I might seem to be a bit odd at first glance. In all reality, I am as strangely distressed as the next twentysomething woman. However, at least I know what I want to do with my life. That is, to write. I love writing, and ever since I was little, I have known that my destiny was mystically linked to the wondrous craft of putting thought down on clean white supple paper.

I love the smell of paper. It has the possibility of stories untold, of lives left to live, of words left to speak to those who would care to listen. Yes, I was meant to be a writer.

So it was with great excitement and joy that I took a job with the Newtronic Tribune two years ago. I thought that I would be left to write what I wanted, since I had been given a column of my own. I was wrong. Like so many of my former editors, my new editor, a dour and despotic man named Jake Henry Forsmouth, lorded over me the power of his station. He told me what to write, when to write, and how I should write. I became used to the dull repetition of my daily column. Sadly, to keep my job, which payed so-so, I gave into his tyrannical tendencies. I gave up my creativity to save my reputation.

In the process, I lost something. Missing this almost ruined me, for it took away the very reason I had wanted to write. It took away my passion and drive and replaced it with a grey limited view of the world. It was then that I became depressed.

After all, what is a human being without food? and I was lacking the most basic kind of nourishment. I lacked a purpose in my life.

This may all sound sad and gloomy to you. But I have an amazing story to tell. It came from my sadness and my need to find what I was truly good at. And it took all my wit and strength to stand up to the challenge that was presented to me.

Listen, if you will, to the ramblings of Rebs, who was lost and now is found.

Sincerely,

Rebecca Ann Richly

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More to come, Rebs is just getting warmed up!