I love a good heroine. Don’t you?
I want the girl that’s never thrown a punch to have the courage to hit back. I want the lost soul to triumph. I want to see people do the right thing. I want good to win out over evil. I’d like to think that in the end, things are going to be okay. I want to watch imperfect women accomplish amazing things.
After all, my world is not normal. I’m little warped. I probably spend way too much time alone. At a time when other women are getting married and having a family, I spend my time trying to find my way as a freelancer and running around Los Angeles parking cars on the weekends. I have an odd affinity for weapons. I paint. I really need to finish those novels. I frequently freak out. I have a dog who is lovable but also a little not right in the head, which is probably why we get along. I bake a lot. Most of the time I’m behind on my work, a situation that could probably be rectified if I read less. I sing in the car. A lot. Too much time nocturnal has resulted in a pretty hard core sunglasses habit. Most of my important possessions are attached to me with carabiner since my ongoing absentmindedness means I’m constantly losing things. While my trust is hard to win, once gained I am loyal to a fault – a trait which upon occasion has admittedly gotten me into a couple sticky situations. I know that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is leave. I resigned myself to being on the shelf around the age of 12. I understand the need for reality, but still hope for a happy ending. I love a good story. I want mine to be one of them. I want to prove that imperfect women can accomplish amazing things.
I want to be the heroine of my own life, and it turns out… that’s a lot harder than stories would have you think.
