As a young child, I was plagued with an overactive mind and the overwhelming multitude of my eccentric thoughts. While the children surrounding me in my kindergarten class contemplated the magic behind cookies with a finger up their nose, I could not escape my own mind and spent hours contemplating the meteor circling the Earth. The teacher briefly discussed how the meteor’s trajectory had been gradually creeping towards our planet. That was that, and the other classmates went back to picking apart the wonders and horrors of their tiny bodies. For days, I was trapped on the notion that the meteor was getting cozier with the Earth each circling. Would that not mean that the Earth was doomed to fall victim to the meteor’s inability to stay on course? Then, one day I escaped my own mind with the help of a piece of paper and a pencil. As a kindergartner, my writing skills were the equivalent of gibberish; however, in my mind, I was a novelist.