Generally Speaking

I am the eternal “wannabe.” I wanted to be a cowboy. I wanted to be a soldier. I wanted to be a truck driver. I wanted to be a good husband, father and generally decent person.

Having failed all that, there’s still one thing that I want to be. The desire has been there since the beginning and just won’t go away. I want to be a writer.

How It's Been

In elementary school, I found myself reading a lot of fantasy books. I traveled the worlds and pages laid down by the usual suspects. J. R. R. Tolkien, Lloyd Alexander and C. S. Lewis provided better entertainment than I had found in my short little life thus far.

A few years later, my attention drifted towards westerns and the enticing “Men’s Adventure” category of books. Finally, science fiction and horror novels entered into the mix. My literary life was complete.

I knew I wanted to put pen to paper in my early high school years. Even though I was reading anything and everything that I could get my hands on, I only felt comfortable writing in the realm of fantasy. I didn’t feel smart enough to write science fiction. Horror, while exciting, felt shameful and dangerous. Westerns were a major passion; but, I felt like I had no valid experiences to qualify me to write in that genre. Already, there was this painful awareness of being a “wannabe” in everything I did. Men’s adventure was not an option for the same reason. The heroes in those books made the fictional women swoon, and I knew about as much about women as I did space ships. So...fantasy it was.

My earliest attempts at fiction were a mess. They read like Robert E. Howard’s Conan traipsing aimlessly through some half-ass version of Middle Earth armed with a sword and the mind of a twelve year old. Nevertheless, I filled notebook after notebook with ideas, outlines, and sketches of all things fantasy.

Once I got into my first literature class in high school, I started thinking there might be something to this whole “writing” thing. The teacher was supportive. Where I had been invisible before, some kids in these classes seemed open to what I was trying to do and even more hated my guts. Attention. Interesting.

I should mention that I was moving around every year or so throughout my entire childhood; so, nearly every school year was a sort of reset. At my second high school, I became the editor of the school newspaper. Now, all of the sudden, I felt “published.” Validated, even. Then, I started to fuck up everything I touched.

The rest of high school is a blur. I immediately joined the Army after high school. Writing got pushed aside. I was shipped to Germany where there was no minimum drinking age. I did, however, begin to gather life experiences that could be used for writing projects in the future. Of course, that was not my intent. I simply put one foot in front of the other. Now, I was a half-ass version of a man traipsing aimlessly through various countries armed with a rifle and the mind of a twelve year old.

How It's Going

It’s been nearly thirty years since I got out of the army. In that time, I’ve continued to collect experiences at an alarming rate. I’ve worked construction, bounced in bars, and tried community college...twice. I drove semi-truck long-haul across the continental United States. I’ve worked in casinos and hotels. I’ve sold guns and cheap electronics. I even had a short stint as a phone “psychic.” Life is strange.

I’m married with kids, and currently live in Japan. I have started so many writing projects over the years; but, rarely finish any of them. Aside from some content for fantasy role-playing games, I’m still unpublished. That said, I’m writing more, now.

I’ve a bucket full of experiences to draw from as I set about my writing. As for online content, I’m hardly moving at break-neck speed. At least I’m writing, though. I’ve become a slightly older fella, traipsing aimlessly through cyberspace armed with a PC and the mind of a twelve year old. What could go wrong? Stay tuned...