My first memory of writing something was co-creating an illustrated short story with my friend Vitz during 4th-grade recess. I don’t remember the title or plot, only that it involved—possible cultural appropriation alert (but suffice to say we were 10, and it was the 90s)—a group of Lilliputian Hawaiin villagers battling anthropomorphic animals of some kind (don’t ask, I don’t have answers). 

After elementary school, much of my writing was not entirely secret but definitely under the radar. I came of age in a small, rust belt-adjacent Pennsylvania town that the NY Times once described as “gulag-like,” a fact that I love to trot out because it’s both a real indictment of how the right has been able to weaponize the concept of “coastal elites,” and not entirely inaccurate. As you can imagine, this gulag-like existence wasn’t exactly conducive to me thinking being a writer was a viable career choice.

So, I did the next best thing so many aspiring great American novelists without the funds or background knowledge required to pursue MFAs do: I majored in English Lit and Secondary Education at a lovely liberal arts college (the University of Scranton—truly one of the best choices I’ve ever made for a variety of reasons, chiefly among them the fantastic, long-lasting friendships it fostered). 

Upon graduation, I embarked upon a 5-year stint as a public high school American Literature and Creative Writing Teacher in Lancaster, PA. I also ran the high school’s job shadowing program and was the Yearbook advisor for four years before agreeing to step down once it came to light that my subpar editing skills (I was 24, and it was the early aughts!) missed a student sticking his finger through his open fly in the senior class photo (no one ever referred to this as finger-penis gate, but I sort of wish they did). 

While this now seems like a lifetime ago, it was a foundational time for me both as a person (I believe that if the U.S. mandated that everyone do a stint teaching public high school the same way some countries do military service…we’d be in a much different place than we are right now) and a writer.

Teaching shaped much of my writing philosophy, including that there’s nothing wrong with broad, easily digestible content, being a style-centric writer just because you have that skillset isn’t always the best approach, and that sometimes the tangents are where the most significant revelations are made. And only five years provided me with a lifetime of wild stories and observations. 

Summers off also gave me the opportunity to write several manuscripts that I pitched (rightfully) to no avail and start a blog that taught me about consistency, having a POV (that blog…did not have one), building a brand, and netting me a couple of press trips on small, southern Pennsylvania tour companies; it showed me that there was some potential after all, in making writing a paying career. 

After becoming disillusioned with the state of American education and sick of being middle-class-fancy poor, I transitioned out of teaching and, frankly, had a couple of years that professionally and personally were transitionary and tough, and the less said about them, the better, with the major takeaway being that I’m fortunate to have the familial support I do (although it is worth mentioning, speaking of a job that gifts you wild stories and observations, that during this time I had a stint at a call center in an office park outside of Scranton that felt like an Office parody every single day). 

While I’m deeply nostalgic, I’m also someone whose own experience has given me the stance that we too often romanticize youth when getting older is much more preferential, stress-free, fun, and productive. It’s been in my 30s (which are, admittedly, reaching closing time) that things have really come together for me professionally and personally. 

I’ve found professional success as a content writer for my day job, which I know some capitol-W writers look down on, but I’ll defend passionately for any writers looking for a steady income and solid benefits. If it seems like I have a little bit of a chip on my shoulder about this, I do. That being said, I feel fortunate that I get to do what I love for a living, make a livable wage, and thus can afford to pursue my passion projects on nights and weekends (newsflash: no one gets into writing for the money). 

I came out right at the start of my 30s, too, which, aside from a hefty personal weight being lifted, has made my writing 100% more honest and shown me that people can change their minds and viewpoints with patience, grace, and the right information. I also relocated from Pennsylvania to Asheville, NC, just pre-pandemic. This helped further exacerbate my writing career as there’s a long literary tradition here in Western North Carolina, coupled with so many people in Asheville having artistic side hustles. All of this has culminated in finally helping me shed the imposter syndrome I’d, unfortunately, let badger me so significantly. On the writing front, I’ve never been so professionally or personally prolific as I have the past few years. I’ve also never been as confident in my writing abilities, the convictions I often write about, and what I’d like to accomplish through the words I publish. 

Currently, I work remotely as a marketer here in Asheville while I pursue a number of literary pursuits in my off hours. I blog at www.ashevilleexplorer.com, a mix of a travel/lifestyle blog mixed with a healthy element of observational humor and self-satirization (I’ve also found that it’s great for me to have an outlet where I’m accountable to no one but my thoughts and whims). I’m a somewhat regular op-ed contributor to the local Asheville Citizen Times, where I mainly try to dismantle the hypocrisy of our state and federal Republican representatives (doing my part to help fast-track the purple-ing of NC). I dabble in fiction (I was vehemently anti-short story for years for whatever reason, though now it’s primarily what I read and create) and write non-fiction freelance pieces on a variety of subjects.