When I was eleven, I decided I wanted to become a writer. That was about when I was into Enid Blyton's The Magic Faraway Tree. You see, before age eleven, my books-read list consisted of a grand total of a couple of folklore tales from Charles Perrault and the Grimm Brothers. Then, my dad got me a library subscription and after that, there was no going back. A bookaholic was created. I read everything I could get my hands on, from cringe-worthy romance novels to nightmare-inducing horror novels and even French translations of Russian tales about tsars and tsarinas.

During my mid-teens, I became obsessed with writing novels (which I abandoned as soon as I realized how bad they were). An irrevocable condition. Of course, it didn't help that my writing obsession was fueled by my love of all witchery things, namely Harry Potter and Practical Magic (yeah, that movie with Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman). They redefined magic for me and I started writing the story that I know that one day I'll finish.

Then, life took over and somewhere along the way I picked up a couple of degrees. Mind you, I enjoyed every minute of it and spent a magical year in Glasgow, Scotland. By then, I was working on quite a few unfinished stories. After graduating, I got a job and decided to write during my free time.

Finally, I took a chance and gave the boot to my day job to write. So, here I am still writing that story I started way back when I was a teenager. But this time, I'm going to finish it.