I guess there comes a time in your life when you have to decide to stop saying "I'm going to be this one day", and start saying "I am this". So I will. My name is Steve, and I am a writer. A writer of what? Well, I guess at the minute I'm trying to get into the film industry, coming up with and writing scripts whilst I work away and learn at Uni about how to make films and such. I do still think there is a very good chance I'll end up writing novels (my original goal), articles, or at worst, a writer for Hello magazine commenting on how a 50 year old Jordan looks now her boobs have sagged, like we care. Of course, this is assuming anybody would give a rat's arse about what I had to write or say, but if you're still reading this now, I've at least got your attention.
Just because I class myself as a writer doesn't mean I'm some stuffy little lockaway who lives in mounds of mounds of crumpled up paper, although I will probably one day grow the traditional "writer's beard" which contains crumbs from last week's shortbread. Well when you're hard at work you're allowed to be messy, right? I like to have a laugh and be immature, I still think saying the word 'boobies' in public rather loud is funny, as are farts... although walking into someone's silent fart is not, but that's another matter.
Equal rights is a concept that defeats itself before it's began, anybody who makes a big thing about being racist may aswel be a racist themselves, and anybody in a wheelchair should be allowed a lifetime supply of Jaffa Cakes... my reasoning for at least the last of those should be clear. This is me, I am Steve Everett, and I'm going bald at 19, life is lovely. If you want to know more about me, force me to hear about you, have a go at me, or just genuinly feel like adding me on a whim, go for it. Until then, I shall regret ever admitting that my hair is in fact receding, boo-bloody-hoo.
Tata.
