How many of us have walked a career path that didn’t match up with our passions? Well, me for one.
The things that engaged me as a kid were the arts . . . painting, drawing, storytelling. Yet when a handy engineering scholarship to UK opened up, I blindly charged off into a stable 45-year career as a civil engineer, general contractor, home builder, and land developer. Somehow, I was able to mix in stints as a magazine editor, PR copywriter, R&B guitarist, designer of 30+ custom homes, drill sergeant, carpenter, and stone mason.
When I retired . . . I realized it wasn’t too late to make a long-overdue correction.
I bought a new set of acrylics. I built my artist’s cottage on the Kentucky River. And, armed with no fear of failure, I decided to write. Six years of self-generated study, dozens of books on craft, writing conferences, pouring over long-established ‘rules’ for storytelling, countless trial and error manuscripts . . . and I finally attained a respectable level of professional accomplishment. (No, my Mom didn’t tell me that . . . she never got to see it, but she would have been proud.)
I’ve published two successful literary suspense novels, a third on the way. With a growing and enthusiastic fan base and three nominations so far for awards in judged competitions, I’ve made a mark. I’ve indulged my passion. I’m proud of my art.
Most importantly, I’ve learned how to entertain readers, keeping them on the edge of their recliner, scratching their heads wondering where the heck the story was going, turning pages late into the night, unable to resist digging in for just ‘one more chapter’.
It has been a joy hearing back, over and over, from satisfied readers, most of whom I didn’t know. Virtual applause from a new audience, many who have never met me nor may ever know what makes me tick. And that’s plenty.
Injecting parts of ourselves into some craft about which we’re passionate . . . some never get to do that. It’s a fitting bookend for a satisfying life and it’s far from over. I plan to write entertaining thrillers until I finally fall off the perch. Who knows, maybe there’s even a romantic comedy in there somewhere, begging to get out.
After three ex-wives, three amazing daughters, four grandchildren and counting, I marvel at this final career, the “thrill-a-minute” life as a novelist, counting bodies, conspiracies, and emotional conflicts while I sip bourbon and watch the Kentucky River roll by.
—HemingRay