My name's Carrie.
This is me:
I'm a maths student in Newcastle, UK.
I'm a non-denominational Christian.
I'm writing my first novel: hopefully the first of many. I'm pretty close to finishing my final rewrite before I try to get it professionally edited. It's intended to be one of a trilogy, about vampires. I know what you're thinking, but although that genre has been much used in recent years I think there are still a few drops left at the bottom of the barrel that aren't someone else's backwash. My unique - so far as I know - selling point is scientifically plausible vampires.
I'm an introvert and would be quite happy to be a recluse, but that's not going to be feasible.
I enjoy reading as well as writing: I don't get as much done as I used to, between university and my new rule for getting on with the novel, but I do my best. I also like crosswords and puzzles, and blogging, social networking and generally surfing the web. I have quite a good social life, actually, it's just that most of it is online.
I love cats.
I love how unspoiled they are, how much like their wild ancestors, that a cat that's allowed to grow up and be independent is basically a wild animal, a little wild predator that trusts me enough to like nothing better than to go to sleep pressed tight up against me. I love how intelligent they can be. I love how diverse they are, in looks and character, how you will never meet two cats the same, and it makes me sad that pedigree cats are becoming more and more popular, and the breed standards more and more extreme. I often hear people now, on seeing a cat, automatically ask what breed it is. Moggies are healthier, as well as being everything I love about cats.
This is my cat, Poppy:
She's the best cat breed: a pedigree moggie. That's my favourite photo of her; I love her expression.
The black thing on her collar is her door key: we had to get an electronic catflap when the neighbourhood bully, a great, muscular, black-and-white beast appropriately named Arnie, started coming in and stealing her food. It had the added bonus that after she'd been locked out a few times she decided to stop getting her collar off!
My little brother will probably shoot me if I don't point out that she's the family cat, not mine. But the point is pretty academic since none of us really own her. She's a traditional, free-ranging outside cat, who stays with us because she chooses to, and we are equals.
I would tell you more about her, but if any of you want to hear me fulfil the classic stereotype of a cat-obsessive wittering on for (more) paragraphs about the idiosyncrasies and achievements of her darling, you can just email me (feel free, if you like!)