There's not enough space here to describe what motivates my writing. An alcoholic father, a mother with seven children and not enough money, a lonely childhood in a family of nine. The taunts of other children and sibilings, words which scarred a tender psyche. The neighborhood boy who did that which shouldn't have been experienced by a five-year-old, looking for love anywhere I could, including the mirror. It took years of therapy, a severe breakdown, Parkinson's diagnosis and a man with much more patience than I think I deserve.
A lifetime of experiences which could've left me wounded, scared and bitter have not defined me. It has helped build the voice in my writing. In our home, we take the lemons life throws at us and make lemonade. My writing, I hope, reflects that attitude. Though there's been many terrible times in my life, I'd rather focus on the good.
I do most of the needle arts, read voraciously, write when the muse hits, take pictures whenever possible, love my family and watch the world around me. What more could you want?