I’m a writer. It took me a long time to feel comfortable declaring such a title. Despite my love of typewriters, cats, and occasionally rum, I’m no Hemingway. That is, not yet. I love novels. I’ve been writing them since I was twelve. However, the simplest non-fiction tasks never really seemed to pour forth as easily as the many fantasy worlds I can create for myself and my readers. I finally had to put aside the insecurities flooding in from several other failures and decide that I really am going to go for it. I’m going to blog. I never really kept diaries (my Mum liked to read them), and my previous experience was essentially a blend of freelance writing and editing for friends or friends of friends, but I refuse to give up. Even Hemingway wasn’t really Hemingway at the start, right? He was just some kid with a notebook. Seems like a decent place to start.