April 2023 marked the moment I got serious about publishing. I knew my poems were raw and imperfect, so I challenged myself to write at least one a day—and if life got in the way, to double up the next morning. By April 2024, that discipline paid off with my first book. Since then I’ve written every day, published eighteen volumes, and even dug out manuscripts from twenty years ago that still need a proper polish.

Much of my work springs from personal insight. After two years of daily writing—and forty years of scribbling on napkins, paper bags, and receipts—I began to reflect on the process itself. My key discovery: truths can’t be handed down; they must be unearthed by each reader.

My reflections aim to guide others toward their own discoveries. Yet ideas, especially in poetry, remain abstract unless readers wrestle with questions, uncertainties, and contradictions in their own context. Even though my voice is unique, each person’s background shapes how they absorb and internalize a poem.

To bridge that gap, I’ve started listening more—allowing others’ experiences to reflect in my work, in hopes of connection. Going forward, I’ll balance personal truths with universal ones, championing inquiry over polished conclusions. My goal is to spark “aha” moments rather than deliver finished answers.

This is an invitation to curiosity: to value the journey of discovery as much as its outcome. Closed minds may dismiss this as noise, but open hearts will embrace the adventure. That’s why I love poetry—it’s the perfect snack of truth for busy lives: a bite-sized reflection you can carry in your pocket.

Sometimes my poems grow long, demanding multiple readings to reveal their depth. To counter that, I wrote a collection of short-form pieces—tanka, haiku, and lantern poems. I resisted at first, but now I relish the challenge of saying more with less.

Daily writing remains my discipline and my passion, ever-expanding my focus and perspective.