Once upon a time, I read way too much for my age. They were my safe harbour of happy fantasies coming true, interesting characters and mysteries plots unfolding. 
In due time, my brain started functioning with ideas of it's own. Life that happen around me was duplicated and rewritten in my head and stories emerged from it.
With fables out of incidents and creativity out of my grey matter, there is so much to daydream.
They were all my story until Laptop decided to walk into my life.
I stared penning them down until I found the stories that were worthy of someone's time and delight. I could not look back afters.
Today, me and my writing lived happily ever after