When I was about ten, I started writing a story about a girl name Arabella. She had it all, from the perfect house to the cutest Pomeranian named Lulu. Every day was a new adventure: she received an Elvis Presley signed guitar from her grandma, planned road trips with her best friends, and even met a cute boy at the local Target while school supply shopping. She was my alter ego in a sense—my life perfected. Once I outgrew...