Born in a log cabin in 1954, Rick began writing at the tender age of 4, although it would take years before any of it made sense. But eventually, those childish scribblings grew into a writing style so deeply profound, that many a nun could be quoted as saying “What in God’s Holy Name is he talking about? We didn’t teach him that. Well, give him an A anyhow ... at least the punctuation is correct.” 

     High school brought about the introspective Rick, and he spent many a long hour writing into notebooks. Many a teacher could be quoted as saying “What the hell is he talking about ... wait ... pass me the bong.” This was, after all, the early 70’s. 

     College was put on hold, while Rick explored the world, still writing his thoughts into notebooks so that many an employer could be quoted as saying “I don’t pay you to write ... get back to work.” 

     After a brief stint in radio, where he actually was paid to write, Rick was pushed to finally start college by his wife, who could be quoted as saying “I could use some time to myself, besides, all you do is sit around writing, you may as well get something for it.” 

     Rick found his niche in college, but still worked a day job, so that many times, a professor might have been quoted as saying “Rick, wake up, your writing, while crude and sophomoric, is at least interesting. If you can stay awake, I’ll give you an A.” 

     After his daughter was born, writing was put on hold for awhile, although his daughter started reading at 3, and began her own writing career shortly thereafter. She did win a regional spelling bee at the age of 10, because she could spell “rendezvous” even after Rick told her there was no “Z” in “rondayvoo.” 

     Which brings us to the present. Rick spends his time, when he’s not glued to a word processor, building semi-custom homes for happy families -- none of them writers. 

     The moral of this tale is: stick to what you love, but find a career that pays the bills that you at least like a lot.