Happy to be posting the second of three installments of my upcoming novel, Life in Twenty-Something: A Story of Self-Discovery, out May 10th on Kindle, paperback, and hardcover. If you like sequential stories, start with the prologue first. However, if you want to jump right into the fire, then you can start with chapter one below. Chapter two will be released next Monday, and the book will be officially live the day after!

The Kindle version will be free from May 10th – May 13th. If you want more information, updates, and a free copy on May 10th, sign up here. If you’re already part of my weekly newsletter, then you’re already good to go!

For those who need a reminder about the story, the book is a modern fiction novel with very nonfiction principles and values. It’s written as a parable, a guiding story about the struggle we all face when looking for our passion and happiness in life.

If you’ve ever believed that you’re destined for something great, and if you’re constantly searching for your purpose, then you’ll love this novel. Also, if you enjoy observational stories that are chock full of drugs, sex, high-stakes business, money lost, and love found, then you’ll REALLY love this tale. Read on my fellow travelers…


Chapter 1

Dave awoke with a start and jumped out of bed, the lawsuit coming first to mind. Fuck. It hadn’t been a dream after all. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around his bedroom, hoping he’d see signs that his meeting from the day before had been a hallucination. Unfortunately, everything was where it should be, verifying that he was stuck in reality.

His wardrobe from last night had been absentmindedly placed in the clothes hamper next to his ornate but non-functional fireplace. Classic San Francisco. He got out of bed and looked at his bookshelf, containing the most popular business, entrepreneurial, and self-help books known to man. Some were even prominently facing outwards so people could take notice. Always nice to have people ask about The 4-Hour Work Week, Dave thought, it’s a great excuse to bring up my business.

My business! Dave frowned. Might not have that for much longer. He sat back down on his bed, not wanted to do anything. It was Wednesday morning, a workday. He knew he had potential customers to call and people to prospect, but he couldn’t find the motivation, let alone the reason, to continue working on his business.  I should at least take a shower, he thought to himself, but then again, who really cares?

Society’s desire for hygiene ultimately got the best of him and he stepped into the bathroom, the white walls reminding him of the law office from the day before. Distracted, he stripped what little clothing he had on and gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror. Blue eyes stared back at him, a mop of brown hair standing comically disheveled on top of his head. Sighing, distracted by thoughts of Omar, his former boss, he hopped in the shower. “Fucking Omar,” he said, trying to place blame on his previous employer but knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince himself. Blame always starts with yourself, he thought reflexively. Maybe those self-help books were worth something, after all.

Dave couldn’t remember if he’d already washed his hair, but threw in some shampoo for good measure, suspecting that he’d already done so. “Great, they’re even costing me money on my toiletries,” he said. At least my humor is somewhat intact, lame as that joke might have been.

Convinced that society would be ok with how he smelled, he hopped out of the shower, threw on his clothes from the night before, and walked outside, heading to the neighborhood coffee shop in hopes of some reading and relaxation.

Bright sunlight pierced his eyes and he realized that it was the first time he’d been outdoors all day. It was now 11am. Once he could see without squinting, he noticed his street alive with activity. Even the buildings seemed to be enjoying the uncharacteristic San Francisco sun, basking in its glow, every window reflecting the light down at Dave as if to say, “take that, you piece of shit! Serves you right for holing yourself up in your apartment, shades drawn until almost noon.” He knew he should be enjoying one of the nicest days of the year, but he had only one thing on his mind.

Fucking Omar. Dave couldn’t shake his former employer. I know, he said to himself, I’ll give Aaron a call. He’ll be able interpret my situation, ya know, with all that artistic astrology bullshit he’s into.

Although Dave didn’t believe in pseudoscience, he was looking for something — anything — to lift him out of his current situation. Picking up his iPhone, he peered through the cracks in the screen, and careful not to cut himself, dialed his friend’s number. It rang once, twice, three times. Aaron was notoriously hard to reach. On the fourth ring, however, he heard a click.

“Wassup mutha fucka!” Aaron said, always having a way with words.

“What’s up dude, how ya been?” Dave asked, trying to match the enthusiasm on the other end of the phone but failing miserably.

“Awww, what’s wrong Dave, I can hear it in your voice.” Aaron started making kissing noises, as if to say, stop being such a pussy.

“Ha, thanks man. Oh nothing much, ya know, just getting sued by my old boss. Facing imminent jail time and a financial bill I can’t cover.”

