When I was a young man I dreamed of trying my hand at writing an epic fantasy novel. Like many other things in life, it was a smoldering desire which I cradled within a deep recess of my mind. I figured, when I had time I’d extract that ember and breathe life into it. Of course, the nagging of everyday life took precedence. Work, family, all of the usual joys, tribulations, and time-sink trappings of the modern world consumed my days. One day, I thought…

My father sagely advised me to save as much as I could toward retirement, starting from my first day of work. I heeded his advice. That, and good fortune, allowed me to retire from the corporate world while I was yet young. The day I had long awaited had arrived: I finally had time to delve into the world of writing. I expected the smoldering ember, which I had harbored deep within for so many decades, could be brought out from a near-forgotten nook of my mind and nurtured into life.

Much to my dismay, I found myself gripped by fears. Why did I think I could be an author? I had never written a story before. Even more dispiriting, despite daydreaming often my desiccated mind failed to come up with ideas for a story. Was I too old, was my imagination stilled from lack of use and encroaching age? Doubt paralyzed me. I found other things to do. That long-held desire remained tucked away for four more years.

I am forever fortunate; I was encouraged to try – “I read your work when you were young, it’s good enough to publish,” my mom would say. “Write just a paragraph,” my eldest brother urged. “I know you can do it,” cheered a sister.

Disease claimed mom. And cancers closed in on my eldest brother. If I didn’t at least try soon, they would both be lost without seeing if I could indeed write. I finally retrieved that smoldering ember, gathered my courage, and blew on it. Astonishingly, my feeble doubt-ridden breath was enough. I witnessed that ember burst into a blaze of creativity. People, creatures, events, a whole land! They unfolded in my mind in a bonfire which I hope will persist for years to come.

When I’m not pounding on a keyboard, letting the sparks, flames and ashes from my imagination find life on a page, I find happiness in Columbia, South Carolina, where I live with my wife. As often as possible we visit our sons and daughters and our six grandchildren who grow much too quickly. Occasionally we endeavor to lose ourselves visiting the beauty and riches of the real world.