I fought fire for three decades. Now, I write.
Part of me could have stayed in the fire department forever. But worn out body parts and a lust for uninterrupted sleep convinced me to hang up my tattered fire boots and face an inherited affliction: the compulsion to write. Step one: admit I am powerless over it. Step two: unleash it. With thirty years of pent-up stories roiling in my head, I’m starting to relieve the pressure—one tale at a time. Take a look.
My work is aimed at those of you wanting to kick the sides out of a box someone else built for you. Welcome. Build your own box.