People have tried to compliment my writing since I was a kid but I never listened. I still don't. I keep believing the myth that real writers have book deals, and new hardcovers on the shelves every month. Who am I kidding? Those are just the lucky writers.
I started taking this seriously a few years ago, and now I write every time I get a chance, which is never enough.
To date I have written 8 short stories, one novella, and have about two dozen starts that are lodged deeply in my laptop's hard drive like a cavity.
My writing attempts to parallel a variety of styles I love; King, Connelly, Matheson, and many others like that.
It would be easy to lie to you by saying I write for the pure love of it, what a wonderful hobby, and all that goop, but I'd be lying to myself too. The truth is that one day I dream to have a novel published and to feel the joy of imprisoning thousands in my own make believe world for a little while. Isn't that what we all tried to do as kids?