I’m not exactly sure how I ended up a writer. I wanted to be a veterinarian when I was at school, but I did work experience as a vet and it was nothing like I’d imagined. I wanted to be a superhero injecting life into sick animals, but most of the critters I saw were about to be put down. I didn’t have the heart for that as a kid, so I became a gardener. Scot Gardner, the gardener. No joke.
I studied massage while working as a landscaper then studied counseling and psychotherapy while I was working as a masseur. I lived for a time on money I earned playing Didjeridu and selling instruments online. I’ve waited tables and driven trucks, facilitated group therapy for people suffering mental ill-health, been a youth worker and fronted classrooms as a secondary school teacher.
See what I mean? Not exactly a straight line. Maybe the explanation lies in my childhood?