The Path to a Career

I just wanted to explain to the aether of the digital realms why I’ve wanted to become a writer, but first of I should perhaps start with what I thought I wanted to be…

My Previous Dream Jobs

When I was younger like many people I was asked “what do you want to be when your older?” So naturally I would give it just a minute at most, to think of some profession that I would like to do completely on a some what impulsive manner. Many children would naturally call out some outlandish job, accompanied by the vaguest of non-descriptive reasoning’s. You know the bog standard replies children of that age sprout like they believe they are 100% sure what their destiny entails, what they want to become because they saw someone on TV, despite having never met the person or researched what would it take to earn a like for like position. That or because they come from a long line of family members in [Insert profession here], like it was a vocation that has to be passed on generation after generation.

I’m sure that I would have come up with something along those lines, however due to the length of time that has since passed and the fact I don’t have an eidetic memory, I am unable to tell you just what I would have claimed to have been my“dream job”at the time.

Now going back as a teenager I can; As an adolescence and indeed until this day I have had a very strong fondness towards video games, practically to the point that it has and for the most part still is an addiction; as quoted to me by a psychiatrist…but that’s from different story. So naturally having such a profound desire to work for a company would allow me that privilege, I would attempt to learn coding. I have tried on more that one occasion to attempt this, resulting in the several ill informed purchases of tutorials and “how to” guides on this very topic. All would ultimately prove to be futile attempts and money wasting endeavours. Understanding that despite my strong feelings towards wanted to work in the game design industry I have a somewhat limited ability to understand the complexity of coding and so I had to pursue other avenues.

It was around the age of 15-16 that at the time that the crime drama CSI had been aired. I loved watching the show and still try to watch it if there is a lack of other interesting shows not being broadcast. This along side of being persuaded to return to sixth form education gave the perfect opportunity to start on the path towards becoming a criminal investigator. If you put aside the fact that CSI forensic investigators in the TV series are a lot more glamorized for the show, and knowing that the comparison is far more gruesome to say the least. This would still be enough to attempted to learn the required A levels for this career path, proceeding the university degree(s) I would most likely need to do so there after. It became apparent after some months of doing both; chemistry and biology at A level grade that it wasn’t working out as first planned. It got to the point that I was in fact started to skip lessons and bunked off in the common room as the stress of it all wasn’t persuading me to keep returning. Excluding the fact that at the time of all this school work I was trying to discover who I really was…I’ll get into some other time.

So after awhile, I ended up ditching chemistry and biology as lessons. Only to continue my Art and IT, I thought would try my hand at becoming a comic book artist/writer…In hindsight the writing aspect would have been the better option but there you go. After purchasing a horde of cheap comics at a local store which specialized in this paraphernalia, I used them for inspiration and embarked again on the alternating fork in the path as a backup plan. A few months of this I decided that really, sixth form wasn’t for me and I ended up dropping out. So given up was I, that I no longer cared about doing anything in general, I had effectively lost my way completely.

Working, The injury and self-employed

The months of apathy that followed would end when I was required to obtain employment to pay for house keeping. Searching for a job wasn’t an necessity at this point due to the fact my mother was currently employed and had put in a good word for me at her place of work. Coupled with the fact that due to past work experience in this same company as a office assistant I was practically given the position, with the interview I needed to attend a mere legal formality of which had no bearing to my earning of the position. A year and a half later working the day to day dealings of a book bindert assistant and an opportunity for a promotion to a machine operator had arisen. Having applied and success earned such promotion I was now working for a time enthusiastically, as a operator of an embossing press machine. This turned out to be nothing more than a stress filled deviation in my career. A combination of the near total lack of formal training and a faulty safety guard on the machine, all resulted in a severe injury to my right hand.

