I’ve wanted to write fiction as long as I can remember. When I first learned to write, I wrote these lame stories that always began with “It was a dark and stormy night”, always featured a prince whose name was Sahib (a name I stole from my cousin’s stories whom I idolised because she was super-cool) and always started out as romance stories, because that’s what little girls are supposed to write, right? Invariably they all turned into adventures of magic and daring where the main character and prince Sahib had to discover a jewel or a sword that would stop the destruction of the world. I never said I was good at being a little girl, did I?
Somewhere along the line I forgot about my dream of being a writer in favour of getting a paying day job in case I wasn’t any good at writing. After some milling about I ended up as a programmer and after a few years of that remembered my childhood dream and started writing again. One of my favourite authors, Neil Gaiman once said something along the lines of; “Becoming a writer is a lot like being mentally ill; you believe in something that is demonstrably not true and work as if it were true until reality catches up with you.” I heard it once and haven’t been able to find it since so I may have just hallucinated the whole thing. None the less, this is me, living the dream.
Elsewhere on the web