This is my first article for Paragraphic Journal, and I suppose it’s only fitting that I introduce myself as the “accidental author.” It’s a title that perfectly encapsulates my unconventional journey into the world of fiction writing and publishing—a journey I never planned, never anticipated, and certainly never imagined would lead me here.

Many aspiring writers follow a well-trodden path. They study the craft in college, hone their skills through workshops, and dedicate years to perfecting their manuscripts. Some, like the author of the most recent novel I read, begin writing in high school and spend decades refining their work until it’s finally published. Her perseverance paid off; the final product is nothing short of excellent. But my story is different. Writing fiction wasn’t something I ever considered—not in high school, not in college, and not during the decades that followed. If the idea had crossed my mind, I would have laughed it off. After all, I spent my career as a trial lawyer, a profession not exactly known for its creative flair. It wasn’t until I began to think about retirement that the idea of writing fiction—strictly as a hobby—even entered my mind.

So, in 2015—or perhaps it was 2014—I sat down at this very computer, the one I’m typing on now, with the intention of writing fiction. The blank white screen didn’t intimidate me; as a trial lawyer, I was no stranger to writing and editing. But what happened that day was the first hint that something extraordinary was unfolding—something that would continue to shape my journey to publication and beyond.

Before I go further, I need to take you back to a day etched into the collective memory of our nation: September 11, 2001. That morning, like any other, I was preparing for work when my wife turned on the television. What I saw stopped me in my tracks. The World Trade Center in New York City, a place I knew intimately, was under attack. I’d been in that building countless times. My law firm had clients there. Every year, we hosted seminars at the Eyes on the World, a business conference center on the top floor. Like everyone else, I was horrified, unable to comprehend the unfolding tragedy. My thoughts immediately turned to the people I knew—my clients, the workers at the conference center, and the countless others trapped in the building. I watched, heartbroken, as the towers collapsed. And then, out of nowhere, a thought came to me: This world needs a new God, a deity trained as a planetary turnaround specialist.

To this day, I have no idea where that idea came from. It was a random thought, one of those fleeting notions that flit through your mind and disappear just as quickly. But this one didn’t disappear. It lingered, quietly taking root in my subconscious.

Now, fast forward to that moment at my computer. I didn’t have to wait for inspiration—it came rushing in like a tidal wave. That random thought from 9/11 had been quietly developing into a story, complete with characters, plotlines, and even three possible endings. In a single sitting, I furiously typed out the rudimentary outline of what would become my first novel. I named my two main characters—Ram Forrester and Brendali Santamaria—and fleshed out their backstories. In just two hours, I had the foundation of First Second Coming. And so, I began to write.

It was, admittedly, a strange experience. But as I soon discovered, strange was just the beginning.

The next peculiar incident occurred while I was deep into writing the first draft. As I typed away, a female voice with a Latin accent suddenly spoke to me. Now, let me be clear: I am not female, I don’t speak with an accent, and I’ve never had someone else’s voice in my head. But there she was—Brendali, the most extroverted and outspoken character in my story, talking to me as if she were sitting right beside me.

At first, I was taken aback. But I soon learned that many authors hear their characters speaking to them. Brendali wasn’t just making small talk; she was correcting me. She told me that what I’d written wasn’t accurate, even though it aligned perfectly with my outline. She proceeded to narrate the scene as she experienced it, moment by moment. After a bit of resistance, I decided to humor her. I set aside my outline and began transcribing her words, essentially turning from writer to stenographer. It was her story now, and I was just the vessel.

Brendali, or “Bren” as I came to call her, developed a habit of waking me up at 4:30 in the morning, eager to get the next chapter written. I had to remind her that I needed sleep and had a day job to attend to. Reluctantly, she agreed to wait until I got home, had dinner, and settled in for the evening. Over time, we developed a working relationship: she dictated the story, and I edited and added supplemental details, like descriptions of the settings. This dynamic continues to this day as I work on the sequel, tentatively titled Earth’s Peril. Bren still talks to me, and I still listen.

If you think these experiences are unusual, just wait. In future articles, I’ll share more of the strange and serendipitous moments that have defined my journey. You’ll see how First Second Coming evolved from a retirement hobby to a published novel—and how, just three months after its release, it won a Gold Award for writing excellence from a literary magazine here in the U.S. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself as an award-winning author. All I wanted was a hobby to fill my retirement years. Instead, I’ve found myself writing a sequel, drafting another book, and now contributing to Paragraphic Journal.

So, yes, call me the Accidental Author. It’s a title I wear with pride, a reminder that sometimes the most extraordinary journeys begin with the simplest of steps—and a little help from a character who refuses to be silenced.