I am an author.

The world I see is one of fantasy and intrigue, twists around every corner and complex devices buried in simple plots.

Writing is my passion; my love; my outlet; my lungs.

The written word is my air.

Give me a cliché, tried and true, and from it I will craft something fresh and original.

It is my gift.

I have written the jock; the nerd; the misunderstood teen; the fledgling young adult; the innocent child; the experienced man that sets his sights on what he wants and achieves it.

Fiction is my train ticket to pure imagination, unbridled and unadulterated; simply me.

There, I cannot be judged; I cannot be told what is right and what is not; I cannot be held back.

What comes to my heart flows into my words, uncensored and unedited.

Bring me your tested, time-trodden works and I shall make something new, something passionately different; something I have felt.

Give to me a blank slate and I will create a person, interconnected in his own universe; I will create others for him to interact with; I will create a problem, and I will lead my characters to find the solution.

Laughter will bubble up inside you as you read about the dysfunction of someone's life; tears will come unbidden to your eyes as the hero sacrifices himself for the greater good; gasps will escape your parted lips as the drama unfolds.

Because that is what authors were created for.

That is what we do.

What I do.

I am an author.

It matters not to me the thoughts of the judgmental masses; the notion that what is right is right and can never be challenged; the notion that wrongness shall forever be wrongness.

I know that there is more out there.

It just needs to be tapped.

Talent is as talent does, and what one does with their talents is up to them.

But me?

I write because it is in my DNA; it is in my blood; it is what I was born to do.

Why sit around and whittle away while knowing that God has other plans for me?

Why not embrace them and pick up that pencil, that sheet of paper?

Why go against my nature?

Never do I feel more comfortable than when writing, no matter the subject matter, length, genre—anything.

Writing is my second—nay, my first—nature, an involuntary reflex as simple as breathing or blinking; I have no conscious choice about whether or not to write.

I just do.

No thought; just action.

Whether it is a riveting tale of adventure and romance, or just an essay for history class, I am always writing and writing and writing.

It cannot be stopped.

A napkin, the notepad function on a smart phone, a notebook, my hand, text messages—I never stop writing.

And, maybe, my continuous shaping of the written word pushes others away and isolates me, but I know that in due time it will be worth the trouble.

Because when the time comes around to share my work, I know that it will be a burden lifted off my chest, making room for something new.

Start something, end it.

Share it, start something else.

End that one, then share it.

Start something, end it.

It is cyclic.


And I prefer it that way.

Because it is who I am, truly, and I would not change a single thing.


The reason is simple; short and sweet; the whole truth.

I am an author.