Who am I? Well, I am me. I may not know you, and yet I do. You see, I am a wandering one … One who observes life, silently taking in the information life gives me. I gather this information into my mind, and I return home. Every day I sit alone in a place behind a door, a place I call my cave, where my computer sits beckoning for my words. I am not rich, in fact, some could call me poor in today’s standards of more. Oh, but I have a treasure in store. A gleaming library of prose between my ears, waiting to spill from my fingertips. I do not own many possessions, for I believe in quality over quantity–my truck, my Harley, my fancy laptop, a few tailored jeans and deep-V-neck T’s, a leather couch that doubles as a bed in my one-bedroom pad, along with a few plants and trees that I nourish, because I feel it my duty to do so. Nope, I’m not showered with wealth, but I’m strong, and I feel like a king in my cramped castle. Am I lonely? Aren’t we all at times? I often do ponder the fact that I do not have much to offer anyone, other than my words. Yet, my heart is as big as the sun, and all it wants to do is share. So I pour out the warmth onto the page, in hopes that you will smile. Because I may not be rich, but I love, oh yes, I love–with everything that I am.
So, back to the original question: Who am I? Well, I am a writer, a writer of the mysterious subjects of love and romance, because that’s what my heart wants me to be. No, I am not poor. I may not have money, but I am rich beyond belief, and I am grateful every single day that I breathe … grateful every moment for the characters that I’ve been called upon to portray in prose. Call me Erik, call me Scott, call me Jake, call me Jim, call me Cooper, because they all live inside … or call me what you wish. A name is but a few letters, a barcode in an ocean of souls.
“Maybe someday they’ll see,” I tell myself. “Yes, someday they’ll see … me.”