Writing has always been a weird past-time for me—and I say weird because it took me almost 25 years to realize that I like to write.
My relationship with the craft started off small and humble—an 11 year-old stationed at the family computer, typing furiously into a text edit program—which likely had little-to-no formatting options—a complicated story about an alien girl from Neptune.
As an only child and a creative, a lot of my hobbies would go undiscussed. After my family relocated from Bellevue, Nebraska, to the equally-unreputed Poinciana, Florida—I spent a lot of time in the swimming pool and in my head. And thus, my love affair with writing went largely unknown—except for the times I would send parts of my story back to my friend via AOL Instant Messenger—though it's hard to say if she ever read any of it.
Fast forward to middle school, I started another story. This