I promised that I would tell you why I write, and this is me making good on that promise.
When I was a kid, my mother was a librarian's assistant at the Schenectady County Public Library, which was the main branch in the county. A huge, sprawling place, bigger than any Barnes and Noble store that I know of. Or, that's how I remember it, anyway--I haven't been there in years, not since my mom retired, and even before then, I had graduated to buying books, and you were more likely to find me at a Barnes and Noble.
Whether it really was or not, I remember it to be a majestic place, with too many books to count, too many aisles to walk, shelves that seemed to touch the roof (and a roof that seemed to touch the sky). When I first took an interest in reading, it was from picking up one of the half-dozen books my mother was reading at any given time. When she noticed this, she promised to bring home books specifically for me. And she did: murder mysteries, courtroom melodramas, political thrillers, and more. Before long, she was taking me in on her days off just so I could pick out books myself.
That's where the love affair with reading began. And from it grew the desire to write my own books, tell my own stories. When my father brought home our first PC, he loaded up Wordperfect 5.1, and I swear to you it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Never before had empty space meant so much to me. I used it to write stories--mainly forms of fan fiction, based on my favorite television shows or movies, books or games--and though I've moved to a newer word processor, I'm still filling those blank spaces.
So, I guess the point of the story is that I write because I love it. It's all I've ever wanted to do with my life, and the point of this blog is to document my trip from unknown aspiring writer to...well, I guess we'll see, won't we?