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In 1992 I decided to take up
writing. I've done a variety of
things: cooked, refinery
operator, special education
teacher, teaching parent and
many other jobs. There was a
lot of satisfaction in some of
them, but nothing as
wonderfully satisfying as
writing. I've always dreamed,
and always lived in two worlds,
one within my mind and the
other we all inhabit. Now,
finally, I get to explore the
inner world, the one where
everything blurs and takes on
new meanings and shapes. At
least I'm lucky enough to get a
chance. Some way some how, I
will find the boundaries that
matter and push past them.
Whatever happens now I am
committed. It's more than just
fiction. It's about the nature of
reality itself--an index of the
mind's eye. The first page of a
new reality is in the works!

Recent update. You're darn
right I'm still at it.
Discouraged, perhaps.
Downtrodden, or at least
trodden. But what else is a
maladjusted fifty-one year old
misfit to do?

What?