Well, how to start? Should I tread the path that so many others have, in the pursuit of a summery of their life? I was born. I dreamed. I loved. I wept. Or is it sufficient to say, "cogito ergo sum", I think, therefore I am? Is it sufficient to leave out the wherefores and whys of how I think? To whome do I think? To what purpose I am?

For the sake of this brief introduction, let us suppose all this, and more. I am to music, history, literature, fiction and fact as a bear is to honey (I use this metaphor specifically,in homage of an observation a friend made of my personality - "a wolf in a bear's body". Though this praise is uplifting and tremendously gratifying, I am still wont to think of myself as a baboon in an (albiet rather chunky) ape's body.) Though I am nothing of a student of the arts -for, asa student, I excell at laxity and dim-wittedness -I hold them dear to my heart. But, most import to this venue, I am a mere dabbler in the Magic of Creation -the documentation of the imagination - Fiction!
To me, writing, whether entirely original or (of which is the fare of this site) partly original, is not merely an exciting and enjoyable pastime, it is a key which opens the doors of our imagination, undoubtedly humankind's greatest asset, and moulds the image of our desires into something almost palpable. Not only can writing take you to where you wish to be, it's magic extends to matters temporal. A man only lives for so many years. His deeds may live on after him, be they good or ill, but only for a short while. His writing, or writings of him, last for as long as there are people to understand the words, and for as long as the words are, for people to understand.

So now as I leave you, let me leave you with a humble request - review my work, criticise, contradict, compliment. As they say, "Trahimur omnes studio laudis," we are all atracted by the desire for praise.