Discovering the passion in my late teens, I now find myself nearly 45 years into the journey of writing. During that time, I’ve lived a dual life—splitting my days between the painting industry and the calling of a writer (and eventually, an artist). I chose the path less padded. The writer/artist life doesn’t promise wealth or security, but it values time, creativity, and truth. And that’s the life I signed up for.

When years turn into decades, you realize: you’ve really been at something. It’s not just a hobby anymore—it’s a life. My writing journey, in many ways, mirrors the pursuit of the Great American Dream. I’ve chased visions, nurtured gifts, suffered losses, and stayed the course through determination, sacrifice, risk-taking, and long hours of solitary work. I’ve braved the poverty of success, the silence of the solitary act, and the tightrope walk between faith and reason. Some see the life of a writer as heroic. Maybe it is. But for me, it’s personal. I’m climbing my own Mt. Everest, and at the summit, I hope to plant my Great American Dream flag.

It all makes for good copy.

But if I’m being honest, I don’t see myself as heroic. I see myself as a man trying to be true—to the craft and to himself. Writers write. There’s no Plan B. Writing isn’t something you retire from. It’s a calling you answer every day, whether or not anyone else is listening. Each day offers hope—hope for a better sentence, a clearer thought, a deeper truth. Each new draft is a door to another discovery. That’s the payoff. A writer never stops chasing the truth hiding in their words.

I’m grateful for the technological ease of the modern age. Trust me, the trauma of retyping an entire page over a single typo is real. But despite all the tools and shortcuts, my writing still begins the old-fashioned way: pen on paper. There’s something sacred in that ritual. Ink meeting pulp. Chaos of thought transforming into meaning. Scribbles becoming song. The blank page remains my most faithful companion—pregnant with potential, vast as the universe. A portal to other worlds. Each story a maiden voyage.

This is the writer’s life. And I wouldn’t trade it.