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For 10 years, I'd been working as a freelance writer and editor, making money but not a living. It was a good arrangement family-wise, allowing me to stay home with our daughter, but not so great financially or, sometimes, ego-wise.

I was a single dad in New York City, raising a child and pursuing a career.

At 19, I was in the streets making money. I was surviving.

I've been working since I was a child. I worked cutting lawns, delivering newspapers; I was a telephone salesperson; I was a guitar repairman.

I managed to slip two children out in the middle of my career and have been lucky with all the work.

I ran my own business when I was 19, buying condos and renovating apartment buildings.

Years down the line, I became a food stylist.

I came to write after several mini careers. I did live theatre, managed a cosmetics store and was a local television personality.

My father, who was jailed for stealing on more than one occasion, just abandoned his fatherly responsibilities and disappeared. I grew up working from the time I was nine years of age. Money was a big issue everywhere I lived.