I grew up in the suburbs as an unassuming person. I never stood out, and I grew to enjoy living life as an observer. Spectating through life, I found myself an audience member for many things, including works of fiction. Through all the tales I sat through, I felt a void grow inside of me. Something was missing from the typical enjoyment I had from stories.
My life led me to the middle-east in service to my country. With limited access to fiction, I grew exceedingly bored. With what little access I had to books, the gnawing emptiness refused to abate. The works I read through lacked the story I wished to see. In time, I realized that the story I longed for was not yet written, and the onus lay on my head to create it.
Moonlighting as a writer, I finally reached my first milestone years later. The first of the tetralogy is complete, and I am eager to continue. However, I came to the conundrum: "What is the point of a book if no one reads it?" Now, I strive to extend my book beyond my meager social circle and see if the tale I'm weaving is resplendent to anyone else in the world.