Having recovered physically after a lengthy amount of time and a severe amount of pain I might add, I returned to work for nearly a year until the somewhat unexpected happened. I woke up one morning, readied myself for work and subsequently as I left my home – I broke down. I could not physically make myself go back to work, the thought of which made me mentally and physically nauseous. Requiring yet more medical attention as it became apparent that I was suffering from the after effects of my incident. Many months of attempting to recover from a bout of PTSD, I had made the decision to end my employment with my employer, unable to face the environment and equipment that had almost ruined my life. Years afterwards and all that remained was self loathing and depression, plaguing me constantly as I wanted to do nothing. Wasting away in front of a TV monitor just to edge me ever closer to death, believing that this was going to be my life from now on.

Years of this would result in my Dad coming up with a somewhat unique idea of starting a business; to work self employed refurbishing various power tool batteries and selling various products online; was the corner stone of our business model. Two and a half years of moderate success would unfortunately prove to be not enough to keep the business’s currently rented premises, nor continue it’s collective ability of sustaining the level of supplies for production or reconditioning of our main trading commodities. Afterwards the business would be required to downsize due to the lack of work we weren’t t already un-obtaining, and no longer had the necessary facilities to do so.

I was once again unemployed needing to seek employment elsewhere to keep up with the monthly house keeping payments. Which wasn’t actually required as I still had my insurance claim for my hand injury to sustain me, unfortunately not indefinitely. This was for the most part was the main reason why I never actively sort out new employment with any enthusiasm knowing full well I wasn’t going to be made homeless and destitute for the lack of funds.

What I want to be

After many months of searching for new employment I found myself waking up one morning, with a deep yearning to do something more than just wasting away. The very last remnants of any anti-depressant medication that had once flown through my veins had now completely dissipated, the zombiefied state it kept me under was gone and I could now think freely and act accordingly. Any enthusiasm that would have previously sprung up was no longer being quelled, largely as I mentally shielded myself from putting who I was out there as it were. That is of course if you excluding the many years of apathetic drifting through the days, one by one. As quite frankly I wasn’t in the correct state of mind to contemplate this fully, as anyone shouldn’t attempt to decide on their fate when all it leads to is a untimely dark end.

Having contemplated writing before as previously mentioned, but for comics, the level / amount of writing I wish to do now or will be required, was no where near what I had contemplated before. Certainly not to the degree that I would actually be able to actively turn the idea into a reality, or forge the means to do so – hence this website. Stand-up, sitcoms, sketch shows and panel shows would be become the constant through out the darkest of my years and will hopefully become the main theme and backbone of the type of writing I wished to pursue.

Unlike previous attempts to do anything remotely constructive, the red and green squiggles underneath every mistake don’t deter me. Every mistake made and subsequently corrected merely allowed me to enjoy the process even further, as I know that every correction is something I am learning to better a better standard. Every faulty paragraph, sentence or word made right and having the ability to broaden my vocabulary range while correcting the limited one I currently possess comes an enjoyable step towards a brighter career and future. Word processors and their godlike power of auto-correct guiding me has become my new religion and deity. Liberating me to be able to write and express myself while at the same time allowing it all to be legible for others, regardless of whether or not they actually read it.

Looking back on fact that I started writing a diary at the start of my transition has helped me keep track of my thoughts and feelings. Allowing me on occasion to look back to just how far I have come or grown as a person. All may very well have been a major catalyst to which my desire to write has stemmed from. While I’m not sure if this is true and may never do so, I have to believe that it has had some bearing on my current willingness express myself at a level I have found comfort with. My diary being a personal outlet for any and all of my emotions; this website and all subsequent posts, in turn have become an extended version of it albeit slightly more refined and elaborated (but not exaggerated). On top of allowing me the luxury of venting ideas/beliefs and any creativity that would have normally gone unexpressed.

I am writing these blogs/posts as a means to not only test and train my aptitude for my chosen vocation but as a testament of everything I had worked for. At the very least give a better insight for my family and friends to understand who I am and what I am going through better. As I have often found it far more difficult to actually vocalize my feelings directly. With my website now the forum in which I now vent out anything I wish and to rid myself of any thoughts that have plaguing my mind, no longer eating away inside my skull until I was nothing but a blithering drooling mess.

