I grew up in Central America, where I spent lots of time reading books in loquat trees, and dreaming of writing a novel of my own one day.

I kicked off my writing journey by doing my own, unofficial NaNoWrimo challenge in February 2012. At the end of 30 days, I had written a 50,000 word novel. It had no plot, no antagonist, random cows, ferret smugglers, and a toga-wearing ghost who'd faked his own death. The main character landed himself in prison for accidentally trafficking in Godiva chocolate. 

After four years of work, I'm on my fifth complete rewrite of that first draft, and the story is finally starting to reach completion. You'd never know it was the same novel, because, of course, it isn't. The only thing that's the same is the name of a single city.

 It may not have ferret smugglers anymore, but it has a plot, magical trains, hideous cats, and an assassin with a sentient knife. 

Trust me, you're going to like it.