Someone asked this question online. I replied with what you see below.
How did I become an author? That’s a great question; however, I don’t think it’s the right one. I think the right question is, “How did you discover you are a writer?” I’ll assume that’s the correct approach and tell you my story from that perspective.
I’ve always been conflicted by being interested in too many things at once. You know the old saying, “Jack of all trades and master of none.” That’s me. As a kid, I was a competent baseball player, but never a star. I made great grades in school, but I never paved a runway to an Ivy League school and a million-dollar salary. I played musical instruments, but I didn’t earn a scholarship to Juilliard or Berklee. I drew cartoons and story art for my school newspaper, but Disney never came calling. And I loved books. I drowned myself in them. The more I read, the more I wanted to write, but I never felt like I was good enough to strike out on my own with a big story. I wrote little poems and other short pieces for my high school literary magazine, but nothing too risky. Fear of failure or, even worse, mediocrity kept my pen still.
Then, I grew up. I went through college away from home, got married, fathered children, and opened my eyes to a world that not only loved art, but needed it. I learned art touches people and human experience is to be shared. The half starts and lackluster performances from my youth all came into focus as preparation for wielding the mightiest tool for human understanding ever forged, the written word.
Think about it. Books endure. This is why the society in Ray Bradbury’s masterpiece, Fahrenheit 451, was bent on their destruction. That story isn’t really about censorship. It’s about the elimination of a medium with the power of permanence. A record that can be a shield against the tyranny of gaslighting. Books are vital. Books do more than tell a story. They validate human experience by bringing us together and illuminating just what it means to struggle through this world as human beings. Not everyone faces the same struggle, to be sure, but there’s enough common ground that we can see our own lives in the lives of characters on a page.
The final straw, the final drop of water behind the dam that broke a story free from the confines of my mind in a torrent of words was a book called Pensées, by Blaise Pascal. There’s too much to summarize here, but essentially, Pascal taught me some very important lessons. First, humanity is suspended between two extremes, the unfathomably vast and the invisibly small. From our vantage point, we can neither see nor grasp either, yet we know they exist. Second, science and faith are unnecessarily at each other’s throats. The fact is that science is a gift from our Creator which is to be used to reveal His creation on His schedule through a process of incremental revelation. Third, humility with regard to the previous two points can lead us to a better understanding of each other and teach us how to coexist in a kind and loving way.
I simply had to write a book. I had no choice. I had a mission. This was not a decision. It was a realization that I am a writer. I didn’t become one. I have always been one. I needed only to respond to my purpose.
So, I embarked upon my first novel, Motes. I had so much to say. Wrapping it all into a story that would keep a reader’s attention was a challenge. The words flew from my keyboard. My wife would hear me frantically tapping away at night. I’m a fairly competent typist, but my fingers could not keep up with the thoughts as they forced themselves from my mind and onto the pages. Before I knew it, I had a hefty 140,000-page novel ready to feed the masses.
In case you didn’t know, nearly no one will pick up a book that size from a certified nobody. If you are Stephen King, you can write 200,000 words and rabid, drooling fans will scoop them up and drink them like the very elixir of life. I’m not Stephen King. I’ve not paid a lot of bills with the royalties from that book, but here’s the thing. There is a very small population of people who really love it. I love it. And it’s out there in the wild. It’s registered in the US Copyright Office. You can buy it online. Heck, I’ve even seen it for sale used! My book. That’s right. Someone read my book and passed it on to someone else. It’s not going away. Maybe a hundred years from now, the story’s lessons of duty, faith, and family will be rediscovered and lead humanity on a path to a better future. Don’t laugh. It could happen. The only way it would be an impossibility would be if I hadn’t written it in the first place.
I’m on my fourth book now. I’m still not making very much money. I still have a very small (but loving) fan base. I may never be financially successful as a writer. That’s OK. I will not stop writing until I lose the physical and mental capacity to do so. I’ll say it again. Books are vitally important.
So, I write because I am a writer. It is why I am here.