I’m an author, a novelist, a stranger, and a friend.
I write things, wonderfully, marvelous things. Things like mystery, madness, and murder. I write the terror of war and the hunger of dragons that soar over screaming helpless villages. I write the fall of evil wizards and the rise of mechanical beasts. The madness of troubled scientists in search of a cure for life and the brokenhearted warrior on his last charge of the night. I write the smell of coffee late at night and the taste of blood under the moonlight. The bitter cold darkness of winter and glory of Christmas morning when the sunlight glistens through the pines and bounces off the freshly fallen snow. I write the shimmer of gold sparkling in a fresh mountain stream while two bankrupt prospectors square off on a claim. I write happiness, joy, sadness, and pain; cruelty, chaos, and thrillers with green glowing brains. I create worlds out of the ether then crush them with my fingertips. I tell lies, truths, half-truths, and horror all while peering into the soft white glow of liquid crystal. Late into the darkness where South Fork Prairie once bloomed, you'll find me writing quite disheveled and ungroomed.
My name is Joseph Truitt.
Pantalla :
