My name is Candace. I don't find a picture of myself or a physical description very important when describing who I am. I prefer words. I'm tempted to just copy and paste my elftown description into here, but I know better. Besides, it can be fun to start anew.

I love to write, words are my toy, my weapon, my play mate. They are the material from which all things fantastic are made, the primordial soup, if you will, of a world in which you are both god, spectator, puppetmaster and helpless victim. I love experiencing the different perspectives of each character, taking on their voices and personas. I don't believe the villain is ever truly a bad guy, and not all stories need one (there are enough invisible devils out there as it is)

I write in a whole bunch of genres. From comedy to depression to erotic horror, I've dabbled in everything my whim has brought me to. I do short stories and poetry mostly, some letters, I'm trying to work on the patience and perseverence to write a novel, but it's hard going and...well, we shall see how it turns out. I'm a member of another writing site, www.storywrite.com and if you're also part of that community, look me up (always under the same SN) A lot of my work is posted there. Hmm...what else is there to say? I do believe a general description should be just a brief introduction...

Ah!

What better way to describe myself than with a sample of my writing? Following is an excerpt from one of the first stories I wrote when I first began to write short stories (a mere 3 years ago). I think you can tell I was influenced a lot bby Hans Christian Andersen's style of writing...if I pique your interest at all, please feel free to message me!:

The Doll

She sat up on the shelf in a room long neglected. A happy child had once lived here but now she was all grown up and living in her own house. Her parents hadn’t had the heart to change this room, and so they’d left it, a frozen piece of time in a home where so much had passed. Nothing much ever changed, dust settled everywhere and was never wiped away, the air remained stale, still, old. Days passed and years went by, but no one ever seemed to notice. The toys and furniture all lay in a pleasant slumber, dreaming of the days when the sunshine had streamed through the window and they had held tea parties and ballet performances with their lively young owner. It seemed that this room was no longer a part of the world, a part of time, and that nothing could touch it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Want more? The rest is in this link:http://storywrite.com/story/42568

Want something else? Message me, I'll be glad to share.

Also, I do enjoy reading, mostly humor stories/scripts/poems. If you think you've got the greatest punchline in the world on your hands, feel free to send it to me, I could always use a good laugh :)