“Oh, so the usual, then?”

Dave was a little offended by Aaron’s light-hearted reaction but tried not to let it show in the tone of his voice. “No, Aaron, not the usual. It sucks, man. Cody and I literally just left Contour Media to start that business we’d always talked about, and we get hit with a lawsuit within weeks of leaving. The worst part is that we want nothing to do with Omar and the company. All they want to do is get rich off of an exit, and all we want to do is make enough money to travel and live the freedom we’ve always wanted. The ironic thing is that if they’d actually reached out and asked us what our business did, they’d have realized how non-threatening and insignificant we are.”

“Ha, sloooow down my man,” Aaron said. “First things first, didn’t you start your company while you were still their employee?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“So technically, they have a right to be concerned, no? I mean, think about it: if you ran a business and found out that two of your employees were trying to start something else on company time, wouldn’t you be pissed?”

Dave was pissed, but not because he agreed with Aaron. He looked up and realized he’d been walking the whole time with no real direction in mind, and was now moving away from the coffee shop that had been his intended destination. It was midday, and he’d wandered into a seedier part of the city, the buildings no longer looking at him disapprovingly. Rundown apartment complexes lined the streets and a man in a wheelchair was parked at the nearest corner, yelling something about a billion-dollar lawsuit. What a coincidence.

“Yes, I guess I would be a little pissed, but I definitely wouldn’t handle it this way. The whole issue could be resolved with a phone call, not jail time.” Dave paused. “Anyway, I’m calling to see about if you can give me any insight, you know, with all that astrology stuff you’re into.”

Aaron laughed. “What, just because I’m a musician you think I believe in all that woo-woo shit? You know it’s all bull, right man? I thought you were smarter than that. You really must be grasping at straws. I’ll tell ya what, how ‘bout you man up and take this head on, and then you move out to Los Angeles with me. I’ve been telling you for years that this is the place to be, and clearly you gotta get out of pretentious Silicon Valley. Sounds to me like everyone there has a Napoleon complex.”

“Thanks for the help, dude.” Dave groaned, sensing none. “I’ll catch ya later.” He hung up before Aaron could respond, the call not going as planned. All he wanted was some support and what he got instead was a bad taste of reality.

Dave stopped and realized he was now standing right next to the man in the wheelchair, who was mumbling about billion-dollar lawsuits instead of yelling. Dave looked around. No one really cared one way or the other whether the man was yelling or not, everyone in the neighborhood oblivious to everything but their own struggle.

Well, that’s good, Dave mused. If this is my fate, at least people won’t stop and stare. The thought shook Dave, collapsing his worldview and increasing his anxiety. Unwilling to think about it anymore, he hung a hard right and began to circle back the way he’d came. The coffee shop was three blocks from his apartment yet he’d somehow ended up more than a mile from home.

He retraced his steps through skid row, noticing the number of clothes and sheets that hung in the apartment windows, stopping the outside from getting in and the inside from getting out. What a stark contrast to the unabashed windows of his neighborhood, proudly displaying their innards for everyone to see. No sheets in the windows of those proud homes.

He found his way back into his neighborhood and saw his favorite coffee shop, The Local Brew, off in the distance.  Pretentious coffee shops, my people, Dave thought, looking around and forcing a smile. He felt more at home surrounded by five-dollar cups of coffee than five hundred-dollar subsidized apartments. Coffee will get the gears moving, he decided to himself, hoping that it really wouldn’t. It was now well into the afternoon, and Dave had yet to do anything productive. Too many things to worry about, too many life decisions to make, and not nearly enough motivation.

Inside the Brew, the amount of Macbooks was overwhelming. People sat with their computers and coffees, looking important, scrunching their brows as they reviewed apparently time sensitive documents. Dave got in line at least ten people back from the register, the crowded establishment forcing everyone to stand against the far wall. Today must be a slow one for artisanal cups of joe.

“I have a Sumatra-blend macchiato for James,” he heard the barista call from up front. Dave rolled his eyes. A gangly man in an undersized plaid shirt got up to grab the drink, and Dave noticed that he wore a pair of felt shoes in an elvish fashion. Taking a sip at the counter, the man let out a breath and smiled, apparently pleased at his choice with the Sumatra blend. So many chances for a fatal error when choosing a coffee varietal.

