I have wanted to write a book my entire life, but there was always a reason not to. Isn’t that true with all good things in life? That girl you wanted to talk to, but didn’t because you might get rejected. That promotion you desperately wanted, but never spoke up because you felt undeserving. That piece of cake you wanted to eat, but didn’t because you were counting your calories. If you look long enough, there’s always a reason not to do something. 

Well, in 2025, I finally stopped looking.

I didn’t know where to start, so I just started. I wrote the first chapter sitting on an airplane, heading to Iowa on a business trip. I’m not sure why I started, but I’m sure glad I did. The first few paragraphs took most of the trip to write, but by the time our landing gear was out, my fingers were flying across the keyboard like I had been inhabited by a creative spirit. I had reached flow state and I barely noticed the people around me standing up to exit the plane.

That was the first of many such writing flurries. I’ll tell you, it wasn’t easy to find the time. I would grab an hour here and there after work. I would sit at the kitchen counter on weekends, while my wife and kids lived their lives around me. I would use my early, early morning hours when I wasn’t busy reading. It took me eight months to finish my first draft, which looking back, seems much shorter than it felt. It felt like I had been writing this book for years because in many ways I had.

I was more than 100 pages into writing Latchkey Lost before I realized who I was actually writing about… me.

I was in therapy one afternoon, talking about the plot of my book, and as I was saying it out loud, it hit me. This was the story of my life. Ok, most of it anyway. Purple-eyed goats and wobblers were not a part of my childhood, at least not in the literal sense. My therapist just grinned as this realization hit. He has a unique ability to help me reach my own moments of enlightenment, which in many ways are what make them stick… and this one definitely stuck. 

I was processing the pain of my childhood through my writing without even knowing it. Now, I doubt I’m alone in this realization. Many tortured souls before me surely must have stumbled upon it as accidentally as I had, but I carried the weight of this insight with me throughout the rest of the book. You might even be able to spot the moment my awareness shifted, as my words may have started to carry just a little more personal weight.

It’s probably why I see Corey when I close my eyes. He is as real in my mind as any friend. I can see him sitting on the couch alone, wishing he had someone to talk to. I can feel him climbing barbed wire fences into factories (yes, that really happened) just to impress his buddy. I can hear him yelling at The Stranger, asking him who he the hell he was. His pain is my pain. His curiosity is mine too. 

You see, I too was an only child for most of my upbringing, until one day I looked up and was surrounded by half and step siblings. So, while Caleb never literally entered my life, I felt his presence through my growing sense of unbelonging, through being an outsider in the place that’s supposed to bring you the most comfort. So, you see, my latchkey was lost almost as quickly as Corey’s. 

And, as for Benny D? He was never in my life either. He is an amalgamation of the many friends I made and lost over the years. He is someone I always wished for, but never came. But when I close my eyes, I can almost see him too. That’s how badly I wished for a friend like him. Many of my early readers love Benny D as much as I do, and believe me when I tell you, this won’t be the last you see of him. 

Before I sign off, there’s one more thing I must address. I want to say thank you to my wife, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for her patience throughout this process. We went through some difficult personal times in 2025, and throwing this in the midst of that turmoil wasn’t for the faint of heart. Never once did she complain or discourage me. In fact, in many ways it’s because of her that I finally gained the courage to start writing that first chapter sitting on that plane that one day. 

And to you, my dear reader, I hope you enjoy reading this book half as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I hope this is the first of many more books to come.