I was in my twenties selling software to sharks in big cities. Sometimes they bit, sometimes they didn’t, and every day as I buzzed myself into the office building I wondered if I could do this for the rest of my career. After one or two existential crises, I decided that the answer was no. In 2018, I quit. 

The plan was bare-bones: become a writer, a childhood dream held back by the illusion that writers didn’t earn any money. As it turns out, they do. I became a content marketer for technology companies. It’s what I do to this day, and it’s a better life, a freer life, but when young Thomas said he wanted to become a writer, he didn’t mean a writer of content. He meant a writer of stories. 

So I’m changing the direction of my career again. Gradually, this time. I turned thirty in 2021 and gave myself a decade to become a full-time novelist. I’m en route to self-publish my first book in the first half of 2023. It’s a scifi thriller about the first human settlement outside the Solar System.