It may have started in 1984, at the age of 11. It probably started a few years later, fall of 1986. I was 14. I had written a short story. I was growing up and I was more and more withdrawn everyday. It may have been during that Thanksgiving break when I met Freesia. We talked about all the fantastic things we were going to do with life. Being a writer was her goal, and perhaps to impress her or because I was still riding a high with the first and only story I had ever written, I too said I wanted to be a writer.
It may have started at any point on my timeline from the onset of my war in the Middle East in 1990 or the time I later started college in 1993. It may have started in March of 1995, after the house fire left me homeless and Bleeding Sheep published my first short story “Fish of a Nazi Haven.” Then again, it may have started a year later when I decided to leave Botany behind me and become a writer. Yes, it was January 1996, ten years after I first made the statement that I wanted to be a writer, when I decided to go out and do it.
No, it didn’t start in 1996. No, it started much later. January 2007 when my feet hit the ground in Vermont and I got off to Goddard College to pursue my MFA in creative writing. January 2007? No, that wasn’t it either. I think it was January 2009 when I graduated. In January 2009, life and education under my belt, I went out into the world and began my life as a writer.
Sure, I wanted to be a writer, but that wasn’t the focus of life. My focus of life was to go out and do things, all sorts of things. From a very young age on, I wanted to experience life and be an interesting person. I wanted to be smart. I wanted to be the guy people wanted to talk to because they had never met anyone remotely like me before. This was how I lived my life until the time I got to Goddard College at the beginning of my graduate program.
When I began my writer’s life in January of 2009, I had plenty going. I wanted to write. I had more characters running around in my head than I knew what to do with. I had more imaginary friends than anyone is entitled to have. I had to start telling stories. I had to start writing if nothing more than to exorcise my imaginary friends.
Somewhere along the path I got involved with others. I became a founder of Umbrella Factory Magazine. I was on the ground floor of Rocket House. I was part of a couple of writer’s groups that ultimately did great things. I have loved, loathed, been loved and loathed. It’s been a tremendous time