From the den of Wolves one writer did arise. No longer was she the shy timid pup, as a fighter exchanged places. That fighter became the writer you see today. The very same writer fuelled with passion and adoration for the written word, and one that will never lose an inner connection to the Spirit of the Wolf. For the Wolf guided the writer through the darkest roads into the light where creative aspirations were born. From that moment onwards, nothing could withhold the desire to write.
The dawning of time could not withhold the creative urge that surges through a writers veins. Although not a writer from birth, a writer I have become. It started with poetry. A branching arm of expression that toured the rotation of Earth for three years without fail. For three years words would ebb like the tides under the control of the lunar energy and in those years it seemed the light would never shine. But eventually those dark masses overhead evaporated, revealing a road yet untravelled – the road of the novelist.
A road that is still being travelled upon to this very day and one that has suffered many downs. However – life is full of ups and downs and writing is of no exception. Not even me for me.
At least that’s how I see myself to be. I wasn’t actually raised by Wolves, however to spend time with them in any way possible is a dream of mine.