There are few things that are certain in this world, but one inevitability is that if I live long enough, I’ll write again. About something, but mostly about the little things, the things always on my mind.
I’ve been writing almost as long as I can remember, and I have a long memory. Even before I could form letters, I was telling stories. I’d even ‘read along’ with books on tape, the same sorts of stories I like now (in perhaps less graphic detail).
Tamer versions of the Brothers Grimm and More Scary Stories.
I think I was six when I first picked up 1001 Nights. I put it back after fifty or so pages, because I thought my mother might not approve.
However, it’s always been the same stories that appealed– maidens captured, villains who both repulsed and attracted. I remember staying up late and watching Hellraiser movies as a small child.
When people ask me how long I’ve been kinky, I tell them when I discovered BDSM (at 11) or that I started my personal journey as soon as I turned legal. But thinking back to the thrill when Pinhead told Kristy he had such sites to show her… it began in the same place as my love for words.
That is, inside of me. Always present.