This is the portion where they told me to summarize my life in 500 words or less.

I have always written.

I can remember being eleven years old describing the attractive Asian girl that sat one seat in front of and one row over from me in grade school. I wrote in verse about the white knee highs and holy, plaid skirt that she wore. The thorough depiction impressed my older peers and made an even stronger impact on my instructor. I was punished for the style in which I married words together.

I have always written.

I’d like to think that my range and talent have matured along with my experiences (and vital organs) over the years. Currently, I recount tales that I have lived, as well as describe worlds and adventures that I see in my head behind closed eyes (Dream Keepers coming soon). Most recently, I have found that I adore instrumentals that turn to me for translation; strings and keys that softly whisper their stories in my ears to be scribed as soundtracks for the imagination to view. I flirt with all genres and make love to any and all of them that may wink back on any given night. I am a descriptive chameleon who has never met a blank page that refused to be marked upon.

I have always written.

I left the Catholic school girls and protective bubble of Orange County, California behind and traveled to Saint Mary’s College of California. The San Francisco Bay Area opened my eyes and ears to real culture and art. It is where my language, person, writing, and mind expanded. I crammed in the classroom and studied in the streets. I was seduced by the long legs and complex DNA of critical thinking. I danced with Socrates under the rising sun. Tribal drums being beaten with homeless hands in the Tenderloin inspired me to create. I smiled at the sound of slurred lines recited aloud from curbside poets in the gutters of Berkeley and Oakland. It was during those days that I discovered tolerance, substance, and various layers of intelligence; the time in my life where I was exposed to all shapes and shades of human being. It was during these unforgettable (I think…) and irreplaceable years of hustling, friendship, knowledge, and experimentation that Forty Years in Forty Nights eventually grew from.

I have always written.

My spouse is my computer; the unconditional lover who never ceases to listen to my words. I have always written and will continue writing for as long as oxygen chooses to cycle my lungs. Writing is my immortal friend that shall speak on my behalf to entertain, educate (and disgust) long after my skull meets the soil.