Dave, normally amused with the inner-workings of a San Francisco coffee shop, was disgusted this time around. He couldn’t take his mind off of the lawsuit and it was beginning to taint his thoughts. Waiting patiently, he heard the barista call out two drip coffees and a double espresso over ice before he reached the register.

“Hi! What can I get for ya?” the barista asked with caffeine-induced enthusiasm. He wore a leather smock and thick glasses, a sleeve of tattoos covering his right arm.

“Coffee, please. Large,” Dave said.

“Would that be a drip coffee or a regular coffee? And what type of roast were you looking for?”

Dave stared, unblinking. “Doesn’t all coffee drip?”

“Well, sure! But our drip coffee is a single cup pour-over.” The barista pointed to his colleague, who was pouring hot water into a funnel, looking extremely focused. Below the funnel was a single coffee cup, with coffee dripping, dripping from the funnel and into the cup. Drip…drip….drip.

Dave laughed. “So my options are a regular cup of coffee or a cup of coffee that takes twice as long to make?” He paused, defeated. Shoulders slumping, he said, “Fine, I’ll take a Sumatra-blend macchiato.”

Openly embarrassed but secretly pleased with his decision, Dave looked over at the gangly macchiato drinker. The guy gave him a nod of approval and an air-five, which Dave returned with a shake of his head. Better to sit as far away from that guy as possible, he thought.

Dave paid for his coffee and looked around the shop. Every seat was taken except for a single chair at a community table that sat ten. He moved over to the table and sat down, looking around for a plug. Every outlet and power strip was taken, looking like fire hazards waiting to happen. He imagined the amount of energy that was being used to power each person’s computer and laughed. People were wearing recycled clothing and eating sustainable food yet had no issues consuming as much electricity as possible.

He looked around at the disparity in values. People spoke loudly about making a difference and then turned around to create an app that put fake cats in digital photos. Men and women discussed “adding value,” whatever that meant to them, and then took sales calls, trying to hock timeshares and other ill-advised investment purchases.

What a world we live in, Dave mused, thinking about the value of his own doomed business. Ed-it, the company Cody and he started, allowed users to edit blemishes out of the photos used in dating apps. Analytics could be gathered on what photos were performing the best, aka, which ones were getting people laid the most. The idea sounded good up until yesterday, and now, seeing it with new eyes, Dave couldn’t help but laugh.

It was the exact type of business he was so openly against. No real added value, just a get-rich-quick scheme aimed at a superficial need in the marketplace. Why was I so excited to start Ed-it? Dave thought, trying to remember.

Well, he loved the idea of telling people he was an entrepreneur, that’s for sure. And it was a good idea from a money-making standpoint. Let’s see, being your own boss was nice, especially after having to deal with Omar’s tyranny. Dave thought harder. Freedom was definitely a driver. To Dave, it didn’t matter what his business did, as long as it allowed him to do what he wanted.

Well, it didn’t matter until now, he realized.

With the impending lawsuit, his angst rising, all Dave could see was the pointlessness of everything, and how almost nothing in Silicon Valley really made the world a better place. The Valley made wallets fatter and bank accounts larger, and it gave people more to brag about, but creating true value? Not much, if any.

But he still wanted to be an entrepreneur. It was almost an insatiable desire, brought on by the need for society’s validation and by a fear of purposelessness. He was starting to realize for the first time, however, here in this coffee shop, that maybe his values were more misplaced than the values of those around him. Talk about an inner struggle.

He overheard two of the people at his table talking in low tones. “We need user growth,” they both murmured. “Without user adoption, there’s no way we’ll get VC funding. We can’t Uber-ize the ice cream industry without major cash flow.”

Dave rose, as if “Uber-ize” was a trigger word that should never be spoken. “Are you guys fucking serious?” he growled, looking at the transgressors. “Can’t you spend your time a little better, than, ya know, bringing ice cream to an already overweight middle-class America?”

“Hey man,” the guy replied, “we’re fulfilling a need in the marketplace. If you have a problem with anything, take it out on the demand for ice cream, not the supply. Relax a little.”

“Fuck. That’s just the problem. No accountability. It’s the ‘hey, it’s not my fault, I’m just giving them what they want’ approach. Whatever lets you sleep better at night, right?” Dave retorted, his voice rising. People inside the coffee shop were starting to stare. “You guys keep trying to come up with shit that sounds good to investors but adds no real value. Congratulations, just keep building apps that let you support your habit of sucking down five-dollar macchiatos.”