I hope for the most part you will find these enjoyable, or informative. I be no means wish to upset anyone through writing, however I do accept that this may end up being the case. Trying to please everyone all the time is a futile attempt and I hope that everyone knows that any content on this website it will not be posted with any maliciousness pre-thought from myself.

Thanks for reading.

Laura Steel.

Leap of Faith

Lack of faith

I have never really had a religion. I thought for years that I had found something more, something that would explain away everything that had happened to me…but it would ultimately fade away. I understood some of the excuses why; people trying to find comfort where there was only pain, justification for their lives. Finding peace & serenity where chaos would run riot. Grasping the concept of a religion or the idea of believing in a deity, no matter the moral direction of their apparent motives was no longer possible. Good or bad, they for me were never real enough to give a justification to believe that they do existed. Religious texts, people’s word of mouth, or supposed signs of their benevolence or malevolence wasn’t enough.

Blindly believing in something unknown is so daunting, so alien to me. For as long as I can remember I have never yet believed in any religion or deity. It is a scary prospect and one I still to this day don’t understand why people do so. I even envy people who have that capacity to believe in something so strongly, so profoundly, it can define their own existence. Their sole reason for living and how they act towards others. Even going so far as to dedicate their entire lives to their deities, without so much as nothing but their faith as evidence.I am by no means questioning any ones right to believe in what ever they so do choose, everyone has that fundamental right. For me however, I just can’t contemplate living my life dedicating it to something I can’t tangibly sense, or measurable in some scientifically proven way. Something I can’t; see, hear or feel. Any sense that could prove beyond any reasonable doubt that there is a driving force behind everything we do, everything we are and will be.

That Moment of Realization

The day I truly knew who I was, was a depressingly enlightening moment. I had inclining before hand of who I might or could have been, but had never sought out to put the pieces together. The day the missing piece of the jigsaw was slotted into place, revealing the bigger picture of who I am, gave me a profound sense of being – one that it was truly overwhelming. No longer guessing, no longer wondering why I would do something; that to everyone else would have been out of character. To me my life finally made sense, everything clicked together perfectly.

This would ultimately prove to be the tipping point of my status qou, the apathetic lifestyle I had become so accustomed to, would have to come to an end. I could no longer live my life day by day as a lie, hiding who I really was just to fit in or pretend to be something, or someone I’m not. Just because I though it was how I was meant to be or act, how I was meant to live my life by following everyone else’s example. The truth had to be revealed, but there in lied another hurdle.

Fear had taken hold of me and instead of allowing me to walk freely, it would result in me mentally closing off everything around me. I had created a cage to which there was no escape; no locked door, no air vent to crawl out of, save for only a small barred window. Looking out onto a lush green field, covered with a rainbow of flowers and flittering critters. Among them someone running and dancing through the field having fun; that someone who I should have been. It made me nauseously sick to think that person would never be me.

Forever confining me to this prison, fear would never allow me to to tell the people I loved the most who the real me was and attempting to do so would always prove to be a futile endeavour. Walking past them one day after another, trying to force the words out of my mouth, only to freeze at the last minute. I wanted to stop and tell them but that same fear compelled my legs to keep walking even when I was asked what was wrong my lips quivered but was still unable to produce any coherent sound.

I had become too afraid to say any thing and too angry at myself for not being able to. Venting this anger had become increasingly difficult, almost too much to bare. The normal means of escaping were no longer working and the self destruction would follow – intensifying as the days turned into weeks, the weeks turned into years. Transfixing my attention to a screen of digitized pixels had lost it’s hypnotic effect, and in most instances would only work to worsen the feelings inside; images, films, video games, any thing that portrayed that person I wanted to be, someone I could never hope to become would just exacerbate my feelings towards myself.

