I think I was born to be a doctor. It was a perfect career, because I was a science kid. Math, biology, physics, and chemistry all came easily to me. The arts were for other people. When it came to writing, I was lost, and I think my teachers knew it. I knew that but there was something they didn’t know. I had an imagination. Like the time my mother sent me out to burn the trash in the alley. I saw waves coming off the burning oil can. Intuitively, I just knew no one else could, because I had mystical powers. Maybe I was Superman. Regardless, as I grew older, no one praised my writing skills. I was persuaded it was a waste of time. So, I pointed myself to medical school and found that, in spite of the rigorous discipline it took to get there, I liked being a doc. But something was missing. The imagination never left me. I loved telling stories to my friends, and they seemed to like listening to me. Then one day when I finished recounting to a friend on something that had happened, she said you should write a book. It was a startling statement. I had never thought of doing it because I was a science guy, not a writer. With that simple piece of advice, it was as if someone had given me permission to do something I thought was out of my reach. And so, started my writing career. Never give up on your dreams.