Scarecrows and Marionettes — The Beginning (1995-1996)

For as long as I remember, I loved to write. I remember being that little boy, sitting comfortably in his room in that modest house in Flushing, New York, black composition notebook open on my desk, pen in hand, scribbling down whatever came to mind — horror stories, science fiction, sports dramas, fantasies, crime stories, you name it. I used to have a lot of fun doing that, especially on days when my friends weren’t around, or on days when the rain was mercilessly pouring down over the quiet Queens street in which I lived. Memories of sitting at that desk, looking out at my neighbor’s driveway, my stereo playing whatever record I was into that week, thinking about how one day I would love to be able to do this and perhaps make a living doing it, are fresh in my memory, as child-like and naïve as it was.