What do you think of this, it's some of my book?

I鈥檝e never believed in idle minds, I鈥檝e never believed in not reaching for my dreams. I was raised to live. And I had rules to live by in my mind. I鈥檓 glad I do, because without any of my rules I wouldn鈥檛 be where I am today. I鈥檓 not talking about the dire stuff, but I鈥檓 talking about the state of mind I鈥檓 in. I was born to become a writer and a reader, or at least I believe I was. But if you don鈥檛 mind dear reader I think I should get on with this book, but where to start? My past is where I think I鈥檒l start the perfect place to start because I love History. And I believe that a person past is a key to their future, but I also believe that you cannot only judge someone on their past or present, because it truly does nothing to predict their future. It only holds them back from being someone in your mind, and it holds you back from recognizing the true person that they are. So lets go and visit my past the way I interpret it as of now.





I was born May 25th, 1995. I was brought into the world by two people, one was a man, and the other a woman; their names were, are, and forever shall be Jeffrey Robinson and Bridget. I鈥檒l never really know what to call her, my mom. I鈥檒l always be torn between what she says and what she does, but yet she my mother and how can one fully forsake their own mother? The woman may strike a high price for bringing you into the world, they may try and take you out of it; but I鈥檝e found that I cannot lash back at my mother with my fists, with my hands, with my legs. I鈥檝e found that striking her is an agonizing notion; and to all those who say if my mother did that to me and make ideas pop up in their heads. You are wrong; would you raise a finger to harm your mother? The answer for me is no, but you choose your ways, your life is yours.



I was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma. A humid, tornado kind of place. When I was maybe one or two we moved to McMinnville, Oregon, my hometown. It may be small but it is large in my heart. Memories flood me whenever I return there, and I welcome those memories with the greatest warmth; McMinnville frequently creeps up on me even in such a different place as Albany, Oregon. Each season had a certain smell in McMinnville, each one was particularly pleasant. My Grandparent (Amma and Papa) owned a tree farm over in Yamhill, Oregon and I would often visit them.



They used to have cows you know? They weren鈥檛 their own cows but neighbor who wanted the cows on one of our empty fields. I distinctly remember mooing at the cows and talking to them while leaning on the fence. I was a happy child on occasion, I didn鈥檛 have the perfect childhood; for I was brought out of my childhood at the untimely age of nine, but still I had a childhood. Though a short one.



I would constantly gaze across the fields of my Papa and Amma and see the lone tree. I would think about that tree carefully, I would always decide that it was the best tree that there could be in the world. Peaceful and alone, it had time to its self; it could grow where it wanted and how it wanted. Plus it could grow as high as it wanted. That tree was like a role model, that tree was what I wanted to be. As crazy as it sounds, I wanted to be like that lone tree, solid and standing every year. It never cowered, it was not a coward it was brave. It faced the snow, it faced the sun and it laughed at the rain and sleet. It smiled at the lightning and dared the wind. That tree was a perfect tree, big, strong, silent, understanding, loving, yes loving, peaceful, and brave. That tree was everything I wanted to be in my life and more. And to this very day that tree is my role model. So just try and beat that tree Mia Hamm, Tiger Woods, Christiano Ronaldo, and Michael Phelps. Just try and beat that tree.

What do you think of this, it's some of my book?
I think it's very good. Watch your punctuation; there are one or two mistakes there, but I'm sure you'll pick these up on re-writes. I do like your description of the lone tree. I think that's excellent metaphor. Remember that when you present a manuscript, you must indent the paragraphs, not justify them as they are in your story. But all that's picky. No, you've done a lovely job. Whatever you do, don't stop writing. You certainly have talent. Well done.

Good luck

Mike B