As a kid, I would imagine different stories, vast lands of heroes, villains and damsels in distress. I would concoct an intricate story line while my G.I. Joe fought off a dinosaur with laser cannons strapped on its back.

As time went on my imagination went berserk and would fill up my dreams as if sending me into a deep daze during the day was not enough. I needed an outlet and thus started my path towards creative expression.

Armed with only my mind and a crawling computer I had started off after being inspired by the movie Dead Poets Society. I wouldn't say that I was trained in writing poetry for that matter, up until that point I focused on drawing with a Pilot sign pen and created my own comic book characters and renditions of video games. Poetry however did not let me go, it filled up my waking days and sleepless nights with soft whispers that enticed me to dig deep from my creative subconsciousness and write.

My college professor always said that we are driven to improve on what was created before us. I always thought that he meant that we feel that drive, the urge like a beautiful woman whispering into our ears, seducing us.  The more I ignored the seductive suggestions the more incessant it became. 

The feeling of writing that first word, that first line, watching the characters and events jump out of the page from somewhere I could not find, but I could feel. It was as if I came home after a long unplanned trip, that little smile of the familiar, that things were the same even if everything around me completely changed. 

By the time I had realized this little bump on my head, I had written over twenty short stories, had two stories published and was well on my way to drafting a novel. I did find that blunt object that hit me on my head, it was a shiny gold brick that had a slight chip on one of the corners.