Some people find their calling in the chaos. For me, it started in the Navy, where life was a strange but effective mix of structure and unpredictability. Days oscillated between regimented schedules and moments when improvisation wasn’t just necessary but the difference between success and disaster. That environment shaped me, not just as a person but as a storyteller.

Today, when I sit down to write military and psychological thrillers, I find myself pulling from those experiences—more often than I realize.

In the military, every day is a story waiting to happen. You’re surrounded by people with wildly different backgrounds and personalities, each one contributing to the collective chaos. You witness how leadership, teamwork, and even the occasional moment of outright rebellion shape outcomes. There’s a human element beneath the uniform that most people never see.

That’s what I try to bring into my books. My characters are flawed, driven, and sometimes forced into moral gray areas. They’re not superheroes. They’re people, reacting to the stress and unpredictability of their environments, just like I did in my own service.

For example, in The Shattered Shield, I explored themes of isolation and camaraderie, drawing on the experience of being far from home but surrounded by a second family. It’s about balancing duty and personal struggle, something many veterans understand on a deeply personal level.

Military life taught me to embrace the unexpected while leaning on a solid foundation. That’s how I approach storytelling too. I like to build my plots with the precision of a naval operation—clear objectives, checkpoints, and contingency plans. But once the writing starts, it’s chaos. Characters take on lives of their own, and the story veers off course.

It’s frustrating but familiar. That push-and-pull of structure and chaos feels like home.

Take a recent idea I’ve been developing: a Cold War defection story. The plot centers on a Russian test pilot risking it all to bring cutting-edge aircraft technology to the U.S. The framework is rooted in historical realism, but within that, there’s room for improvisation—moments where the characters’ decisions drive the narrative, not my plan.

My books aren’t just for readers. They’re for the kid who grew up loving history, for the veteran who’s been through the wringer, and for anyone who’s felt out of place but found their way.

Writing has become a way for me to process what I’ve seen and learned. It’s cathartic. It’s also my way of staying connected to the military world, even though I’ve long since hung up the uniform.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life is chaotic, but good stories—like good missions—come together when you trust the process. And maybe, just maybe, a little chaos is exactly what makes them worth telling.