My Leap of Faith

The day I came out to my parents, wanting to become who I really am; as a woman, was the most petrifying and yet single best day I have yet to experience. The shock they must have felt would turn to sympathy, telling me that everything was ok. I believed them. Having them both explain how I would always be their child, of whom they loved without question, regardless of how I looked on the outside and only caring about who I was on the inside. It was an overwhelming experience, one that had become the foundation to which I would now grow into the person I always wanted to be, who is now the person I am today.

I too was surprised by how accepting they were, all my fears of being rejected were unfounded and as always hindsight would only serve to kick myself over and over for not trusting my parents as I should have. This would become my leap of faith (admittedly only as a last resort), unknowing of the outcome of my actions. Landing safely having being caught by people who have and always will be there for me.

Everything I had come to accept as the inevitable; the depression, the anxiety, the self destruction was gone. Living my life outside of my self styled mentally created prison wasn’t just an idol fantasy was but a reality. For the first time I could now continue as I see fit, living my life as myself is and forever will be my choice. No longer constrained by my own insecurities, all my doubts about who I was had vanished, ever since my parents accepted me for who I am. Something I will always be eternally grateful, I will always live the rest of my days with the knowledge that I may never be able to repay them in an any deserving manner.

Life after Leaping

I wish I could say it has all been easy but that would just be a pointless lie. That everything could be different as simple as flipping a switch; to have retrospectively become the person I’ve felt like all along. Hoping that all the pain and mental torment I had felt or put myself through all those years was just a nightmare. Nothing will give back those lost years, but now I can spend the remainders to the fullest extent instead of just wasting away dwelling on the what ifs that have until now hindered me to an almost disastrous end.

Eternally grateful that I have my family and friends to thank for all the kindness and love they have shown me, ever since revealing the biggest secret I have ever had to own. From the simplest comment to the warmest hug ,it has all helped me get to the point in my life that has allowed me to live my life the way I choose. Even the regret of not saying so sooner has been turned into a positive, retroactively looking back I know that the path I now traverse, is the one I was always meant to walk, one that is now free any diversion, at least from myself. There are still many hurdles in my way as with any decision, they will now be faced with optimism and hope, regardless of the unknowns yet to come.

Now that I am now into the second official year of my transition and am awaiting my surgical appointment that will finally cement everything together, I feel safe in the knowledge that I have an array of family and friends that support me through out.

Thank you everyone who has been apart of my life in any positive fashion.

Laura Steel. ©2014

Descrimination and Abuse

Like one too many people on this planet, I have had the unfortunate luxury of being bullied. Across the vastness of human history people have been picked on, abused even killed because they were different. Were they evil? Did they commit heinous acts of violence, have reprehensibly depraved behavior, or commit deeds so morally despicable you wouldn’t have thought it possible?

The short answer is no. They have been bullied for the simple uncontrollable fact; they were different…

Because they had been born with a different set of parameters from the rest of society such as: Having a physical abnormality, suffering from a mentally impairing condition, having a difference in their sexually or they were born with a different set of reproductive organs. Even because they had a different religion (which has been the ultimate cause of many of these misguided acts.), having a difference in belief isn’t a good enough reason.

Reasons that can seem so insignificant, yet are blown out of proportion and treated like a wart that needs to be lanced off, a contagious disease that needs isolating for fear of infecting millions with out so much as a thought for the individual. Individual who has done nothing wrong except being born in the wrong place, in the wrong time, and with the slightness of differences that were out of their control.

First hand experience

I remember back to when I was 6 years old when it first happened, the first time I would be bullied. The reason for my early torment wasn’t because of any of the aforementioned reasons. I wasn’t, from the generalization of everyone of my class, different in anyway. Apart from of my height.

