A high school English teacher was…oh, I’ll be generous, less than helpful in the process of helping me to learn how to write. Although I was prompted to write down my creative musings over the years, I never felt the things I wrote were worthy of sharing with anyone. My self-confidence was limited to my work involving science and math…the wrong side of the brain to really exercise the creativity that lurked within my mind. Much of my writing has focused on the misery that I realized at the beginning of the new millennium. In the absence of work to distract my mind, a virtual storm of thoughts threw memories of the past and present back and forth across my mind. It brought up all of the unresolved issues of my childhood and mixed them with more recent misadventures. The stew it produced was tasty, but very dark, and morose, but also funny. As I shared various pieces with friends and acquaintances, I gained perspective and began to appreciate that I perhaps had a little talent buried within my dyslexic mind. 

Several degrees and publications, but none related to the current efforts.