My name is Vane Vander, and I have a story to tell the world.

I’m not new to WordPress or storytelling. I’ve had two accounts and matching blogs before this, and both have been deleted either due to content that might be potentially embarrassing due to immature content or lack of inspiration and content to continue on. Sure, I probably shouldn’t have expected a crappy endless fan fiction about my then-girlfriend to launch any careers, and it was childish of me to imagine my friends hooking up with band members they weren’t and still aren’t deserving of, but neither was anything I ever created with that particular person. After those tanked, there was the prelude to the original MayVaneDay story arc, Yasmin Forty-Seven, which has long since been deleted. It was slightly better than its predecessors, being about a middle-schooler kidnapped and turned into an avian-human hybrid by her own father, but that blog became swamped with superficial rants from my immature mind and I gave up on it and headed over here for a fresh start.

Along with a fresh start, I created this blog because I realized that the story I was working on at Yasmin Forty-Seven would eventually end and that I would have nothing to write about on such a single-purpose blog. Sure, I could turn into somebody who takes mundane experiences of their own and dresses them up to Facebook levels of fakeness… or I could just make a blog that I could use for more than just hormonal angsts of fictional characters.

Having a place to write regularly helps me tremendously. I have a mild form of autism, so my brain has trouble paying attention when I need it to and inadvertently listening in to conversations that have nothing to do with me. Thus, I often have memory issues, and having writing that can help build links to events of the day I wrote that particular piece during can help in the long term. Of course, it also helps to have a place where I can let my mind freely wander like it wants to all the dang time.

I wrote my first fully-fledged novel in the summer of 2016 in my grandmother’s basement with the now non-functioning desktop computer slowly drowning in dust and the ancient paperback children’s books. It all started with an idea of a Romeo and Juliet-esque scene where one girl desperately tried to save her friend’s life on the side of the road in the middle of winter, powerless as the blood slowly seeped into the snow. That scene didn’t make it into the final edit of the book, but it started off a two-year journey of finding my way around a working writing schedule and trying to balance utility and productivity with the growing paranoia of the NSA that also sprouted late summer 2016.

I’ve moved rooms and houses a few times since then, getting used to a classroom at five in the morning and a little side-room pod across from the computer lab and an alcove in my room between the boxes from moving and the wall. I’ve made friends and lost friends and shifted classrooms and reinstalled Mint more times than I can count, always in search of even a whiff of the thing these humans call inspiration.

And, sometimes, I can catch it.