When my daughter was only a few months old I had a mystical dream about a princess, her four older brothers, and how she became the one who was destined to save her kingdom. I couldn’t get the dream out of my head so I begin to write it down.
It seemed that the more I wrote from memory of the dream, the more it became a story as it flowed from my mind. I found myself in the midst of everything from breast-feeding my daughter, to eating my meals with my notebook in tow. The more I wrote the more I was compelled to fill in the blank‘s from what remnants of my dream that was left.