It's always hard to start something isn't it? Almost as hard as it is to stop. Life has a funny way of starting over and over again like a butterfly eating itself. Sometimes it is a comfort to know we are such an infinitesimally small piece of this incredibly stupid universe we are stuck in. Part of a community, a culture, a nation, a planet, a solar system, a galaxy. Every day communication gets a little faster and the stars get that much closer.

As for me, I'm just another speck of dust in the last sloppy dregs of sunlight. I've lived, and I've been hurt. I've been hurt by many and more than most. And just when I thought things were starting to take an upturn, a new trauma, exponentially worse than the rest combined, slammed me against the floor like a hammer made of diamond and regret and tears and a thousand unknown substances that boil me from the inside and freeze me from the out.

But despite how much I may beg of this stupid universe to just let me off this ride, I'm still moving. I'm still going.

All I can do now is try to be who I was born to be if I am even capable of being myself ever again.

I am a science fiction author. I am a poet. I am an essayist. I am a screenwriter.

I am a storyteller.

And I have a story to tell you.