Basta!

Basta!

Enough—I have had enough. I don’t have to prove to you that I am a writer, a very good writer. No, I am not famous and I don’t make a living at this—at what I love most to do in this world. Selling—selling my work well is my dream. Writing is hard and getting fame is even more so. I would give my life to make my dream come true now and not later, when I am dead. I always have had the need to express myself. It’s something built in inside me and if I can’t do it, I feel bad, as if somebody or something is depriving me of  food or shelter. My work is all to me. One novel in particular—my first novel—is the story I had to tell before I told any other. It is a tale of feelings, of longing and of love found and love snatched away. It tells of loneliness, of wanting someplace safe and good. I was born to write Different Flags.

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