Introduction

Some friends of mine had a baby dedication for their son in the summer of ’08.  Being a writer, I decided to write him a story as a gift, a story where he was the main character.  I penned the lines and sketched the pictures and clumsily bound it together.  I became a writer because I thought success would make me a valuable human being.  I keep writing because I love the way my characters are able to view life.

When it comes to life’s big decisions – the gut-wrenching ones that change everything – I long ago stopped believing it was possible for me to make a right choice.  I wanted to go to college and marry someone and sip sophisticated drinks while watching the sunset from the back porch.  But that’s not my life.  My life has been a series of failures and mistakes.  Out of those failures have come the best things in my life.  That’s how I learned I’m not the one in control.  I’m a character in a story written by someone else.  It’s a love story, and I’m not sorry to live it, just as it’s written.
Here are stories I’m collecting, stories of people and the story of a neighborhood, and how we’re finding resurrection.