At that exact moment, the barista looked right at Dave, waving for his attention. “Sumatra-blend macchiato for Dave,” he said. “Sumatra-blend macchiato for Dave!” Everyone in the shop stared at Dave but remained quiet, the irony palpable.

Without saying a word, Dave grabbed his Macbook, looked at the barista, took the macchiato out of his hand, and left.

It had been two days since Dave last drank a cup of coffee. His muscles were beginning to twitch a little, his hands shaky, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back to The Brew, or any coffee shop, for that matter. He didn’t want to remind himself of his own hypocrisy — coffee, business, or otherwise. Plus, he didn’t own a coffee pot.

He also hadn’t spoken to Cody since their last meeting, and their business was slowly falling off the rails. No customers to attend to, Dave kept thinking, and no real desire to find any new ones. The lawsuit with Contour Media was still weighing heavily on his mind. He felt like a criminal. Hard to get excited about something when you’ve been accused of stealing it.

Plus, who really cared about Ed-it? Dave asked himself. It was a boondoggle. Pointless. Nothing worth being remembered by. In fact, he was starting to wonder if anything in business was worth building a legacy around. Sure, the Apples and the Facebooks of the world changed the way people live, but did they really make things better? More convenient, maybe.

It was hard for Dave to see real pleasure in starting a company of any size, regardless of influence. The fame was still a little alluring, but at the end of the day, it seemed like a pointless endeavor. So what, then, would make him happy? He’d always thought that telling people he was an entrepreneur would be enough, but he was starting to think otherwise.

At his apartment, scanning through his bookshelf, he read the spines of his books with new eyes. How to Master the ‘Get Rich Quick’ Scheme was displayed front and center, with Trick People into Believing You Know What You’re Talking About off to the right. Dupe Customers 2.0 also caught his eye on the second shelf.

To Dave, these books used to be like bibles. He followed each one of their teachings to the letter, because, well, the authors were successful. But now he was realizing that a lot of their advice is what got him into trouble in the first place, and that the only reason these authors were successful was because they were profiting off him, not helping him. Profiting off his naive view of the world, at least.

“’Start a side business before you quit your day job.’ Great advice, thanks guys,” Dave said, feeling betrayed by his books and his from-afar mentors. I’m dripping with cynicism, he mused. He chortled, making fun of his own despair, and turned away from his bookshelf. No good can come from them right now.

At that moment, he heard his phone vibrate from across the room. Sitting on a matte black nightstand, his white iPhone stood out like a sore thumb, and considering the cracked screen, the euphemism was more true than Dave would like to think. He walked passed his reading chair, plump from a lack of use, and grabbed the phone off the stand. Careful to avoid any minor cuts — he didn’t have health insurance, of course — he unlocked it and saw an incoming text. It was from his mom.

“Hi Sweetie! I’m trying to get an Uber app called for me and your dad,” it read. “How can we let them know we want an Uber app?? We’re in Hawaii!”

Call an Uber app? His parents must really be sippin’ on those Mai Tais. Dave foresaw a text conversation that would go nowhere and wasn’t in the mood to play games. He decided to give them a call instead. The phone started ringing and a piece of glass was jostled loose from the screen and fell into his ear.

His mom picked up on the first ring. “Diane here!” he heard her say, her voice muffled over the phone, laughter in the background. The sound came into focus and he heard the laughter move to the foreground, but it was quickly followed by a click as Dave’s mom hung up on him.

“What the…” he started to say, cut short by a return call, FaceTime this time around. Dave picked up the call.

“FaceTime!” his mom said, bursting out again into laughter. She had a short haircut that was more stylish than most of the women her age wore and sunglasses that covered her entire face. She was at the beach and had a Mai Tai in her hand. Called it, Dave thought, trying to celebrate the small wins.

“Hi mother,” Dave said, “how are you?”

“Hi honey. Oh, I have your father here!” She tried to flip the phone around but was only successful in pointing it straight down at the sand. He could hear his parents arguing in the background.

“Diane, it’s pointed at the ground, he can’t even see us,” his dad was saying.

“Oh, shut it, Tim,” his mom replied, humor in her voice. “He can see us just fine, see?” She pointed to the live video of her son on her phone, a gesture that Dave couldn’t see happening. “We can see him right there, he’s looking right at us!”

