I was born in a quiet town in Ohio, and out of the way place east of Cleveland. My younger life was unevetful, although I am sure that I could find someway to improve it and to write about it, until my mother did the most extodinary thing that she's ever done: she read to me.
My most distinct memory of my younger years is an image of the first page of 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. I knew, from that moment, what I wanted to do: write.
I have always loved books and the wonderful stories that they contain from that moment to this, and I distinctly remember wanting to take and active part in the stories that I heard or read.
I longed to battle pirates with Peter Pan, walk in the moors with Cathy and Heathcliff, crawl down the rabbit hole with Alice, solve mysteries with Poirot and run with the Cullens. I yearned to create my own characters so that they could have all the fantastic adventures that I had dreamed of in my younger years.
For the next years I nurtured my passion for stories with wild abandon. I read everything.
From that moment to this, that dream had never ceased. It has been tucked away in the back of my mind for a few years, but has escaped with wild abandon, and is the mother of all that you see before you.
Happy writing.
My most distinct memory of my younger years is an image of the first page of 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. I knew, from that moment, what I wanted to do: write.
I have always loved books and the wonderful stories that they contain from that moment to this, and I distinctly remember wanting to take and active part in the stories that I heard or read.
I longed to battle pirates with Peter Pan, walk in the moors with Cathy and Heathcliff, crawl down the rabbit hole with Alice, solve mysteries with Poirot and run with the Cullens. I yearned to create my own characters so that they could have all the fantastic adventures that I had dreamed of in my younger years.
For the next years I nurtured my passion for stories with wild abandon. I read everything.
From that moment to this, that dream had never ceased. It has been tucked away in the back of my mind for a few years, but has escaped with wild abandon, and is the mother of all that you see before you.
Happy writing.