About Me
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My background
From Country Roads to Broader Horizons: A Life Illuminated by Faith and Perseverance
An Autobiographical Reflection on Lessons, Loss, and Light
I was born and raised just beyond the borders of Logan, Ohio, where the horizon was stitched together by fields of corn and the unwavering hands of my family working our farm. Ours was not a life of material abundance, but rather one rich in the subtler currencies of perseverance, humility, and faith. The lessons we learned—my siblings and I—were not written in textbooks but cultivated in the furrows of our land and the rhythms of daily chores. Each hardship was a teacher, every struggle a silent sermon shaping the adults we would become.
We worshipped in a small holiness church, a place thick with the echoes of hymns and the warmth of a community bound by belief. The pews were often filled with members of my mother’s family, many of whom had answered the call to ministry. Preaching, praying, and serving were woven into the fabric of our story—none more so than my late older brother, whose gentle wisdom and steadfast faith left an indelible mark before his passing in early 2025. His absence is a presence that lingers, a reminder that light can both guide and heal, even in the darkest corridors of grief.
My worldview, I suppose, took root in witnessing God’s handiwork amidst the ordinary miracles of rural life: the first green shoots after a hard winter, the steadfastness of community during lean years, and the quiet comfort of prayer at dusk. Yet, it was education and travel—stepping out from the familiar country lanes into the vastness of this great nation and farther still—that refined those early convictions. I began at a small Christian school, the kind where everyone knew your name and your story. That foundation led to an Associates degree, then a Bachelors, and finally a Masters, each step fueled by a restless curiosity about our purpose and the mysteries that await once this chapter is closed.
The journey was rarely smooth. Setbacks and failures often seemed more frequent than triumphs, and the weight of disappointment could be suffocating. But hindsight reveals a gentle logic: adversity was not a detour, but the very path itself. Those countless struggles now lend my voice an authority born of survival, not theory—I have known the midnight valleys, and I have stumbled into the dawn. To be a light in the darkness, one must have wandered there and found a way through. This truth underscores much of my writing, a recurring theme in my books and reflections: you cannot show someone the exit if you have never walked that road yourself.
Throughout my life, I have been deeply shaped by the works of others—avidly reading self-help and inspirational literature, mining their pages for hope and direction. Each influence has been a lantern lighting my way, guiding me through both the commonplace and the profound. My personal narrative, then, is not just my own but an echo of all those voices who have walked similar paths.
Wherever you find yourself today—adrift, uncertain, or yearning for direction—know that these waters are not uncharted. Others have sailed here before you, and there is always a beacon, however faint, waiting to be seen. The world can be a shadowed place, but light persists for those who seek it, and grace abounds in the courage to keep moving forward.
May your journey, like mine, be marked not only by the places you begin but by the wisdom gained along the way, and the unwavering hope that, beyond every dark road, a new day unfolds.
My writing roots
The Tapestry of My Writing Influences
A Homage to the Masters Who Shaped My Craft
Every writer is, at their core, a mosaic of influences—a patchwork of voices, philosophies, and stories absorbed over a lifetime. My own writing roots are deeply entwined with the wisdom and artistry of storytellers whose impact I can only hope to mimic, never truly replicate. The breadth of those who have shaped my approach is too vast to fully enumerate, but I would be remiss not to shine a light on the luminaries whose words and ideas have become the very soil in which my creativity grows.
Zig Ziglar's infectious optimism and masterful command of motivational storytelling taught me that words are not just vehicles for information, but instruments of transformation. Through his anecdotes and encouragements, I learned that narrative has the power to ignite hope and agency in others.
Andy Andrews, with his parable-like tales and warm, conversational style, revealed the art of weaving profound life lessons into engaging stories. His knack for distilling wisdom into everyday moments inspired me to search for meaning in the ordinary, and to reflect it in my own writing.
John Maxwell, the beacon of leadership literature, instilled in me the discipline of clarity and the importance of intentionality in written communication. His work stands as a blueprint for those seeking to guide others—a reminder that every sentence can shape vision and foster growth.
The metaphysical musings of Neville Goddard (whose teachings I have so often pondered) invite a writer to explore the boundless landscapes of imagination and belief. His philosophy—that our inner world constructs our outer reality—has encouraged me to craft narratives that not only entertain, but also embolden readers to reimagine their possibilities.
From Jim Collins, I have inherited a relentless curiosity for the mechanics of greatness—how individuals and organizations ascend from good to truly remarkable. His analytical rigor and storytelling prowess have inspired me to blend research with narrative, seeking both insight and illumination in my writing.
The spiritual depth of Eckhart Tolle—his call to presence and awareness—offers a serene counterpoint to the noise of everyday life. In his prose, I find a meditative cadence that reminds me to write not just from the mind, but from the stillness within.
Bruce Lipton and Joe Dispenza, weaving the threads of science and self-empowerment, challenge me to embrace the intersection of biology, belief, and transformation. Their work emboldens my writing with a sense of possibility—reminding me that the stories we tell ourselves can, quite literally, reshape our reality.
Joseph Murphy and Maxwell Maltz, with their explorations of the subconscious mind and the psychology of self-image, have nudged me toward a style that honors both the seen and unseen forces guiding human behavior. Their perspectives encourage introspection and compassion, both for my characters and my readers.
Finally, Daniel Goleman’s insights into emotional intelligence have shaped my approach to character, conflict, and connection. His insistence on empathy and self-understanding as pathways to meaningful relationships resonates deeply in every narrative I attempt.
To distill my influences to a single list is, of course, an impossible task. But these thinkers, with their diverse wisdom and artistry, have become the compass by which I navigate the vast sea of storytelling. Through them, I have learned that to write is both a privilege and a responsibility—a chance to echo the truths of those who came before, while lighting the way for those who will come after.
My style
The Enduring Power of Storytelling
Lessons Woven Through Time
Storytelling is a thread that weaves humanity together, binding generation to generation with wisdom, warning, and wonder. I have always found solace and strength in this ancient art, aware that a well-told story can slip past defenses, nestle into memory, and emerge transformed in the hearts of listeners.
Consider the approach of Jesus, who, amid the dust and sun of Galilean hills, spoke not in cold declarations but in parables. He scattered his truths like seeds, wrapped in the everyday—banquets and vineyards, shepherds and coins. In doing so, he chose a vessel that could transcend the moment, that could outlast the crumbling of empires and the shifting sands of language. He knew that the heart remembers stories long after it forgets commands.
Stories are guardians against distortion. Each time a narrative is retold, it invites listeners into the process of discovery. A story is not a brittle edict, easily splintered; it is a river, changing course, shaping new landscapes, but never losing its source. Attempts to twist or tarnish its meaning are met not with resistance, but with resilience. For even if the surface is muddied, the current of truth runs deep beneath.
In my own writing, I am drawn to this storytelling tradition. I seek to offer not just information, but transformation—a lantern for those who walk the winding path after me. A story well-planted does not die; it grows, bearing fruit long after the teller has gone silent. It is in this way that understanding becomes transcendent, and wisdom withstands the test of time.