I was standing in front of my fourth-grade class when I decided that maybe I should write for a living.

 

A tiny, shy, bespectacled boy, I was not a seeker of attention. But here, reading one of my creative writing pieces, I grabbed the attention of my peers and even got laughs.

 

Apparently, I could tell a story. A few decades later, I’m still trying my best to tell stories.

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In between, my passion for writing propelled me to college, where I learned how to write and edit for newspapers. I also met the woman who would become my wife through writing. And, yes, she’s a writer, too.

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I wrote for newspapers for more than 15 years, using my notebook and keyboard to tell about the daily dramas—big and small, tragic and comic—that filled the pages of community newspapers in towns across Oregon and Washington.

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When the digital age began to swallow the paper-and-ink news industry, my writing and editing skills launched me into a new direction, first in corporate communications and now in business-to-business marketing. I now have a more formal title than “reporter,” but my work still revolves around conveying ideas and telling stories.

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I also have three children who keep me and my wife busy, I listen to music obsessively, run slowly, read and get ridiculously involved in rooting for Seattle’s sports teams, along with the Wildcats of Linfield College and the Gonzaga Bulldogs. According to a radio club based in Hungary, I’m one of North America’s best at tuning in faraway, low-powered shortwave stations during the past three years. I’ve yet to figure out how to monetize that skill.  

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Additionally, I portray a volcano and a smaller local mountain on Twitter.

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