I have always been an enthusiastic reader. Breakfast in my childhood home was a slow process as I would read any object on the table—newspapers, cereal boxes, milk cartons, anything. Taking away my books was an effective punishment.

As part of this interest, my cousins and I created a neighborhood of preteen and teenage characters who had adventures and solved mysteries. We drew out this neighborhood, identified where everyone lived, and created character profiles for each one. We were well ahead of our time and wrote a lot of unfinished stories which disappeared into the attic as we got older. After this failed experiment, I still had thoughts of writing my own stories one day.

Becoming an author was an early dream pushed aside by practical thoughts and fears. I decided to take a more surefire route of going to medical school and residency. While I didn’t write my own stories, I spent time writing in a medical and education capacity.

A health crisis awakened the desire to write again. And the ability to self-publish, I could see a path to getting my words and stories out of my head and into a bound book others can read and hopefully enjoy.