Ah, the age old question. You could go here to find out who you are. Or, you could listen to some of my rambling.
Don't worry, you can always click on one of the many links to escape.
Tap Tap...is this thing on?...it is...ahem (cough). Yes...well...Who am I , then.
Throughout the ages, humans have attempted to answer this question in many ways. They started by scratching pictures onto mouldy cave walls.
Then, when many of them began to suffer allergies from the mould, they began inking their thoughts onto crumbling sheets of papyrus.
The problem with crumbly papyrus is..well..the dang stuff just tends to crumble. So people began penning their thoughts into ancient manuscripts.
The problem with THESE, of course, was that they were too beautiful and everybody just sort of looked at all the fancy artistic embellishments and went "Ooh" and "Ahh" and most of them forgot about reading the text completely. Those of them who could read at all, that is.
Then, some new-fangled gadgets called typewriters appeared.
(By the way, did you notice how I conveniently skipped right over the introduction of the printing press? I had to cut corners on my rambling somewhere, and I'm afraid poor old Gutenburg got the chop.)
Sigh.
Okay, okay. Here's the link.
Anyway, now what do we do? Why, now we keyboard our thoughts into glowing computer screens.
This was supposed to save all sorts of trees, but I have my suspicions that because everybody now has inkjet printer at home, and work requires thirty seven thousand drafts of each report and PowerPoint presentation, that...
What? I wasn't supposed to answer the Who Am I question like that? Huh? They want to find out about ME?
I doubt that very much. But okay, if you insist.
If you made it this far, I'm SF Johnston, and I was born near Belfast to an Irish father and an American mother. I was raised in the wonderful town of Ottawa, Canada, and now I live near Amsterdam with my wife and two children. I started writing and submitting fiction in 2004, and I'm the current President of the Short Mystery Fiction Society.
I bet we could have saved all sorts of time if somebody had just handed me a burned stick and pointed me towards a cave wall.
