Now, that’s pretty neat. I'm not an educated ivy league Arthur. My writing first began after a tragic accident which left me feeling with deep resentment & anger for being cheated out of life. At times, it left me sad for not being as good as the others. However, for my persistent therapist who told me to pick up a pencil & write, write something new on this simple piece of paper. I didn't want to do it at first, but I did so anyway. And slowly, I wrote of how imperfect I am. With all of my chippings & jagged edges shown thru with the displays of my writing, filled with pain & emotion, combined with hallucination & imagination. Who knew what my therapist was doing? Was it a key slowly unlocking my mind which was filled with so many jig-saw-puzzles. And yet two years later, out of no-where, I was chased down by a group of crazed, wild eyed college kids/fans wanting to know what happens next in my fantasy novel, “LondenBerg by Lord Biron”. And after recovering, believe it or not, I had to tell a bunch of bookstores that I don’t want them to order a bunch of "LondenBerg by Lord Biron" books because I don't want to be famous. Now that’s a first. Wait a second, you got to be kidding me. I better grab my coffee, laptop & a taxi because here they come again!