Stop? I don't think so!

So when I started writing at the age of 16 I figured it wuld be fun to get my mind off everyday stuff. Chores, school, the part-time job I had for almost a year. And I found some amount of comfort in being able to escape from my life. I entered a place where I could be the deciding voice. And I loved it.

I'm not saying that my home life was so bad. Then, or now. It's not. It's a good life. And I hope to write realistic stories to which people can relate.

So I started writing at 16--in 2001, as I recall--and it helped me get through some tough days. I enjoyed exercising my mind in that way. Making up people and events that resemble what I imagine them to be was hugely rewarding. Even though I never wrote anything that was published.

Being published has been a goal of mine for close to a decade. Less than that, actually, if you include the years I was unconscious after a brain injury. The TBI occurred naturally--congenital, my dad called it. It wasn't caused by a car accident, or my falling from a great height. It just happened.

But my love for reading didn't diminish after I woke up again from the coma-like state. Neither did my enjoyment for making up stories. I think my imagination--though abruptly stopped at a young age--has become even more extensive and detailed since then.

I'll be 31 this year, but I'm stil aiming to write and publish my first novel sometime soon. Hopefully before Christmas. It would be a wonderful Christmas gift to give myself. *chuckles*

And not one bit of my writing so far would be worth sharing if not for my tremendous friends. They've been supremely supportive and wonderful. They have good advice for me to follow, and I love them all dearly.