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From 1997-2001, I spent my time aimlessly wondering around the United States, running away from responsibility and looking for the next party. I found some good times, but I also found a lot of other people who were on the run. I found that most of these drifters were leaving behind a broken life in search of happiness and safety. What I discovered about these people, over time, is that where they were was of little consequence; it's who they were that mattered. All of these people were broken, had stopped loving themselves, and were incapable of loving another. Some of these people, whom I kept in touch with, found love, and found happiness. Other's did not. I've been observing people with a keen eye ever since, and I've made the conclusion that everyone on this planet is broken in some way. Every person's drama may not seem that relevant or traumatic to everyone else, but each of us own our individual pain, and thus, it is important.
I write because, for me, it's therapy. I'm broken much like everyone else. I've found love: love of a wonderful bride, love of a beautiful baby boy, but most importantly, I've learned to love myself and all my flaws. Broken chronicals my journey across the country and here in Los Angeles, as well as the journeys of some other "fictional" people I've met along the way.
I will continue to write because, for me, it's a great way to silence the non-stop chatter in my head. I used to annoy my bride with all my incoherent ramblings, but now, I've decided that I love her and want to keep her around, so instead of rambling to her, I will ramble to you all, in the form of the written word.
My influences, in literature, don't matter. There are some great writers, whom I admire very much, but I don't wish to be compared to anyone, so I'm not going to give anyone any names for you to start measuring me up against.
If you've read this far, I commend and thank you, now go buy my book!
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