I started writing thirty-seven years ago when these people came to live in my head and wouldn’t go away until I wrote their stories. It all started when I couldn’t sleep, and one night as I stared at the ceiling, a man materialized in my mind. He stood at a window and in the background smokestacks belched black smoke. Then he turned to me and said, “This isn’t the way my life was supposed to turn out.”
For the next few weeks I entertained myself with stories about his life, and then more people came, all clamoring for their stories to be told. I subscribed to Writer’s Digest Magazine and began my writing journey. Would I have started it if I’d known it would be thirty-two years before my first book released?
