You can call me Cyh. Please, have a seat. There, that spindly computer chair will do nicely. Don't forget your Redbull, Mountain Dew, soy chai latte, or orange juice.
You might be here awhile.
See, I like to write--scratch that--I love to write. I love it so much that I've dedicated thousands of hours to being an amateur writer.
Amature--love, right? From the Latin root "amare" for "to love". After all, that's what it means to be an amateur. You don't become an amateur anything unless you're head-over-heels bonkers for the random hobby you've taken up.
And so I write. Words are all I have, actually. I can parse this hectic, complex organism that is myself with just a few scribbles on a page. I've extracted the very essences of who I am as a person and turned them into other people.
But these people aren't real--they just think they are, but I know better...
At least, that's what I tell myself every time they decide to wrench the pen out of my hand and do their own thing.
That's why I'm doing this, actually--setting up this blog. They want to exist, and I'm more than happy to oblige. Maybe people will come here one day. Maybe my mental offspring will help someone who needs a distraction. I've always felt that distractions keep us sane.
So get comfy. Click around and meet my invisible family. Maybe they can distract you.
Maybe you will read their stories.
Maybe you will love them as much as I do.
And for those of you who REALLY like my stuff, feel free to throw a few pennies my way with the Paypal button at the very, very bottom of the blog. It's a bit hidden away, but then again, I'd rather not have it interfere with the mood.