Kind of a Bio. Kind of Poetic. Kind of Pointless....
Okay, so it occurred to me today that amongst all the posts I write, I rarely post about myself, and therefore my friendlist (on the whole) probably doesn’t know a whole lot about me. That said; I’m not going to post a huge dissertation about myself. Nope. Just some random bits of information that should give you clues to what I’m like as a person.
Main points are bolded.
My name is Ami. You can call me whatever you like.
I have LOTS of siblings, but of the ones I grew up with (ie: my mothers children) there are 6 of us in total. It goes like this:
Eldest brother: Born August, 1980
Older brother: Born January, 1983
Older sister: Born February, 1987
Me: Born June 08, 1988
Younger sister: Born February, 1992
Younger brother: Born October, 2000
I was born in England, raised in Wales, went to High School in Florida and moved back to Wales afterwards.
I work 32 hours a week, as a Night Care Assistant in an EMI Residential Care Home.
I write a LOT. I have an agent for my original work. (This happened in the last five weeks, no news on the publishing front yet.)
My family comes first in everything I do, even though we live miles and miles (and sometimes an ocean) apart.
Every Mothers Day, since I was fifteen, I have written something for my mother. It’s usually a short story, but in 2006, I wrote her a poem, which I’ll share here.
My Author, My Mother.
Each and every lifetime is a story in the making;
Times that make one happy and the times that leave one aching.
The broken dreams or half-baked schemes
That children often plot.
The lessons taught or the first fight fought
For a reason you forgot.
These moments become pages in a persons ‘Lifetime’ book,
Which they may read at any time - if just to take a look.
I am my own author as I put my pen to page;
I mature with each chapter; I grow with more than age.
From chapter one, where I begun
To shape who I would be.
To this day when I can say
That I am proud of me.
Though everything that happens affects my reality,
My character was written with a fixed mentality.
The why of how this came to be is very clearly shown:
In the prologue of my book, the first words are not my own.
A gentle soul made this child whole
And granted me a home
My person writ and then raised fit
To take charge of my own tome
My author was my mother and I thank the cosmic twist
That caused her to craft my story and allow me to exist.
She did not plot my lifetime but my character she wrote
She instilled me with her kindness and upon my heart she left a note
In desperate times her message chimes
As I waver with my pen
Then I recall my authors’ scrawl
And I start to write again.
Have you ever read a novel that you could predict unto the last?
It’s the random things that happen, that make life a real blast.
So even if it’s tragic and this paragraph is bad.
It doesn’t mean your story is going to be sad.
These words in mind, I can find
The will to write my tale.
I thank my mum for all she’s done
To make this character hale.
You wrote my person mother, and then handed me the key.
So I shall continue what you started and craft my destiny.
~Ami H
And that about does it for me. That’s me in the briefest of nutshells. Feel free to ask questions and whatnot. I’m always willing to answer any reasonable (and unreasonable) questions. Besides, I never know what to write in these things….
Also, feel free to gank the poem for your own mothers if you find you’ve forgotten her birthday/mothers day or the like. No credit needed. (I highly doubt anyone’s going to take me up on that anyway. I was 18 when I wrote it, and it shows.)
Main points are bolded.
My name is Ami. You can call me whatever you like.
I have LOTS of siblings, but of the ones I grew up with (ie: my mothers children) there are 6 of us in total. It goes like this:
Eldest brother: Born August, 1980
Older brother: Born January, 1983
Older sister: Born February, 1987
Me: Born June 08, 1988
Younger sister: Born February, 1992
Younger brother: Born October, 2000
I was born in England, raised in Wales, went to High School in Florida and moved back to Wales afterwards.
I work 32 hours a week, as a Night Care Assistant in an EMI Residential Care Home.
I write a LOT. I have an agent for my original work. (This happened in the last five weeks, no news on the publishing front yet.)
My family comes first in everything I do, even though we live miles and miles (and sometimes an ocean) apart.
Every Mothers Day, since I was fifteen, I have written something for my mother. It’s usually a short story, but in 2006, I wrote her a poem, which I’ll share here.
My Author, My Mother.
Each and every lifetime is a story in the making;
Times that make one happy and the times that leave one aching.
The broken dreams or half-baked schemes
That children often plot.
The lessons taught or the first fight fought
For a reason you forgot.
These moments become pages in a persons ‘Lifetime’ book,
Which they may read at any time - if just to take a look.
I am my own author as I put my pen to page;
I mature with each chapter; I grow with more than age.
From chapter one, where I begun
To shape who I would be.
To this day when I can say
That I am proud of me.
Though everything that happens affects my reality,
My character was written with a fixed mentality.
The why of how this came to be is very clearly shown:
In the prologue of my book, the first words are not my own.
A gentle soul made this child whole
And granted me a home
My person writ and then raised fit
To take charge of my own tome
My author was my mother and I thank the cosmic twist
That caused her to craft my story and allow me to exist.
She did not plot my lifetime but my character she wrote
She instilled me with her kindness and upon my heart she left a note
In desperate times her message chimes
As I waver with my pen
Then I recall my authors’ scrawl
And I start to write again.
Have you ever read a novel that you could predict unto the last?
It’s the random things that happen, that make life a real blast.
So even if it’s tragic and this paragraph is bad.
It doesn’t mean your story is going to be sad.
These words in mind, I can find
The will to write my tale.
I thank my mum for all she’s done
To make this character hale.
You wrote my person mother, and then handed me the key.
So I shall continue what you started and craft my destiny.
~Ami H
And that about does it for me. That’s me in the briefest of nutshells. Feel free to ask questions and whatnot. I’m always willing to answer any reasonable (and unreasonable) questions. Besides, I never know what to write in these things….
Also, feel free to gank the poem for your own mothers if you find you’ve forgotten her birthday/mothers day or the like. No credit needed. (I highly doubt anyone’s going to take me up on that anyway. I was 18 when I wrote it, and it shows.)