As a child I always wanted to write. I remember sitting on a beach with my father and telling him that one day I would try to travel the world, if for no other reason than to gather the experience necessary to write like the authors I always loved. The result of this was taking off after high school and avoiding college, on and off, for several years while trying out the concept of freedom and seeing how it fit. Freedom fit fine, but poverty was a little too small on me. So I returned to college, sat down, and started to write again, knowing now how the world works. Yet, if I was so afraid of poverty, why would I choose a career to try that offered no promises other than little money and appreciation for long hours and a lot of frustration?
Mainly because writing is like taking a hit of the world's most addictive drug. Everything flies along smoothly until the high wears off, and you find yourself shaking and begging for more. The experience itself is enough to make it worth it. The joy of creating mindlessly, the frustration of endless rewrites until a piece is just right in your mind, the sorrow of rejections and the eventual joy of an acceptance. Without writing, a man would find himself curled into a ball shaking with the worst case of the DTs ever seen.
I would like to say that my major influences are great authors, but they're not. Read my work, I'm a hack. The key isn't to be great, though. The key is to enjoy what you do. The moment sitting down to write a story becomes more of a chore than it is a joy, I'll happily go to law school and spend the remainder of my life doing wills for little old ladies. Right now, though, I'm willing to suffer a bit to get my work in print, even if it does drive me to drink a bit too much.
I should send a nod in the right directions. My parents, who got me addicted to reading and writing in the first place and have never ceased in their support, remain my most ardent fans. A close second is my wife who, despite the freelance jobs that barely help with the bills, sticks beside me as I try to sell fiction. Finally, to the people who have actually read my work and enjoyed it, you folks are the reason I keep trying. Thank you.