For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed reading.  Some of my earliest memories involve my nose in one book or another, turning a page and getting lost in some wonderful world created just for me.

Over the years my love for fiction grew, culminating into an obsession.  I would hunt out new and exciting authors, strange new worlds and unpredictable circumstances.  I was an addict for the written word.

It was not until I grew older and wiser that my imagination started to stretch forth, creating different and exciting images for me to record.  Unfortunately, I lacked the patience to put pen to paper, and many of my early works fell from my mind to the either.  Time passed, life changed, I felt my world become chaotic and without focus.

The unbelievable happed, I found my wife and we married.  Her influence on me helped spark my imagination once more, allowing me to place the preverbal pen to paper once more, and I started writing again.  Short stories at first, starting with a story of a friend trying to put out her recycling when an ignorant garbage man blocked access to the bins.  Since then, I have imagined the sacrifice of life, giving of oneself for honor and country, memories of my youth and fictional prose.

One day a friend told me to write a book, and hence my world changed.  I was a kid in a candy store, reaching out for what I believed would be an outlet of imagination.  I learned how to write.

At first, I believed I knew how to build a book.  Heck, I read so many it would be an easy process.  I would sit down and start typing (my handwriting is illegible, and I would not put anyone through reading it, not even myself).  I was sure I knew how to build a character, story, plot, apex and scenery.  I was mistaken.  Even with the knowledge imparted to me by wonderful teachers in my youth, I found myself lacking.  Not when I finished the first book, but afterward, when I started reading it.

A long-time friend told me the truth of it, there was really good writing in the book, and really bad writing.  I believe I can identify it now, after working with writing groups and taking courses both on and off line.  I found others seeking me out for advice after I had honed my craft.  Now, after working on releasing my second full novel, I look back and see the road was a hard path, not an easy walk.  All things in life worth having are difficult to achieve, for if they were easy, everyone would be happy.

Today, people seek me out to help them with their novels, to critique prose they put to paper, and generally ask for advice.  It is flattering, when a person who dislikes Science Fiction readers your work and gets hooked.  So far I have caused such to happen in several readers.  I have been flattered by some, and embarrassed by others.  But I still write.

Enjoy what you read here.  Some is raw writing without edits, some is polished work, but all is for your enjoyment.