I’ve washed a million restaurant dishes and restocked miles of supermarket shelves. I’ve been a real estate agent in the North of Africa and studied philosophy in Paris. I’ve business-owned in Morocco, bartended in England, sowed and harvested in Spain. I’ve also done jobs that perhaps could read a bit too taboo on here and which I’ll only let you imagine.
So I’ve done a fair share of things in a fair share of places.
But, cliché as it may sound (and isn’t “cliché as it may sound” a terrible cliché in and of itself?), the one constant thing over all these years has been the ink on paper and the dark pixel against the light pixel. No matter what job, what city, what country, my days always began or ended with words put together. With story.
Yes, I’ve always been a lover and a student of story. And I hope that having lived in those diverse places, encountered those varied people, occupied those pairs of disparate shoes, will help imbue my stories with at least a pinch of that universal truth we all so long to read.