I've had an overactive imagination as far back as I can remember, but I didn't start putting a pen to paper until I was a punk teenager. All of those old writings were lost one night in a drunken stupor when I burned them up over some girl whose name I can't even remember now. I think about those old musings from time to time, trying to remember them all, knowing I never will, but the adolescent yet poetic destruction of those early stories over some girl still makes me smile. Especially not being able to remember her name, I love that.
The writing floated out of my life with the ashes of those burnt pages for the next couple of years. College, working and partying took up all my time, there was none left for the storyteller. Then something happened two months before my junior year. Right before my transfer to a new university, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Needless to say, things went into a downward spiral for awhile there, but I eventually found my way out of the woods of despair and got on with my life. One of the good things about that time was I found my old friend, the storyteller, and we've been on speaking terms ever since.
I have to admit the MS has amplified my ability to dive into the darkness of life's surprises, but it has also shown me the importance of disabled people being equally represented in fiction. Sure, sometimes they have minor parts, but rarely the main protagonist, I'm going to do my best to change that.