“David Scott Moyer must have visited Chara IV, the world described so immersively in Atmosphere. After reading it, the deer people mill around benevolently in my mind. I feel a deep connection with Prithya, Mags, Dayv, Manders, Dab and Cohl, the human crew of the mission, whom have been given life histories and characters that are so real to life, so believable, yet each unique. The ambiguously malevolent “All” telepathically pervades the thoughts of every sentient being on Chara IV. The plot is sprinkled with fascinating bits of nearly accessible, aspirational astrophysics and the action keeps the reader on the edge of their seat eager to find out what happens next, simultaneously hoping not to come to the end of the story. And if that wasn’t enough, a complete surprise, bombshell ending parachutes in*. Luckily, there are two more books in the series.
*P. S. The wording here in no way gives hints as to that stunner of an ending.”

It’s hard to believe it’s been 12 years since I visited this awe-inspiring place. I was still married, still working freelance for McGraw-Hill Education as a photographer, still had a gallery in Tucson, and even still painted a bit. The thought of writing a novel, much less two or three, hadn’t even crossed my mind.

Now, I’m seven years divorced, my grandkids from that marriage are 14 and 19, I’m retired in Oaxaca, just published my second novel, and am working on my third. This year I allowed both my painting and my photography websites to expire. I rarely take photos except with my phone, and I see no paintings in my future (although no door is ever closed).

Many people feel lost when they retire. Their identity through life is wrapped up in and dependent upon their work. In the United States, very few of us have more than two weeks of vacation a year. We work all week and spend the weekend doing chores, watching TV, online, and occasionally socializing with family and friends. We cram so much into the two weeks off that we can’t even relax before we have to get back to work again. We spend our money on things we are told we need or should want.

In the end, it is empty. When we retire, what do we have except back to back weekends with TV, internet, and friends and family we don’t know what to do with after a few hours?

I feel lucky. My work was never my identity. I was an artist. Not a hobbyist, an artist. The only reason I had jobs was to pay for the basic necessities of life. My jobs were never my identity, except for my brief stint photographing for McGraw-Hill. I didn’t have children so I wouldn’t have the responsibility. Maybe I missed out, but I do have two wonderful grandchildren from my marriage. When I retired, I wasn’t abandoning my identity, I was freed to pursue it full time.

That identity has always been “creator”, whether it be painting, photography, or writing. That is who I will be until I die, hopefully a long time from now.