For years I was the shortest in the class, the runt of the playground pack. I often look back and think why did I let this happen? Blaming myself for being so weak in the first place. Height in comparison to most of the reasons for discrimination is so trivial it’s almost funny, although at that age it feels less important of the reason but the general fact of you are being singled out. Feeling isolated, like your family may not believe you or care what your going through (in hind sight they did, when I had told them), that can be a lot to take in at that age and probably still affects me to this day. Pangs of paranoia creep into the back of my mind when I am around people of whom I don’t know, nor have never seen before.

The bulling would start to decline in my later years of my school career. When after a few physical altercations the physically felt pain I felt became dull, it wasn’t as crippling as I had first experienced. From the odd playfully caused dead leg to the intense punch in the spine, none of it would stop unless I made it. In my late teens I started to stand up for myself, I felt a shift in the attitude towards me. The look on the faces of my oppressors wasn’t just funny but pathetically funny. I actually laughed in one persons face as he grabbed my throat and pushed me against a wall as I attempted to walk into the class room.

Mouthing words I couldn’t make out, over the noise emanating from my own head. The angrier he got, the louder I laughed. This wasn’t a nervous laughter, something you do when confronted with a bad situation that someone else is experiencing.

It was the same laughter you get from a well constructed joke, from a professional comedian. You were meant to laugh at because it was genuinely funny, the deep belly laugh that has you in tears from the semi pain of strained stomach muscles. Something to which I have become addicted too ever since…laughing I mean, not being bullied.

Their power over me was finally lost. I wish I could have known what they were thinking, to be confronted by my manic hysterics. The on looker, a friend of the brute grasping me was wearing a bemused face which only added to the hilarity. I have since then felt that this is my general attitude when I’m picked on. A natural defense to a predator stalking it’s prey, you won’t see that on the discovery channel however. I will admit giving your location away is a big no-no, in self perseverance, I may have been a hyena in a different life.

Living with out fear

Now that I am on my second journey of my life time, having now come out as both a trans-woman and bisexual ,I now face self given reason for others to pick on me for being different. I have proverbially given ammunition to the gun wielding manics to free fire at my direction. Am I scared…no. I have learnt to not live in fear, not let my anxieties and insecurities to get the best of me.

How? I’m not sure, I wish I could tell everyone how, it would make it so much easier for others as it has been for me. Either it’s because of my previous experience of being bullied or because I am lucky to be in a country more accepting of others because of their sexuality and transgenderism. I may never know. All I know is I am living my life the way I chose and have not only the law on my side with regards to discrimination but the mass of friends and family I now have for support, an array of human shields to deflect and absorb the bullets of abuse from others…I don’t actually seen them this way, it’s just a metaphor. If your family can’t be used, use children…joking. There’s always someone out there that will gladly help those in need, with out second motives or hidden agendas. People who will always treat you as a person first.

At any rate the best thing I learnt was to stand up for my self given the situation. Not allow others to bully you, not just physically but mentally and emotionally. No one deserves to be abused, in any shape or form. We are all equally different and that is what makes us special. It’s arguable what makes us as a species stronger, but not everyone will see it that way.

If you find yourself being abused please seek help. There are others who can both empathize and sympathize to what you are going through. There are hordes of self help guides and means to contact someone to help you stop the abuse.

If you suspect someone of being bullied don’t ignore it!

Stay safe!

Laura Steel © 2014

Looking for more information on the subject then check out these links: – The official UK governments website. – Doesn’t just have information on bullying but on a wide range of topics. – A step by step guide to dealing with bullying in the workplace.

NHS websites dedicated to bullying in the workplace and in schools respectively.

Learning: Past, Present, Future

Learning as a means to an end has been the corner stone of every great civilization that’s existed to day. Years ago as a child going to school was a painful experience, literally in some cases. Now as an adult I have had the luxury of extra learning courses at my local college as part of a vague attempt at becoming employable for jobs I have no interest it. As with all people of any age, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, finance. It’s the fundamental right of anyone who has the desire to improve their knowledge on any subject they so choose.