“No mom, I can’t see you,” Dave said, rubbing his temples. Maybe a text conversation would have been better. “Here, hit the button at the top of the screen to flip the camera back around. I’ll be able to see both of you just fine.”

He heard muffled tapping and saw his mom’s palm continuously flash in front of the screen. After a few failed attempts, she managed to flip the camera back around until she and her husband were centered fairly well, considering the recent struggles. Dave saw white sandy beaches stretching for miles in the background. Resorts dotted the shoreline and a mountainous-looking mass loomed in the distance.

“Largest volcano in the world,” Dave said out loud. “That’s Mauna Loa, right?”

“Look at you! So smart,” his mom doted.

“More like smart-ass,” his dad added, mock laughter in his voice.

Dave rolled his eyes. Typical parents. Comparing his location to the Hawaiian backdrop, Dave realized that he wasn’t in too bad a place either. He sat cross-legged in the backyard of his in-law apartment, with the Bay Bridge off in the distance and the Transamerica building to his right, jutting into the sky like a giant spire.

“What a great view,” his mom said as if on cue, “are you in the Gilsters’ backyard?”

Dave knew he had one of the best views in the city but wasn’t too keen on brightening his mood at the moment. “Yeah, I’m here. A little overcast though,” Dave said, changing the subject. “So how’s your guys’ trip?”

“Oh it’s wonderful! Very relaxing, but we can’t figure out how to work this darn Uber contraption.”

“I told her she had it downloaded wrong,” his dad said, “but she won’t listen.”

“Uber contraption,” Dave said under his breath, smiling. “Yeah, so you should have gotten a text message when you signed up that gives you instructions. See if you can find it and read it back to me.”

“Text message…” His mom sounded momentarily confused. “Let me check…”

Dave shifted his phone to his other hand, his right arm getting tired from holding it up. He imagined his mom searching through her large-font text messages while he waited. He’d seen the font settings on her phone in the past and was surprised that words could even fit on the screen.

“Ah!” she said, “here we go. ‘Hi Diane, thanks for signing up to drive for Uber! Please text us at this number if you have any questions.’” She stopped, seemingly unaware of what she’d just read.

“Mom, you signed up to be an Uber driver.”

“Oh my! I don’t think I could be counted on to drive anyone right now,” his mom replied with real concern before bursting into more laughter.

Dave shook his head and could see his dad shaking his in the same manner. “You need to download the passenger app and then you should be able to use it just fine.”

“We can take care of it,” his dad said, confiscating the phone from his wife.

Dave’s mom looked at her husband like it was the first time he’d offered to help. Dave was sure it wasn’t. “Well, shoot! I guess we can figure it out now,” he heard his mom say with sarcasm. “Anyhoo, what’s new in your life? How’s your little business coming?” His mom was now hanging over his father’s shoulder, both his parents staring into the phone screen.

Dave straightened. The position he was sitting in didn’t feel quite as comfortable as it had felt moments before.  “Well,” he said, hesitating. He didn’t really know how to explain the past few days to his parents. He wasn’t even sure if he should. Hell, they’re my parents, he thought to himself, there’s no reason not to tell them. “Remember Omar, the CEO of Contour Media?”

“God, wasn’t he that asshole?” his dad asked with his usual tact.

“Your words, not mine,” Dave said, secretly agreeing with his father. “Anyway, he and the Board of Directors somehow found out that Cody and I had started Ed-it while still under their employment.” He paused. “Not surprisingly, they weren’t too happy about it. We just received a letter from their lawyer accusing us of stealing proprietary technology from them to start the company. It’s not good, they’re suing for financial damages and there may be jail time.”

“What!” his mom said, jumping over his dad and grabbing the phone. “How could they do this?”

His dad was a little more tempered. “Well, David, did you do it?”

“Do what? Steal? No way! Ed-it couldn’t be more different than Contour Media. There’s nothing to take. In fact, and as you guys know, we started Ed-it to get as far away from them as possible. It’s ridiculous! After three tough years working for Omar, all I wanted was to be left alone. We were really excited about Ed-it and made sure to keep it as a side business until we knew it could support us, and now the excitement’s gone. It’s ironic, but if we had quit cold turkey to start our company without validating its need, it probably would have failed and I guarantee you Omar would have thought of us as bad businessmen, yet here we are getting sued for mitigating our risk. It’s obviously personal.”

