I was born in the United States and raised in a French-Canadian home. If that doesn’t scream sitcom pilot,
what does? My parents immigrated from Quebec, Canada to Massachusetts, as did some aunts and uncles,
and they all started families there. Fast-forward “a few years later” and I find myself a citizen
of the motherland. I love it here in Canada, despite a sitcom series never materializing.
Throughout my riveting cross-border saga (minus obligatory car chases and explosions),
I’ve been a writer. Not an occupation that resonated with my relatives, not like a doctor
or lawyer; you know, something legitimate. When one of my uncles asked me
what I was doing for work, I said proudly, “I’m a writer.” He patted my arm and said,
“It’s okay, David. Things will get better.”
Well, being a writer has been good and it’s gotten better along the way. I’m grateful that I can do what
I love for a living: not only write, but conceptualize the ideas that require my words to bring them to life.
Oh sure, it’s not brain surgery or winning a landmark case, but it’s what gets me up in the morning.
I’d say that’s a pretty rewarding job to have.