"A person's never too old for stories. Man and boy, girl and woman, never too old. We live for them."

- Roland Deschain of Gilead,

The Dark Tower by Stephen King

{ { o } }

     I've always loved stories. Even before I knew how to read, I loved them. I could always convince my parents to read me Where is Christopher Robin at least twice a night, if they were in a good mood. (And don't give me that look, I was four.)

     I started really getting into reading when I was in first grade. By the time I reached the fifth grade I had already read some of the simple classics, like A Little Princess, The Secret Garden, and Treasure Island, for example. (Granted, I had to often refer to the dictionary while reading that last one, as the language is old and somewhat confusing.)

     Later I started reading other (and far more exciting) stories. Things like The Shining and Doctor Sleep by Stephen King, and the Dresden Files and Codex Alera by Jim Butcher. And that's barely the tip of the iceberg. I didn't consider writing anything myself until I was thirteen.

     I could say I just woke up one day and decided, "I'm gonna be a writer." But it was more of a class assignment that I turned in late the year before.

     In sixth grade my reading teacher told us to write a short story about a character -- or multiple characters if we wanted -- who lived in Pompeii when Vesuvius decided to throw it's not-so-pathetically-petulant temper-tantrum. I ended up turning it in late, because I couldn't confine it to one page. How do you expect me to create an entire person and tell the story of how they survived or died all in one page? Short stories aren't my usual cup of tea, though I've dabbled a tad.

     But I got extra credit for that assignment, because it was a "well-told tale with a realistic end." I was the only one who killed all my characters off. (BECAUSE IT WAS FUCKING POMPEII! DUH!)

     Unfortunately, I lost it. I have no idea what I did with it, it was like, six years ago.

     (And despite the extra credit for killing my characters off — which, now that I think about it, seems kinda backwards — I still got an F for turning it in so late. Alas...)

     But even then, I hadn't really decided to become a writer.

     I kept thinking about it though, and I thought, Why not give it a go?

     I. Sucked. Bad. I was awful. Obviously, I have improved. (At least, I hope so...) I still have pieces of the first story I ever started on, which — coincidentally — eventually became my Reachers Saga, or The Traveler's Stone. (Which is currently only bits and pieces and experimentation. It's still evolving, I guess you could say.)

     The original draft (which is not what's on Wattpad)... It's bad.

     And even some of my more recent projects aren't that great. Some of you might remember when I was working on a story featuring Gwendolyn Fletcher, and that one... Yeah. Let's just leave it at that...

     But the thing with stories — the thing that truly makes them so intoxicating — is that they never really end. Not the best ones anyway. And the beginning of the story is not on the first page of the first chapter (or prologue), it's before. Before you even open the book, the characters are living their lives. They've all got their own stories to tell, and they don't start with the book.

     Like Klocke's story. Like Haiden's, and Ana's, and Nolf's, and Casey's, and Elliot's, and Ferris's, and all of them. They've got their own stories.

     We've all got our own stories.

     And this one... This one's mine.

     As Yuna so perfectly said:

"This is my story.

It'll be a good one."