I thought leaving work on my last day would be like Forest Gump busting free of his leg braces, racing off to embrace the possibilities of his new-found ability. Instead, I found myself numb. Underwhelmed. It was less like venturing out on an epic voyage as it was like leaving work with the sniffles, knowing that tomorrow would likely be a sick day.

I quit my job on Friday, October 30th, after nine years of climbing the corporate ladder at an Ad Agency. It was a great job, with great people, and good pay. Had I stayed, the pay would have soon become great as well. Part of me knew that I had to quit before it did.

I have a passion for telling stories. Dark, unsettling stories. I’m not sure why, as I’m a pretty cheerful guy. But the impulse to tell these stories has grown greater over the years until, now, it has become all-consuming. Causing me to quit my lucrative  job to pursue the hapless life of a horror writer.

Fortune and fame? Not hardly. I’m just hoping to avoid failure and shame.

But, I’ll tell you, now that the deed is done, the decision irrevocably made, I couldn’t be more elated. I spent the last several years setting unlikely milestones to reach before I could seriously consider this as a realistic option. The most important, of course, was to actually get some work published. Fortunately, each goal has been reached, every excuse slain.

During my last week of work, a friend offered this sage advice, “God won’t lead you to it, unless he’s willing to lead you through it.”

I don’t believe that this expression suggests that there is a divine path which has been neatly paved for me to follow. But I do believe that I’m being given an honest shot to pursue an improbable life passion. And I’ve decided not to pass it up.

The same friend also pointed out that my first official day as an aspiring horror author was on Halloween. Prophetic? I doubt it. It should make for a good story, though.

And that’s what this is all about.