I’m a recluse who grew up in a suburban area where the only light in the sky was green and flashing and none of the residents had eyes. Between visits to the existential void and hours spent drawing comic characters, I went to the library, which was entirely empty of anything bearing a human resemblance, except for the marble statue next to the front desk that would occasionally move when I wasn't looking. However, I hardly noticed; when I opened a book, I left the library and escaped into a world far from the monotony of my own. Over time, my world expanded far beyond the confines of a page; it grew to have magnificent places I had never been that I called home and incredible people I had never met that I called friends. Then, when I realized that I could create my own magnificent places and imagine my own incredible friends, I picked up a pen and began writing. I haven’t stopped since and can be found hunched over a desk, surrounded by piles of books and empty coffee mugs.