The Past

As with most children I was dragged to school (metaphorically of course), and under protest some days if I recall. The long arduous hours of sitting on a stiffly cheap plastic chair behind a MDF topped metal legged table, which always seemed to be the best hiding place for other people’s unwanted gum and/or nose pickings. Tempting the laws of gravity as you rocked back and forth on the two flimsy legs that look like hey could buckle under weight of the precariously sat student, broken up by the sudden shocks of horror as the “friend” behind you pulls on the chair.

There were good moments of course, from the ones I can remember atleast. From a then friend (who was clearly suffering from an undiagnosed case of A.D.D), ridding on the fact that we were laughing when we meant to be working. All the while under the watchful gaze of the clearly fed up teacher, mentally taking notes on our poor performance. Only to get his own back on parents evening by reporting our behavior to our parents, evident by the report card filled with his cursive writing barely legible by anyone other than himself. He undoubted realized they would punish us more than he had the legal power to.

The monotony of school time would rarely be broken up with the occasional trip to the museum or exhibit, featuring the most expensive displays available to everyone without the need to spend exorbitant amounts of money to see them first hand. Even to a camping trip which included a hike that; would end up with me nearly losing my bowls in a field of grain stalks, as a rampant hare tore through it running towards me at blinding speed. The stiff brittle grain stalks flattening under paw leading a narrow trail towards me, nearly passing by like a lone comet about to smash into the Earth only to be deflected seconds before impact.

To the small band of friends to whom I am still on a digital list of faces and names with to this day. Even though we may no longer congregate due to; finding other interests, moving, different priorities. Social media has still kept that chain alive, so that maybe one day we all gather for one last reminisce of the “good old days” before fading away into retirement , too desiccated too fearful to move that we’d crumble to dust.

These would be the good moments the ones I cherish. The bad memories would be the salt in the wound of the whole experience. Being bullied was the cornerstone of these moments but I’ll get into that another time.

The Present

Now after 10 years of being a recluse I have sought out education as a means to an end. Pursuing a career in writing:[enter sub type here]…(I have yet to decide), rather than something I must endure for the first 16 years of my life. College/University and learning as a general rule has become what feels like a new addiction and just because I want to and not because I have to.

Filling my head with the professionally craft words of a lecturer or staring at laser printed sheets of A4. It’s certainly much more safer than inhaling toxins flooding my veins, killing me slowly as a means to distract me from depressive state.

There’s a reason we make learning a legal requirement of parents, raising children in ignorance is morally and ethically wrong.

Having such a large array of courses to choose from is a little over whelming. Finding something to cater to my thirst, improving my knowledge base so I can kill any remaining ignorance left in my head. Stomping on it like a weed and pulling up the roots to never grow again is an ever .

This had only been re-enforced due to a chance meeting with a fellow trans-woman who has branched out my social life, one I was sorely in need of. If there are shining examples of coincidence this was one of them. Not only that but meeting several people who are writers themselves this has to be fate.

The Future

So now I await for the next stage in my continued quest for knowledge, attempt to unlock the potential life has to offer me. September 2014 is going to be the starting phase of what should hopefully be 4 years of hard work, hopefully my brain won’t dissolve into a grey puddle of mush draining through my nose and ears. With any luck be a fun filled adventure of new places, people and opportunities. No more of my years will be wasted doing nothing like; blankly starting at a screen, being ruled by apathy and depression. Depression that has all but diminished, with the small slivers left slowly eroding away with the new found social life I have been blessed to be apart of.

To many and myself, being able to learn is one of our greatest tools we could ever hope to posses, it is after the main reason we have become one of the most dominant species on the planet. Even if it has irreparably damaged the planet, caused the death of millions, caused untold horrors of destruction…oh dear bad examples! Forget that last part. Regardless of the negative impact learning can have it’s a massive leap away from ignorance of not wanting to know, not wanting to open our minds to new ideas because what we may know may inevitably come back around and hurt us. That’s why we use history to learn from our mistakes, even make them in an attempt to distinguish the different between fact and fiction and fantasy.

