I wanted to be a writer from the time I was a kid, from the time I discovered the profound ability in the written word to provide glimpses into the worlds, and heads, and hearts, of other human beings. Always deeply introspective—prone to seeing only my feet as I walked, to wearing shorts in a snowstorm - I was rapturously drawn through fiction to the internal experience of others. And as I became aware of the perspective fiction provided within me, while also becoming (sometimes painfully) empathic to those around me, I grew passionate in my desire to meaningfully and adequately relay my own sense of the otherwise invisible human experience.

Fast forward a number of years—years of economic constraints and material ambition on one hand; of oft-dramatic life experience amidst a steady thirst for wisdom on the other, and at the juncture of arguably my greatest inflection point - I once again started writing. My scattered writings tended to the philosophies and questions with which I was actively wrestling, and while I was primarily writing for myself, for my own process, one day Dak Ackerthefifth arrived on a page.

My invisible best friend for over a year, my thoughtful, tortured, ever-present sidekick—Dak told the story, one chapter at a time. The story is deeply philosophical, dark and contemplative and reflective of a struggle for redemption amidst the riptide of life that is inevitably defined by separation and isolation, by yearning and misguided motivations. It is a heartbreaking story, one that often left my eyes damp after exiting the flow state of writing. But it’s a story that felt true to the human experience, to shadows and despair, and to the desire to reach for something greater.