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Ever since I was able to read, I’ve had a book (or a comic book in the early days) in my hands or on my person. I grew up in a non-digital age, in a home with one telephone that everyone shared, one television that no one watched, and in which movies were a luxury. Aside from radio theatre, books were my best non-human friends.
My love of reading never died. When I was 8 years old, I drew my first series of comic books. They were terrible, but I still love them. To me, they represent the moment the wise-old-man inside my little boy’s head finally made me aware that I loved to create.
As it turned out, I enjoyed writing much more than I enjoyed drawing, but I’ve spent most of my life doing some form of creative work. And when not, I’ve worked some boring jobs in very creative ways.
To this day, I love to write and to share my creations with others. I’m the guy who will watch a good movie twenty more times, if it means I get to introduce it to someone else and participate in their joy of discovering something entertaining or valuable. I can’t be quite so intimately participatory with my own writing, but I do love to know that I’ve brightened someone’s day, made them think, feel or—at the very least—provided them with a welcome distraction for a while.