Life is about living, learning and loving. Ignorance is not bliss. Knowledge is.

Until then keep studying. I know I will be.

Laura Steel.

The definition of Digiscriptura and a bit about me.

Why Digiscriptura?

In the many hours of trying to come up with a somewhat witty site name address for my blogs (which seemed like such a minor feat at the time of creation), I almost fried my brain. Ironic as it took me next to no time coming up with my own name, some thing that has defined me so profoundly as to change the course of my life.

Coming up with my site’s address name was a truly cruel experience, one I know all to well will be a constant in my pursuit of a career in writing. We all have roadblocks, even if they aren’t life changing they still affect us all the same. This was next to nothing however, compared to some that I have jumped over to get where I am today so there’s at least a silver lining.

This is including the use of the many tools and sites available online for coming up with names I could use, names that would with any luck make my blogs and other writings stand out…all ultimately failing of course. Not that they won’t for anyone else, just me in this particular instance.

What does it mean? It may mean nothing to no one, something to someone or every thing to every one. Doubt it.

Anyhoo…pretentiousness out the way. [disinterested smiley here]

Trying to be more creative, I found myself turning to Latin. Now I don’t speak Latin. The only phrase I know in Latin is “carpe diem” and who doesn’t know that? I just about passed English and it’s my native language, that’s not something I like admitting but extenuating circumstances affecting my school life were to come into play and often without my realizing.

This concluded with me only receiving a C grade in English GCSE (and that was only after I attempted it twice), so I hope you know the level I’m working from. It still provided a platform on which I came up my title, just because I didn’t wan’t something bland but something that makes sense. It atleast does to me and that’s all I care about.

Here it is broken down…(this is according to Wiktionary’s accuracy) The links are to the pages in question in case your interested.

Prefix: digi-


Noun: scrīptūra

a writing, something written
a composition (act of writing)
a passage of scripture

I actually done a little dance the second it popped onto my screen. Over eight hours of blanking at the screen was finally over…and yes I actually spent eight hours trying to think of the name, the brain cells were clearly on a holiday suffering with jet lag, drunk on an exotic drink by the pool.

I am aware also that I have dropped the accented letters because it would have quite frankly been a hassle constantly typing it out, also have you noticed it rhymes with Laura thats an awesome coincidence. So to me it’s the perfect word for what these vague attempts at writing are all about. What I am all about. Specially as I try to forge a career into a world I know very little about but have every desire to experience to it’s fullest extent possible.

The bit about me.

With all that out the way, I hope that over time I can come up with something that will at the very least get rid of this nagging urge to do something with my life. One that only sprang up earlier this year as I continued to update my personal diary. Something that I at first dismissed as a tool that wouldn’t work venting my thoughts and feelings as a childish pass time.

It was to become one of the single best things I had started doing and still do to this day. My heart would sink the day six months ago I thought it lost (as it only existed digitally at this point), when it was obliterated from my computer when it had become infected with a virus. Causing me to morn it’s loss like a dead pet, or celebrity you have a trace amount of fondness for. The grieving was short live when I found the last remaining copy hiding on a flash drive. Tucked away like a hidden gem shining hope back towards me in it’s pixelated form on my screen, amid the other files of unknown origin and function.

So there it is, hopefully in time I can pick up the pace and flood this site with posts of various writings and the like. Hopefully they will be better written as my journey for a career continues, we shall see.

I feel the need to put a shout out to and Both have become my favorite tools for pursuing my little hobby/potential career, both of which will more than likely be life long companions on my journey as a writer…assuming they are maintained for the duration of my life and/or career…which ever dies first. So epic kudos to their creators and benefactors. You have my sincere thanks.

Until then.

Laura Steel ©2014