a book, a painting, a tiny carving, often what they do not realise is that behind the beauty and brilliance lies much suffering, days and days of endless, unfruitful labor and toil. Scrape away the gold leaf covering, and beneath there lies nothing but blood and sweat, in messy pinkish-red swirls. Continue reading

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Life Goes On

 

lost.jpgI am very tired. Exhausted, in fact. My brain feels strangely tight, like it has expanded inside my skull and is starting to bulge against the bone. After I write this, I am going to lie down, and sleep, to drift on the dark and pleasant waters of my dreams, the only place where I feel truly happy. Continue reading

My Reason For Living

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I want to write books that are like tiny homes, tiny, magical worlds you can tuck yourself into like a warm bed during the colder months, and feel deliciously happy, safe, comfortable and delighted while inside of them. The true value of books lies not in their ability to astound, delight and amuse, though they certainly do all those things, and in abundance, but to comfort. Continue reading