A Calling

When I was in 4th grade, my teacher told us to bring in a poem. Each student dutifully brought in a poem from a book. I went a step further and wrote my own. My teacher and parents raved about it. It wasn't really very good, but I guess it was okay for a 4th grader. Since that time, I have wanted to be a writer.

Each of us has a calling, I believe. Some love to work with numbers. Some crave contact with other people. From the scientist to the gardener, all of us can use our own talents and interests to improve the world we live in.

But not everyone enjoys working. Some go to jobs they hate, just to pay the bills. Some live and die this way, trudging to work to bring home a paycheck.

I always swore I would never be one of those. And, for the most part, I haven't. I've never been rich, and I doubt I ever will be. But I've almost always been happy in the work I do.

I love to write. I started with non-fiction, researching and writing about military jihad. A few years ago I gave in to my urge to write stories. Constructing people, families, whole worlds from nothing but my own imagination. Sometimes it sounds crazy. But it is so much fun.

I started my career as a novelist with a story about 9/11. That story needed to be written, Showing, I hope, that Muslims are normal people trying to live normal lives. We cry, we hope, we feel fear. There were many innocent people on 9/11. Some of them died in the planes and the towers. Some are still alive, struggling with the memories or the repercussions. Innocent People was my modest attempt to tell that story.

Work is important. But I hope that everyone can find his or her calling.