“You’re not a real runner until you’ve tripped and fallen on your face.”
I grew up on a farm at the fringe of Portland, Oregon. And that about sums up everything I am. As I kid, we had goats and chickens. As a teen, I remember tent camping, backpacking, and long jogs in Forest Park with my dad. I think it was the jogging that had the biggest impact on my adolescence. Whenever my body hit a wall, my dad would convince me that the wall was just a few feet further. And when I tripped and fell over one of a million loose roots on the trail, he would remind me that falling is a right of passage.
And so my life has been a series of failures and victories. But my greatest victories are the three treasures I possess that I call my sons. Without them, I think I’d have no imagination. Like my father, they push me beyond my limits, massaging my capacity for patience… and adoration.
Stories are an integral part of our home. While I’m typing away on my computer and creating a world of imagination, my son will bring down his Lego creation and plop it on the table before me, proving to me how inadequate my words are. And while he’s doing that, my other two sons are wielding swords in an epic battle whose only outcomes lead to ultimate triumph or death.
It was in the winter of 2018 that I went on a reading binge that left me with the seed of a book idea. The idea turned into a scene. The scene turned into a chapter. The chapter turned into a novel. The novel turned into a five-part series, the first of which is now in the process of being published.
I’m excited to present my books to you this spring and hope that they will not just entertain but inspire too.