Katie Enos from her Website
Today I would like to post something that I received from Vincent Lowry at GoodReads.
Dear Readers & Authors,
Our group has reached a special milestone mark: 10,000 members! I want to use this opportunity to help out one member in our group who had a daughter who loved to write. His daughter's name was Katie Delia Enos. She died in a pedestrian accident when she was 14, but she wrote hundreds of pages of material (poems, songs, books) in her pursuit to become a professional writer.
Katie deserved more time to follow her passion. I hope you'll join me in taking a moment to visit her website, and viewing her book, “The Chronicles of Articia.”
Here are the links to Katie's Work:
Katie's Book: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15...
Katie's Website: http://www.kdenos.com/
Katie's Goodreads Profile: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/...
I hope you will visit Katie’s site and read some of her work. This is truly a life cut short too soon, which goes to show you that you need to make every day count. Here is a short piece:
The Person Hiding in My Reflection
By Katie Enos
Colored like a sunset tide is a gaze sharply slicing through the reflective glass. A furrowed brow is set much too seriously, as if trying to unfold the pieces of the face that stared back at it. One eyebrow is raised skeptically, always calculating and analyzing its surroundings. I tilt my head trying to see the deeper meaning in my features, trying to imagine the connection between my looks and my character as I stare in the mirror for the required five minutes.
From the dark brown hair fastened tightly in a bun, a curl as bright as woven gold comes loose. A flash of unruly hair prominent through the typical browns is like my temper; al-ways there, but not always visible. I begin to grow frustrated with the girl in the mirror, and she cocks her hip as if mocking me. In a moment, her lips curve in a half smile, not quite detectable in sight but rather in feeling, like the sensation of something good just around the corner. A chin was set high in a stubborn fashion, symbolizing either persistence or complete adamancy. Shoulders are held stiff like ancient mountains, proud but slightly arrogant.
The image watches with the misty eyes of a daydreamer, glazed over with a sort of trance as if in the middle of a reverie, or a vision. Every once and a while, her true fears surface in those eyes, terror that her life would amount to nothing, that her work would have no impact. Words written are meant to be read, and sometimes I worry that my thoughts and ideas will be lost with time.
My dream is to be an author, to be immortalized in print and live forever in the minds of avid readers. I want to access the power in being able to shape the minds of the young and open, and alter the minds of the old and resolute. Imagine the power in living forever, and passing on your ideas through generations. With each new reader, a new layer of meaning is uncovered in writing, meaning that even the author may not have seen. In the mirror, I see a girl that wants to change the world, and change the way people think and reason.
Reflection and image mean nothing, for the girl in the mirror is more than a one-dimensional picture. She is someone who has followed my footsteps with every lesson learned, and every mistake made. She has been there to help me find a foothold in the world, and to catch me when I fall. As the lights blink out, obscuring her face, I realize that although that image is one that will puzzle me in years to come, she and I aren’t so different after all.