I didn’t become an author because I wanted to make tons of money, which is good, because I haven’t. 🙂 I became an author to escape the doldrums of a corporate retail job as the company slowly drifted toward bankruptcy. There were literally days toward the end of our existence where my only requirement was to fill a seat so that the office didn’t look empty. Needless to say, I played a lot of solitaire. Then when I got home at night, I wrote a little bit more of the manuscript that would eventually become Noble.

It’s hard to believe that was all two years ago. I’ve written and published four books since then. It wasn’t hard, not really, because I quickly discovered that I had a passion for it inside of me all along.

I loved creating! Inventing characters, setting up obstacles for them to deal with, and of course, trying to think of the compelling twists and turns that the characters would experience along the way. I felt as though I had finally found my calling after years of banging my head against the wall in the real world.

Then a funny thing happened: My books started to sell. Not in droves, mind you, but as an unknown independent author without an ounce of reputation, even a trickle of sales is flattering beyond comparison. I joked with my fiancée, telling her that someday I was going to take her out to dinner with the royalties check I received from my book sales.

And that’s exactly what I did.

I received my first royalties check in early 2011: $17.63. I took my beautiful girl to a little place in Vancouver, Washington called Sheridan’s Frozen Custard and treated us both to one of their peanut butter and chocolate milkshakes—our favorite. We had scarfed down countless Sheridan’s milkshakes before, but in my mind, not one of them had ever tasted as sweet.

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