Once upon a time, when I was a wee lass, I hatched this dream that I would someday become a famous archaeologist, unearthing buried treasures and discovering what really happened with Atlantis. It wasn't necessarily Indiana Jones syndrome, but it was pretty close. In the meantime, however, I also dreamt of school and boys and Christmas. Those dreams I wrote down on paper in increasingly cheesy and angsty unfinished novels. Somewhere along the way, I became a crime reporter. How such a thing happened is nearly a mystery to me. I did come close to pursuing my first dream - I visited ancient Greek ruins and studied ancient art and architecture on site, under the tutelage of the excavators themselves. But instead of running away with a shovel and brush, I came back with a mind swarming with encounters with modern Greeks,Turks and Romanians. I realized the thing I loved about archaeology was the act of assembling the lives of ancient people. I decided living people were much more interesting, and their lives a bit more compelling to me, so I devoted the rest of my studies to journalism and now I'm hooked. Crime, especially, is my passion. In May, 2001, I dropped everything and flew halfway across the world to pursue another dream, which is really a combination of the original two - Greece and writing. I struggled as a freelance journalist and travel writer for nine months before being deported in February (all documented within). It was then I decided to move to Scotland to further my education, and signed up for a postgraduate program in Journalism. In a year's time, I'll have my master's degree (hopefully). Wish me luck.
September 16, 2002
