So, long story short: I’m a slacker. Always have been.
From the time I was twelve-years-old, I knew I wanted to be a writer, or an artist. I loved comics, absorbed the art, the writing style, started to draw my own. After the grand find of one of my Dad’s books, I devoured The Lord of the Rings. It wasn’t enough. Next was Lord Foul’s Bane, then The Illearth War, and then the rest of the Thomas Covenant series. My Dad, he knew how to pick ’em. I was hooked on fantasy, science fiction, and its related art. I saw the Death Dealer, by Frank Frazetta, for the first time, and I drew its likeness over and over. I drew, wrote stories in study hall, had great dreams of making a living doing these things I loved. Friends and family thought I had a future, and you know what? I believed them. I thought it would be easy.
And there’s the thing. I had no idea how to do any of it. By the time I graduated high school, I was an aimless, scattered kid who floated through life on dreams.
By the time I turned 30, I had been in the military, gotten married, and was on the way to having two kids. I was mostly happy most of the time. I had good jobs, bad jobs, but I knew a part of me was missing. They were just jobs. Sure, they paid the bills, fed the family, but my earlier ghosts haunted me, whispered to me at night, reminded me of the dreams and promises I’d made to myself years ago. I wasn’t doing what I should be doing. I would start a project, convinced that it had finally clicked, and then my enthusiasm would fade and I would quit writing for months. I tried to pick up sketching, bought all sorts of how-to books, and I’d start sketches that would be unfinished days later. I told myself that it just wasn’t meant to be, that I wasn’t that good, certainly not good enough to make a decent living at it.
It took years more before I started to get the hint of how to write, the barest traces of discipline. By the time I turned 40, I had started to write on a regular basis; some of it was good, some not so good, but I kept driving forward. I had planned novels sputter and die, great ideas that just wouldn’t budge on paper, but I had learned, finally. I kept writing. Every day. Because I loved it. It was who I was. You would think that you would want to always be near the things you love, but like I said, I’m a slacker.
If you’ve read this far, I thank you. I plan to use this blog to post some of my works, flash fiction, small pieces of bigger works, and updates on what I’m up to. You’re more than welcome to hang out, chat, and give me a hard time as I work towards publication and vindication. I’m not worthy of the attention yet, but one day…