When I was eight I decided that I was agnostic. This was based off of a loose explanation of the “belief” from my mom. I also simply didn’t know what I believed. I wasn’t raised to be religious but I also was not raised to be atheistic either. So agnostic I became. It fit nicely into the little world I had created for myself and had been creating probably since the day I was born. There were monsters, witches, demons, angels, fairies, cats, dogs, romance, death, danger, everything a child like me could need.

What kind of child was I though? A reserved and quiet one for sure. Adults flashed me friendly smiles and I would bury face into my mom’s shoulder. In pre-school I refused to smile for pictures, unconsciously spiting the happy photograph idea. When with friends I might open up, for I could share my fantasies with them and we could travel in our strange imaginations together. Alone, at school, or anytime really that I might find myself bored and distracted was a time for my journeys to begin. When I looked outside the window I didn’t see the playground, I saw a giant friendly eye that descended from the sky to be my protector and helper. When a swing raised me high in the air, I could imagine an angel failing from the sky. I day dreamed so much in school, in fact, that teachers made several reports up until the sixth grade of how distracted I seemed to be all the time. I was even tested for ADD in the third grade to make sure I really was alright. Turns out everything worked fine and I did just have a, lets say, a “daydreaming problem”.

I still get lost in my mind even now. I don’t see it as a problem though, quite the contrary, I love it! It fuels what I adore the most: writing. I have been passionately writing since the first time I was handed a pencil, a wide lined piece of paper and instructed to tell a story at the age of six Though my spelling poor and my grammar worse it became my favorite subject fast. Without even realizing it I had found a purpose for that imagination of mine.

It makes sense, I suppose, I come from a family of artists. My mom, my grandmother and my dad are all writers. My grandfather was a painter, my uncles are musicians, my aunt is an artist...the list goes on. So it’s not all that surprising that I too would be interested in the arts and want to be a writer. But I want more than to just be a writer. I want to write books, I want to get them published and I want to be as well known as J.K. Rowling and Stephen King! Who wouldn’t though? My dream isn’t very far fetched. Get famous for something you love. Fairly common dream, no?

Eleven years have passed since my first stories were written and many more are to come. I’m only getting started after all. There are too many images and words and thoughts in this head to stop me now. Although my magical world has changed a lot, it is still very easy to get lost in.