Literature
You want me to believe that if my gift remains idle that it will eventually fade,
But, if you can just invade my consciousness for a brief period of time,
♡
I listen to the voices in my head. Those vibrant personalities that struggle to permeate empty spaces. They’re nameless, yet familiar faces, that constantly speak to me and beg to be liberated. ntil I acknowledge them, there is no inner peace as they endeavor to unearth the impetus that inspires me to create. Once they’ve succeeded, those impulses are ignited, and I have no choice but to tell their stories of suspense, romance, mystery, and heartache. These characters are my family. They are a part of me. And they are the reason I write.
Welcome inside the mind of Robin Michele Carroll, a writer who currently resides in Englewood, Colorado. Robin began writing short stories at the age of nine, but her artistic journey didn’t truly begin until eleven. That’s when she created her own soap opera in junior high and became known as the little girl with the big imagination. Her formation of “The Search for Love” made her popular amongst her peers as the pages of Robin’s drama circulated throughout the halls of the middle school she attended. Eventually, the teachers learned about the content, and Robin was called to the principal’s office with her mother. She was told that the subject matter was too mature, and that she was no longer allowed to share it with her classmates. However, the school didn’t want to squelch her talent, so they placed her in an English class with a teacher who helped Robin hone her skills. There, the seeds were planted, and Robin realized that she was born to be a storyteller.
Why I Write
A little glimpse into the heart behind the words.
Robin's Journal
A private collection of thoughts, stories, and the reasons I keep writing.
You will find vibrant personalities struggling to permeate empty spaces.
Nameless, yet familiar faces, speaking to me, begging for release,
There is no peace, as they endeavor to unearth the impetus that inspires me to create.
Petitions will not abate, for without me they cannot exist,
It’s past midnight, but the declarations in my head persist, with no discretion of the hour.
They devour my thoughts with amazing narratives of heartache, suspense, and romance.
I yearn to give each character a chance, but only a few will be liberated and grace the page.
Once free, they can steer the direction of the script as I portray their coming of age.
My inner voice will rage, as I’m the vessel chosen to give birth to such unique stories.
I bask in the glory of inception, relishing moments that precede their reception into the world.
Throughout the process, obscenities are hurled as delivery becomes strenuous.
The attempts to persevere are disingenuous, and the labor pains force me to abort.
The break in creativity erects a fort of uncertainty that’s powerful enough to block my vision.
My mind is crippled by division, with the belief that my talent is slight.
I may have to surrender to my plight, since I’m momentarily incapacitated by the stench of fear.
My personal censure is unclear when it’s frequently stated that I’m an excellent storyteller.
I internally flinch at readers’ compliments because I don’t consider my writing to be stellar.
I’m my own worst critic, with acidic opinions that cause me to question a person’s sincerity.
But, there’s no disparity in their accolades — it’s clearly me.
So I need to abandon my insecurities.
Thus, to circumvent prematurity, I press forward and produce a beautiful offspring.
Literature’s cries bring elation — I’m filled with gratification as she opens her eyes and breathes.
What I conceived is now tangible, and it reminds me of why I endure the discomfort of birth.
It’s worth all the sleepless nights and sacrifice, as I strive to live my life without regrets.
And no matter how many rejections beset my work, my passion for words will always prevail.
Some may dislike my imagery and particular style, but their sentiments don’t mean I’ve failed.
And although doubts and indecisions may temporarily assail me, I must keep Literature alive.
I’ll provide her with the tools needed to survive.
I’ll feed and nurture her and teach her to fight.
Because if Literature dies, a huge piece of me will die too,
which is why I will forever write.
Forever Write
A private page from Robin's Journal.
— Robin ♡
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THE KILL PATTERN SERIES
A connected thriller series where every face is a suspect. Every secret leaves a mark.
Every killer leaves a pattern.
I breathe, therefore I write. I think, therefore I create. I dream, therefore I soar… like a bird.
– Robin M. Carroll
