Truth and the Devil

I hardly ever write.

As far back as I care to go, I’ve loved stories above all things. Movies, books, games, anything really. I have poured for hours over PnP Sourcebooks, never with intent to play, but intrigued by their deep mythologies. I have played games I hate simpy for the cutscenes, waded through menus and shoddy control schemes desperate for that last scrap of story, constantly searching for any new facet of those miniature worlds. I have read books until the pages yellowed under my fingers and I could skip entire pages because I knew every single word on them, even their placement and formatting. I really do love stories that much. The first of the very few things I have ever stolen, and the only one I ever kept, was a book from school.

The point, if there is one, is that I always hoped that someday I might write stories, but, as has been pointed out many, many times by my friend(s), that can only happen if I ever sit down to write.

So…here we are, me and you, the interminable void of the internet and this endlessly white page. I have to admit I feel a little nauseous, but bear with me, and there could be some good times ahead.

And possibly some vomiting. Time will tell.