Some History

I began writing, began actually writing, at an early age. From approximately age eleven, I channeled my predispositions to self-expression and performance most devotedly (amongst many lesser passions) into the written word. I wrote approximately eighty pages of a prodigiously complex novel at that self-same age of double-ones. The story centered on a surprisingly dramatic civil war in a medieval kingdom in which all of the characters were named and styled after myself and my cousins. I was a ninja. I lost the girl I loved, and I died. Even at eleven, I understood that one must murder one's darlings, death and tragedy are inevitable, and readers relish the unexpected.

Two annums on, at thirteen, I decided that I'd try writing songs, so that someday I could be an ultra-famous musician. My motives at the time, I believe, revolved around impressing girls. My early songs did impress my sisters and their few friends who saw them, and to this day, I continue to feebly poke away at lyrics, and in recent years, abomination of abominations, I also write poetry. 

At about thirteen, I was entangled by a story about a boy, a girl, and a posse of warring aliens that was originally dreamed up with only the barest whisper of an accompanying plot by my best friend, and his best friend. For a few years, all three of us bounced ideas off one another, but in the end, my best friend and I lost track of his friend, and--with apologies to my best friend--most everybody but me lost track of the story. I, however, fell so deeply in love with the world I created to accompany the characters that had been birthed from the original cardboard cut-outs that I decided to devote myself to writing other fiction, so that in ten years' time--a guidebook advised me it took nearly a decade of practice before one was a truly worthwhile artist in prose--I'd be a worthy scribe to finish the story.

It has been ten years. In those ten years, I've written three complete novels, two halves, innumerable songs, slightly more numerable articles, and the bones of a spartan post-apocalyptic musical. And I'm still not the writer I hope writes that story. But I am more determined than ever to become him. I am more determined than ever that this writing thing--if I love it so much as I claim--deserves attention and deserves effort, and that it is entirely worthy of my best efforts to eventually dress up this blog, to send articles, essays, short stories and novels to editors and agents who do not want them, if only to demonstrate to myself that I love writing, and I mean to do it as well and as fully as possible. 

This post, then, if anything, serves as my ultimatum to myself: I am announcing my intentions to the anyone-at-all who may stumble across it. I intend to write, and as your poor luck may have it, I intend to write here.

Here goes.