Why a writer?
When I was younger, I wanted to be a lot of different things for no particular reason. I mean, it usually pertained to my interests and probably a desire to be a part of that thing, but it was always more flight of fancy than any real desire or passion. But halfway through high school, I finally figured it out. I wanted to write.
Growing up, I used to constantly make up stories. Stories about adventures I wish I had or ones I pretended (lied) about having. When I would play with my friends, pretending to be a part of the A-Team, I would insert whole storylines about getting amnesia and running away, or my GI Joes would have relationships so when they went out and got killed by Cobra, there was some fallout to that. It probably frustrated my friends to no end now that I think about it. But, that’s what I enjoyed.
I was never a very good student. By high school I hated going. I just wanted to get home and play football or baseball or whatever with my friends (most went to different schools). But, I had a couple assignments for various classes where I was able to write fiction. I got to tell the stories I wanted to (or duck a short research essay) and see how people would react to the things I wrote. And it just sort of clicked.
Years later, I’m living my dream…sort of.
I don’t think I ever fully envisioned the life of an artist. Crappy jobs that allowed for time to write. Perpetually on the verge of being broke. Watching friends and former classmates get married and have kids and all that. On the other hand, I have attended conventions all over the US, made friends all over the world, seen my work published (including Image and Dark Horse), visited movie studios, and I’ve even been hired to write a screenplay. I really feel like I live my life straddling two worlds, but I couldn’t imagine it any other way.
Though ditching the part time job for steady writing work would be pretty cool.