He could see his mom in semi-shock. She looked like she wanted to jump through the phone and defend her son like a lioness would protect her cub. Sadly, it wasn’t kill or be killed in this jungle, only litigate or be litigated.

“Have you spoken with a lawyer?” his dad asked.

“Obviously. Cody and I were scared shitless when we got the demand letter. They sent it to our personal email, our work email, and overnighted a physical copy to my apartment. To be honest, we’re still scared. All I know is there’s going to be an investigation into the allegations, and if they find any wrongdoing, we’re going to be in deep shit.” Dave paused to catch his breath before continuing.

“There could be a fair amount of jail time and financial penalties, according to the lawyer we met with,” he said. “I didn’t really get a good vibe from him, but still, it sounded like he knew what he was talking about.” Dave threw his hands into the air and almost lost his phone. “I honestly don’t know what to do. Cody and I are dissolving the business.”

Both of his parents stared at him. His dad shook his head.

“This Contour situation!” his mom lamented. “You’ve been having problems with them for years now. I’m sorry, I really wish there was something we could do to help. I feel sick to my stomach.”

“It’s just a total bummer,” Dave admitted. “It’s really put a damper on life.”

“Dave, you’re thinking about this the wrong way,” his dad said. “This is an event; it isn’t your life. Maybe you’ll have to get rid of your business, and maybe you’ll have to spend some money on lawyers, but you need to stop identifying with these things. They’re not who you are, they’re only what you’re dealing with right now. So, get through it. You need to decouple yourself from the outcome because at the end of the day these things won’t matter.”

“Dad. Jail time, financial penalties, loss of business. I’m sorry but I don’t see how they don’t affect my life. They are my life, as far as I’m concerned, and as far as you should be concerned too. How fun will it be telling your work buddies that you can’t play golf on Sundays because those are visiting days at the local penitentiary?”

“You’ll see one day, son.”

The walls of Dave’s room began to press in on him and he felt a jolt of anxiety pass too close to its mark. Better get used to a smaller room, Dave thought, I’ve heard jail cells aren’t more than 10 x 10.

“Maybe we could help you with the lawyer a little bit. Financially, at least,” his mom said.

Before Dave could respond, his dad spoke. “No, we can’t. Sorry Diane, but this is something David will have to figure out on his own.” He looked right at Dave. “He’ll be better off for it.”

Before Dave could respond, his phone vibrated, alerting him that he had an incoming text from Hallie Owen. He perked up noticeably. His mom, however, didn’t notice, and sighed. “Well, we’re here for you, sweetie,” she said, “let us know if you need anything.”

“Besides money for lawyer fees, you mean?” Dave asked snidely. “Ok, thanks, enjoy the rest of your vacation.”

“Byeee,” his mom replied, trying to force the natural enthusiasm she’d had earlier in the call.

Dave hung up the phone and looked at the text.  “Hi!” it said. Dave could hear Hallie’s voice as he read, “I’m thinking Indian for dinner tonight? I’m not sure, what are your thoughts? Oh, and can you please remember to bring my sweater over, David?”

He laughed at her use of perfect grammar, one of the little quirks he loved about her. Shit, I forgot I was having dinner with Hallie tonight. He moaned. “What to wear,” he said aloud, “and what the hell is the sweater she’s talking about?” He decided to forget the sweater, unsure of where it would be. Plus, she needs to learn to take her stuff when she stays over, he said to himself.

Dave grabbed a wrinkled dress shirt out of his closet and threw on a pair of blue jeans. Looking for his dress shoes, he pawed through his wardrobe and passed over a sweater he didn’t recognize, finding his shoes underneath. Perfect! he thought, and before he could think any deeper, he bounded out the front door and started his journey, distractedly, toward his girlfriend’s.


Amazing! Thanks for making it to the end. Since you’re still here I’m going to ask you a favor. My book’s set to be live a week from tomorrow (Tuesday, May 10th). My goal is 100 honest Amazon reviews in the first five days, which means, if my math’s correct, I’ll need 20 a day. If you found chapter one interesting and are excited to read chapter two, and if you’re even more excited to read the entire story, then it would be a HUGE help if you spread the word.

Nothing crazy, a simple social media share or repost would suffice. I truly believe in the value of this story – as both a fiction tale and as a value-driven parable – and the more people who share it and talk about it, the more people it has the chance to impact. Thanks for reading and I look forward to hearing what you think about the entire story!