Now, you don’t know me and I’m sure you’ve been told more than a few times never to talk to strangers, but this is the internet—where comments from the unfamiliar are routine and pseudonyms are no more worth noting than an errant twist of string on the carpet—more importantly, this is David’s blog, and from what I gather from the title of it, it’s a place for friends.
So, for the duration of this post, I hope that that’s what you think of me. Truthfully, I’ve only just found this cozy haven, but I’m oh, so glad that I did. His posts have given me something nice to occupy my time with—at least for tonight. My thoughts tend to take darker turns when the sun sets, and his words have brought a burst of positivity and new rhythm to an otherwise stale hour. I’ve never been fond of change. But this is a welcome one.
It’s been a long time since I was genuinely happy from simply reading something.
I’m happier, still, to have found this writing section for guests. I’ve been in a rut recently with my writing, and this has given me an excuse to sit in front of my computer again and just… type. Hopefully it helps. But I’m rambling now. Rambling without even having introduced myself at that. So, because manners demand it, my name—or what I prefer to go by—is Nicholas Rinth. Author. Word weaver. Mildly entertaining house guest. And friend.
I run a writing blog called, Scrawls of an Idle Mind, and it’s filled with open letters, poems, short stories, brief lines conjured from excess thought, and random posts about my life. I have a fondness for coffee and epic fantasy novels, and have just recently started offering my services as a book formatter. Though my one true love is and will always be writing (my own books, that is). I’m meticulous by nature, and I like to think I have a good eye when it comes to design, so that’s why I decided to help other indie authors format their novels.
Contrary to the formality of my speech here, I don’t speak like this in person. At all really. It seems, no, it feels too posh. But it is fun to write this way every now and again. There’s something oddly… stimulating about it. Like I’m a pretentious nobleman from my novel. Old and influential. I can already feel the sparks of creativity in my mind beginning to flow once more. Though now that I think about it, inspiration to write never truly leaves me. It’s always the lack of motivation that hinders me from putting my thoughts to paper. But my passions are a discussion for another time. When the sky above my home is less gray and time isn’t so limited.
For now, allow me to thank you for listening. And if time allows, I do hope you write a response back.