After scratching out an existence and fighting to survive for thirteen years, it was no easy matter giving up. Leaving psychiatry and medicine had been more than difficult, but being forced to shut down Home Baking Company was several notches above that on the destructive scale. Gradually, after closing the doors, all worldly possessions disappeared one by one, lost to an inevitable financial process that finally took my home as well. The only place available that I could afford was a very old mobile home, and that's where I moved what remained of my past life.
That mobile home must have been 50 years old. Musty with mold, bedrooms slanted and the size of a closet, the old shack was infested with mice. It was springtime, and I used to wake up early in the morning to the sound of rodents fighting in the bathroom. Still, that old mobile had a wonderful double-wide living room with a decrepit wood-burning stove that made up for a lot. Setting up the 386 computer in one of the closet bedrooms, wondering how I would survive month to month (still with one kid at home), I sat down to see what would come of it. And that's how it all started, fourteen years ago at the age of 55.
The place was quiet, my son was in school, and the world gradually faded away over a several month period as my ability to write dialog and narrative improved to the point that emotions, ideas, and life as I had experienced it could be freely expressed through the keyboard. During that period, I'm not sure when exactly, I left a world that was not mine and discovered one that was.
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