Fantasy lives inside my blood.

It has defined my childhood since I could read.

I got Harry Potter for my fifth birthday, wrapped

With shiny unicorns. (I still have that

paper somewhere). When I was nine I read

Tamora Pierce for the first time.

And this was fire in my veins because

I wanted to be Kel, Protector of the Small.

Here was a woman in writing that I

Not only could, but wanted

To look up to. 

Stories like these I’ve wanted to write

My whole life. So why now but

Not back then? It is still

Rough.

Still easy to tell that I love Tamora Pierce,

My own style immature. But maybe

Telling my own story means that now

I can tell other stories. Or at least…

That’s what the novel taking over my life says.