As far back as I can remember I always wanted to be a writer.

That’s a big, fat lie!

I have never had a moment, not in my wildest imagination, when I had thought of being an writer.

Never!

I was such a miserable student for most of my life, that writing was the furthest thing from my mind.  Term papers and compositions in college did awful things to my digestive system.

So, how did I end up a writer?

It was more of a fluke than anything else. About ten years ago, I had a strange idea that I believed would make an interesting story. I knew a few people that had done fiction, but either they were busy with something else, or didn't’ want to be bothered.  Since I felt I had no real talent, nor any concept how to write, the idea was put on a shelf.

I did read, and when I finished a story many times I would think to myself, “Could I do better than this guy?” With a little encouragement from my wife, I began writing an outline.  I tried to copy styles and the mechanics of writing from authors that I liked such as Stephen King and Anne Rice. The outline turned into three handwritten notebooks. A year or two later I transferred that to the PC and to hard copy, which people told me was called a manuscript, and from there began chasing agents and publishers all over the Internet.

Alas, here we are.