What’s that like, being a writer? What does it feel like?  People ask me that a lot. As often as not I suspect that what they are actually asking is what do you really do…are you for real…and maybe how do you spend all that time by yourself, without a boss, and not just goof off?

I can answer only for myself, for the guy who lives in that place in the Pacific Northwest with woods behind the house and deer in the yard…and…for the guy who learned the hard way about being a gifted kid and wants to do something about it. Writing has become something I have accepted an obligation to so. Being a writer comes with the territory.  It’s the only way I can make sense of all the things I talk about in A Gift of Dreams and I Promised You Daisies, and that  I am getting ready to share right now as I work on Side Door To Heaven.

You can’t read any of that material without getting at least a hint of the enthusiasm I had in those days for all the good things I was going to do in life. That’s  a part of the experience of being a gifted kid that I feel compelled to share with my readers. In my case most of it did not work out, and that, too, is a big part of what my books are about. The writing itself, and making the completed work available in the form of published books,  is part of the obligation I have accepted to make up for all the things I did not do.  With that in mind, I think you may be able to understand a bit more easily why it isn’t difficult for me to sit by myself for a good part of most days and weave words out of old memories.