In 1984 I was in sixth grade, and I wanted to grow up to be a model/actress/ballerina. I wrote a story about butterflies. Mr. Bunker told me it was great and the other kids made fun of me for how into writing the story I was. For the rest of sixth grade I would write everything twice. Once for me, and then once a little bit less descriptive to share with the class. I didn?t want them making fun of me. I?d tone it down for their 12-year-old tastes.

In 1986 I was in eighth grade, and I wanted to grow up to be a model/actress? after hitting the 6-foot mark mom had kindly told me I was too tall and ballet wasn?t in my future. I wrote a story, after interviewing Dan Peck, about how much he loved his pet pig. Ms. Weinrich said it was great and this time, for a delicious change of pace, the kids made fun of Dan and me.

In 1989 I was in eleventh grade, and I wanted to grow up to be an actress. I wrote a story about a man who was going to run off to Jamaica with a woman who wasn?t his nagging wife. Ms. Vold told me it was brilliant and I should write.

In 1990 I was in twelfth grade, and I decided that perhaps the theatre wasn?t for me. I hadn?t had the chops to take a single acting class and the thought of getting up on stage sort of made me want to vomit. So I decided that when I grew up that I was going to be a writer. I wrote stories for the newspaper and the yearbook. I wrote stories that made things happen. I wrote stories for English class and for myself. I wrote stories that people would read in the hallway and laugh?not at me, but at the actual stories.

In 1994 I was a junior in college, and I had decided that I was going to be a journalist/poet when I grew. I wrote stories for the newspaper. I was a campus celebrity. People loved and feared me. They would stop me on the streets and in the grocery store and ask if I was, in fact, ChromeyZone. I would blush and say yes. I couldn?t write a poem to say my life. Try as I might, I couldn?t even get into NOTA, the campus literary arts magazine. Once, they published one of my poems. I read it now and all I can see is the line I stole from a Soul Asylum song and the one I stole from a Duran Duran song.

In 1997 I was 25 and I didn?t know what I wanted to do. I worked at a gas station and dreamed of something else. I didn?t write, at all. There were no stories, there are a few sad, frustrated journals?but that?s it.

In 2000 I was 28 and I still didn?t know what I wanted to do. But I did know that I could code a very little bit of HTML and with a few spare dollars I could have my very won web site. For the first time in years I was writing again. Then came backwash.com and bittersweetheart.com and in 2001 a job working as a copywriter. I was writing.

In 2003 I am 31 and I?m starting all over again. I am going to write stories that people will read, and I?m absolutely terrified.