I've been creating stories for as long as I can remember - longer, actually, as while I have hard-copy proof and family tales of me telling tales to my mother which she would then type up, I can't recall doing such things as, apparently, I was something like 3 years old at the time.  (Though I do remember the story I spun about the little green worms which dangled from the trees in our Florida yard and how, once I placed some in one of my playhouse cooking pans, immediately had an OK Corrall stand-off with the guns they somehow had.  Probably because that was the most oft-repeated tale of my literary adventures.)  So writing has always been part of my brain, part of my creative being.  You'd think by now I would've been published...  Unfortunately, life, in the form of a chronic intractable migraine, got in the way.  For the last 20 years I've had to deal with a brain constantly under fire - 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year - from migraine head pain.  Never mind creative writing:  sometimes simply remembering what day of the week it is or how old I am uses up what remaining brainpower I have.  But I keep struggling on.  Because I've got too many damn voices in my head and only a few of them come from psychosis - the rest belong to characters whose stories I'm desperate to tell before I croak.