I write this entry in abject misery, sitting in a coffee shop during lunch break from my soul-sucking job. You know, that thing you do so you don’t actually starve while being a starving artist. Yeah, that thing is especially important when you have kids to feed, too.
I was a bit late out of the gate when I finally (re)turned to writing. Like many story-tellers, I loved writing when I was younger. My imagination was so vivid, sparked by my mother’s love of all things Lord of the Rings and my father’s love of all things Star Trek. As time passed and pressure to ‘pick a career’ mounted, I put aside the writerly tinkerings of youth and worked on … well … work.
But story ideas never stopped percolating in my brain until, at last, I realized I just had to do it. Put one word after the other and see what happened. Tell the story that spoke to me.
Then a terrible thing happened.