Chivonne.

ONCE UPON A TIME in a strange little land called Australia, on the other side of the Gold Coast a child was born. This child grew up to be of average stature in every aspect. Too average, it may seem. This child, a girl, had no obsessions, nor any interests to speak of; she just did as she was instructed. Her family situation was . . . complicated, and her social life was somewhat limited. She was the very definition of standoffish, and performed none to admirably in all problems or situations.

Believing that there wasn't (and never would be) a life outside of the confines of her house (and the comforts of her bed) this girl started to read to ease the loneliness she never realized she had. She poured over every book in her parents library, ordered book off the net and from library's until one day she realized that she had read so many books that it was no longer staying enjoyable for her - as if it were just a chore.

Wanting to maintain her love of the fictional world this girl stopped reading books, and, with her now, (somewhat) vast vocabulary and intricate understanding of the way books seemed to work, she decided to write her own stories, with as much love and passion that she had put into reading others, edit them, post them on the net and not care whether anyone else enjoyed her stories or not, but instead to love her creations as if they were her own children; because in a way, they were.
Strangely enough, her artistic flair (as she liked to put it) managed to attract some attention. Though not many, this girl made some new friends through her processes and realizing the benefits (to both her mentality and well-being) of this, decided that she was to continually write stories.

Now an open-minded, somewhat friendly-somewhat strange individual, this girl is open to many types of people, many types of criticism and many types of reading material. 

This girl may, or may not, be me. :)

The end. XD