I never imagined I'd write a book. Then one day, things changed. My closets were filled with paintings, turpentine was burning my skin, and the enthusiasm for lessons with still-lifes and nudes had long since subsided. Sometimes we need a break with tradition.
And so one day - about fifteen years ago - realizing a new challenge was in order, I decided to switch from painting to writing. My doctors had encouraged creative outlets for keeping my head on straight. But there were three small problems: 1) I didn't know how to write anything worth writing; 2) I didn't know what to write about that would be of interest to me much less others; and 3) I didn't know how to use a computer.