Writing Meme

Hello dear writer, and thanks for trying out my simple little writing meme. You're truly part of a minority here on DeviantArt, since writing is a very small thing indeed. To do this meme, simply copy and paste the below things, and fill them out as much as you wish; if you need more space, simply add it.


1. Introduce yourself of course. Tell us a few interests; perhaps why you're here on Deviantart, or why you choose to write instead of draw (or both).
Hi...I'm...[insert whatever you call me in your head here]. Welcome to the wild, wacky world of my absolutely insane imagination. Anyone who's been watching me or my stuff knows that I'm currently in LOVE with Sherlock Holmes (particularly the BBC version). I write because...I couldn't say, exactly. There's something very attractive about being able to create my own universes and show people what's going on in those worlds. (And now I sound BONKERS...aren't all of us writers?) (Aren't we?) (IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY TELL ME WE'RE ALL CRAZY.) (Case in point.)

2. Hmmm, that is interesting. Now that the formalties are out of the way, what do you write? (Poetry, stories, etc.)
Interesting question, actually. I'm currently writing a novel with the lovely WickedAwzum13, a short story with the equally lovely Soare, I do fanfics as writing exercises sometimes, and songs/poems as inspiration strikes. Pretty diverse.

3. I see, I see. Well, so what do you like to write about? Go on, don't be shy about it. Nobody's judging you.
Stupid question. Here, I'll make a list, just to be nice
-impossible things
-mysteries
-tiny blue dragons
-teen redheads who enjoy disco music (well, just one of those...)
-girls who can leap through dimensions (again, a specific one. And technically she walks between them.)
-(almost) anything related to Sherlock
-myself

4. I wasn't quite expecting that from you, and think that I thought I knew you. Ok then, how did you really get into writing?
I think it's because I've always loved reading. I'd read a wonderful book, and think, "I want to make something like this." Still do, actually. Now, I also write because I've learned to love it. It calms me.

5. Oh, I can probably relate that. You talked about why, what, and how, so, when did you really start writing?
I was actually writing before I could write. Which sounds like an oxymoron, but when I was three years old, I dictated a long (rambling) story about a princess and a flower (sort of; as I said, it rambled) to my magnificent parents, who wrote it down. My interest faded, until I was nine. I wrote a story about a Japanese girl living in America during WWII, which in itself wasn't extraordinary, but it kind of opened my eyes: people liked my writing. I liked my writing. And I liked writing.

6. That long ago, really? Alright, one last little question, who got you into writing? Did you get inspired by an author, or maybe someone just got the idea into your head to write?
I could go on FOREVER. Maybe I will. Any good author I've read: favourites include(d) C.S. Lewis, Bryan Davis, Cornelia Funke, Gail Carson Levine, Brian Jacques, William Shakespeare, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle...and SO many others I'll think of as soon as this is posted. Two teachers who encouraged me from that story when I was nine: Mrs Matthews and Mrs Little (the latter there continued to appreciate anything I wrote, even things that make me SICK to look back over now.) The amazing Hazel first got the idea that I might actually be able to write a novel into my head. (And now I'll shut up, as this is starting to sound like the acknowledgements of a long, boring book...sorry.)

7. Ok, ok. I suppose that's enough of 20 Questions. So why don't you go ahead and show us a paragraph or a few lines of a poem (but it's gotta be original for this, don't think I won't be watching!)
I had done something very, very, horribly wrong. Instead of resting on the hospital's smooth, hard linoleum, France and I were suddenly ankle-deep in ice water. He had never been very good with inter-dimensional travel, but this time he went positively green.

"Where...are we?" he asked through clenched teeth, trying to pull Charlie's claws out of his t-shirt. The dragon was rather cat-like, I assumed he didn't like water.

Particularly salty, stinging water that is cold enough to make a penguin think twice about a swim. I looked up at my favourite ginger idiot (a title I use in the most loving way possible), but before I could answer, there was a horrible creak, like whatever sinking building (boat?) we were in was slowly separating in two. A blonde woman ran by (splashed, really). She was wearing a dark blue dress that would have come down to just below her ankles had she not hiked it up to mid-calf and was tied to a frankly alarming lack of girth around her waist. She was waving around a scrap of paper. I couldn't read it at the speed she was going, but I did make out the letters T I T A.
  "You know what?" I said to France, pretending that the sick, weak feeling I always got after universe-hopping hadn't just magnified by a lot as the it-was-definitely-a-boat rocked. "I don't think I want to know."

8. Ah, quite touching. I suppose that's all I can really say for this one dear writer within this art site. If you know any other writers, feel free to forc....erm..."politely ask" any other writes you know here, to give their hand at filling this thing out.
Dear:
-DNA
-samanthakh
-Hannah
-Any other lovely writer who took the time to read this and is interested,
DO IT. OR...well, you really don't want to know.
...please, of course.