I was editing photos. Hundreds of them scrolled down a monitor. They had been taken during my work as a photographer. Some of the images had graced the front pages of a newspaper. Now they appeared minuscule, blurring within a scrum of thumbnails. Yikes! The insignificance of those photos—and my work—became apparent.
My photography train kept rolling. But a disquietude lurked beneath the surface. I wondered how I could make a difference in the world.
Could I write novels? Books can sway a reader’s outlook. I knew this truism firsthand. The Grapes of Wrath jolted my sensibilities.
During spare time I wrote. A novel came to life. I shopped it around. Rejections followed. My magnum opus ended up a phA routine chore sparked a funk of introspection.
I was editing photos. Hundreds of them scrolled down a monitor. They had been taken during my work as a photographer. Some of the images had graced the front pages of a newspaper. Now they appeared minuscule, blurring within a scrum of thumbnails. Yikes! The insignificance of those photos—and my work—became apparent.
My photography train kept rolling. But a disquietude lurked beneath the surface. I wondered how I could make a difference in the world.
Could I write novels? Books can sway a reader’s outlook. I knew this truism firsthand. The Grapes of Wrath jolted my sensibilities.
During spare time I wrote. A novel came to life. I shopped it around. Rejections followed. My magnum opus ended up a phantom opus.
A shakeup was required. Something drastic. I hiked the Appalachian Trail. That life altering slog-linked here-took six months.
Years racked up. Work competed with writing. Yet draft by draft another novel took shape. The plot is set on the Appalachian Trail. The book launches on July 19, 2016.
At last, I’ve created something that could make a difference....more