Not so very long ago, a storyteller was born, one might even say, a fantasy weaver (oooh, I like that – kinda rolls off the tongue, dontcha think?). Hand in hand with her most trusted friend, an imaginary boy named Charlie (awww, I miss Charlie), she wove many a tale of aliens and evil clones who impersonated her elder brothers (for certainly she wasn't actually related to those wretched boys who teased and taunted her mercilessly) while growing up in Ontario, Canada. Even when Charlie faded away, she continued to live in her own fantasy world, telling her stories to her stuffed animals, and finally writing them down when she was old enough to know how...
