It's odd, isn't it, that I came to it so late in life? I was in my 30s before I began writing in any conscious way. 35 at least before I started doing the archeological dig into my heart and memory and soul that would later result in the stuff I published, that editors saw fit to print or digitize. I think it's a little odd. I've always written, of course, letters mostly, and a story or two during my very short academic career -- which came to a screeching halt on my 16th birthday, the day I dropped out of high school. It snuck up on my. First came the book reviews. I was a graphic designer doing the design and production on a book review magazine and the editor asked me to give review writing a shot. Shortly thereafter came restaurant reviews for a lifestyle magazine in San Francisco, Notes From the Trough my column was called. I had a hit first time out of the gate when the sheriff of San Francisco invited me to review the food at the county jail. I went, met many confused young guys who'd done something stupid, got six months in the county jail. It was sweet watching them care for the baby goats on the farm at the jail. I called the article "Waiter, There's a File in My Soup." The writing has kept burning, taken me all around the world, keeps e getting out of bed in the morning. That and our beautiful baby.