Pendragon
01-31-2008, 12:33 PM
You my friends, seem to be mistaken about me. You think I am a professional writer. I am not. I am disabled, true, which gives me plenty of time to write. I was a star pupil in my English classes, with the exception of never learning to spell due to dyslexia. I wrote my own poetry and most of the class’. I wrote stories that were good enough to send to magazines in high school. I chickened out.
Returning to Collage (Graduated Summa cum Ladue in IST, 2000) with my brain pretty much fried, I won the short story contest and $50 in a Bank Bond. I ran on memory, mainly, because I was in a fog. I had no idea outside of my narrow world of home and collage what was even happening. I graduated, and went to work building computers, repairing computers, building networks, doing tech support, setting up an ISP, etc. I was still in a fog. Nothing existed outside my job or my home. I wrote poetry and set it off for publication.
Finally, one piece of cold reason broke through and took me out of my job. I have not worked anywhere since. I am normal when my medicine is right. When it isn’t I am usually in the hospital. Lock down. I have never published a book. All my poems were published in the small press, where you get a copy of the book. Some were published in on-line magazines. I had almost 60 short stories published on an on-line site. I got paid nothing. I am not a professional writer. I am a sick man who writes for therapy. If I seem a genius writer, I can lay claim only to the fact that my IQ is high enough to be genius. That’s why Bi-Polar is also called the brilliant madness. It sucks.
I am Dale Harris, and I am a human being.
Returning to Collage (Graduated Summa cum Ladue in IST, 2000) with my brain pretty much fried, I won the short story contest and $50 in a Bank Bond. I ran on memory, mainly, because I was in a fog. I had no idea outside of my narrow world of home and collage what was even happening. I graduated, and went to work building computers, repairing computers, building networks, doing tech support, setting up an ISP, etc. I was still in a fog. Nothing existed outside my job or my home. I wrote poetry and set it off for publication.
Finally, one piece of cold reason broke through and took me out of my job. I have not worked anywhere since. I am normal when my medicine is right. When it isn’t I am usually in the hospital. Lock down. I have never published a book. All my poems were published in the small press, where you get a copy of the book. Some were published in on-line magazines. I had almost 60 short stories published on an on-line site. I got paid nothing. I am not a professional writer. I am a sick man who writes for therapy. If I seem a genius writer, I can lay claim only to the fact that my IQ is high enough to be genius. That’s why Bi-Polar is also called the brilliant madness. It sucks.
I am Dale Harris, and I am a human being.