#autobiographical

What does the future hold for me as an Artist and creator? Why do I have so many questions? Behold, thousands of words!

An Autobiographical Exploration of Addiction Vs Addict, and the Effects of an Addictive Personality

Here is the first part:

@improv told me the #freewrite today was nails, not nail, so this is all a lie. jk. But that really did happen. You can do it right, but probably late if you're following my link, here. Nails. I cut my

Good morning and good Friday! As for some months now the appointment on this blog on Friday has become the #5cose 'initiative of the blog Twins books lovers that proposes for each Friday a thematic post,

My real name is Krisha, but I'm not so very attached to it. I refer to myself more intimately as dazey, daisie or simply K. With a name like Krisha you become quite easy to google so, as of late, I prefer

Maitreya Devi (autobiographical novel) was born on 1 September, 1914, in Calcutta. University of Calcutta. | Father Surendranath Dasgupta is a world-wide philosopher and philosopher Ashashab Manishi grew

I have probably been asked this question hundreds [edit: thousands!] of times since I moved to Bulgaria (date of arrival: June 20th, 1991). Politicians, ambassadors, actors and actresses, movie and theater

INTRODUCTION: This is a diary, about a question and alot of answers, a memoir, written by a Human which has known since i was born, that i am not in this body for me. I remember being born, very premature

Winter…somewhat later... The night was cold but still, the air crisp and dry. My breath clouded around my head as I trudged through the snow, feeling warm and contented although jovially inebriated after

My oppressive Catholic upbringing led me to a pre-school in the neighboring suburb of Fish Hoek, just east of where my parents had bought their house. At four years old, I felt mortified that my mother

I spent my ninth wedding anniversary in a lock-down psychiatric ward in the hospital. I wasn’t suicidal or high risk like most of the other people there. I just felt like I was closer than I ever had been

For a time, my wife and I held each other tightly. We were in the bathroom. It was spontaneous and effortless. I chanced a glance of her reflection in the mirror as we embraced, and I witnessed the

There's something comforting in knowing that the older I get, the greater risk I run of being my own cause of death. The idea used to terrify me, but after experiencing death in close quarters in my personal

Part One: Rats, Rage and Wrapping Paper  This is a working title to a largely autobiographical story. But I'd prefer if it were considered fiction. Please provide feedback.