But all that changed a little more than two years ago.
I had always known I was a storyteller. I learned the art of storytelling in front of a group of people. I wrote play scripts, including a one-act that got a bit of prominence (as much as you get for a one-act.) I wrote some short comedy pieces for local TV in Ohio. I even had an audition to write scripts for Disney's TV arm. I just missed getting in there, and was invited to apply again the next year.
But it was my nonfiction that had success. I sold articles to national magazines. At the same time as the Disney audition, I got a job with a newspaper chain. It matched what I understood my writing at the time to be; short projects, easy to complete, and which I could turn out quickly and with clean, readable copy. When Disney's offer rolled around the next year, I declined. I had a family to support, and I'd found a way to do it with writing.
I loved the work then. Parts of me love parts of it still. But, over time, I came to realize there was something missing. I wasn't sharing my own stories. Then I experienced a series of losses. When my birthday rolled around, I committed to working again to write and sell my stories.
I started in writing groups, which led to a comic book publisher contacting me. The groups gave me leads on publishers, which led to my submitting Eve's Thieves to Midnight Frost Books.
The journey has taken me to a new place: the land of the published author. Three years (plus a couple of decades before it) later.
Pursue your dreams. You may find a new one on the way. You might even find your way back to the one you started with.