I adored fantasy books growing up. It may have started with T. H. White’s The Sword in the Stone, or perhaps all the Redwall books by the inimitable Brian Jacques that I spent every waking moment devouring for a span of years in my childhood. As an only child, I read a lot and spent a lot of time outdoors which, given my penchant for imagination, naturally turned into swashbuckling adventures as I traipsed through the woods, stick tucked through a belt loop—always at the ready.
A natural side effect of loving fantasy as a child is an affinity for swords.