A routine chore triggered a revelation.
I was editing photos. Hundreds scrolled down a monitor. They had been taken during my work as a photographer. Some of the images had graced the front pages of a newspaper. But not anymore. Now they appeared tiny, blurring within a scrum of thumbnails.
I reeled from a revelation: Those photos—and my work—were insignificant.
The photography train kept rolling. But a disquietude lurked beneath my surface. I wondered how I could make a difference in the world.
Could I write novels? Books can sway a reader’s outlook. I knew this truism firsthand. The Grapes of Wrath jolted my sensibilities.
During spare time I wrote. A novel came to life. I shopped it around. Rejections followed. My magnum opus ended up a phantom opus.
A shakeup was required. Something drastic. I hiked the Appalachian Trail. That life altering slog-linked here-took six months.

Website Photo- Chris Fitzgerald Summit Mt Katahdin 10-04-2004 USMYears racked up. Work competed with writing. Yet draft by draft a manuscript took shape. Chuckaboo – an Appalachian Trail novel published last year.
Another work of fiction debuts in 2018.