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Not an introduction, but thoughts about you, you are willing to write. (1 Viewer)


Senior Member
When I was a sixteen year old girl, I had dreams of fame and money, through whatever I could do of my skills. Now at forty five, I don't want my ideas, thoughts to burn away with me, unexpressed on my last pyre. So I express, so I write.



Senior Member
When I was twelve years old I read Billy Graham's then-new book on Angels: God's Secret Agents. I was filled with the desire to meet one someday. Now, forty-five years later, I believe that I have, more than once...although I did not realize it until several years later. I still await and eagerly anticipate the day when I may know just as I also am known (1 Corinthians 13:12b).


Senior Member
I am a recovering alcoholic. On March 29 I will have been sober for four years. I spent decades in that Hell and will not be revisiting.
I am not writing this for congratulations or an 'atta boy', writing this helps remind me of how far I have come and what I have to lose if I should ever think that maybe one drink won't hurt. It damn near killed me.
I confronted someone recently about something derogatory they said about addicts. A light bulb went on and I have decided to write a book about the stigma surrounding addiction and mental health.


When I was eight, I suffered from night terrors and sleep polarises. These drove me to seek out the comfort of my mother's bed. I would sleep in the middle, because whilst there was death on either side of my own bed, there was life on either side in my mother's bed. As an eight year old, I did not know I was driving a wedge between my father's expressions of love for my mother, and so did not understand why my father grew resentful of me. I see myself in my father now and wish I could heal that rift, but it's too late. My hope was burned with him. The best I can do is write an allegory of our life together and my regrets.



Senior Member
About two years ago I walked the foreshore [in a professional capacity]. I met the blind Egyptian gentleman and kept him by my side for the afternoon. We shared a coffee, cake. I described for him the wonderful beach and the breaking waves. I told him about the yachts on the horizon, my plans for my yacht.

He said 'I am no ordinary Egyptian, Matthew. I come from a most wealthy family of Egyptians, you shall have your yacht, we will sail together.'

I told all my friends about my fortune and elevation into a higher tier of Anglo-Egyptian society. However, the Egyptian never returned to the foreshore on the next day, I never saw him again, I am sore about the blind Egyptian swindler scam, which it is. I share the warning.