In eighth grade, at the end of a meeting of my school's Dickens-inspired PickWick Club--a collection of students chosen to pursue extra-curricular creative writing assignments--Clement DaVinci, my English teacher, pulled me aside and insisted whatever path I may choose in life, someday, sooner or later, I would become a successful writer. "Yeah, sure," I thought. Years later, disillusioned with my career, I attempted to live up to Mr. DaVinci's prophecy by penning a variety of short stories and submitting them for publication. Unfortunately, they were all rejected. So ended my brief flirtation with creative writing. Instead, I reluctantly returned to my career and gradually surrendered such romantic aspirations. Raising a family and running a business will do that. However, years later, with one son out the door and another on his way, I had an experience that would change the direction of my life and resurrect Mr. DaVinci's prophecy. The story behind The Lost Dream began on a weekend morning in the spring of 2005. I was cleaning the house while listening to the song, Forgiven, by Chris Botti with nothing in particular on my mind when it happened. It wasn't like some fragmented spark of imagination that required further fabrication and revision. No, from the moment of its inception, The Lost Dream was revealed to me in its entirety. To be sure, there were a few details to be ironed out. But it was never a story I had to consciously develop on my own. Having long since abandoned any notions of becoming a writer, I had not even mused over prospective story lines for more than two decades. Despite the beliefs of Mr. DaVinci, my naivete had invariably given way to reality. Admittedly, over the years, I had written a smattering of articles and editorials that had found their way into print. But nothing that would suggest Mr. DaVinci's vision for me was anything more than encouragement to another promising pupil. And while I paused in my bewilderment at the emergence of such a complete story in my thoughts, my emotional reaction to it's resolution is what caught me by surprise. So much so, I explained what happened to my wife, Myrna. Upon retelling the story, my wife--having had a similar reaction--suggested there was a reason the idea was given to me. My response was swift--if God were looking for someone to write the story, He had clearly picked the wrong guy. I had no idea how to write anything longer than a couple of pages--not promising prospects for any plan God might have had for the story. But my wife persisted and encouraged me to give it a shot. So, reluctantly, I did. And now, after a journey of several years--from my home state of Delaware through Mays Landing and Cape May, New Jersey, to Madison, Indiana, and Los Angeles, California, before finally returning to Arizona--my wife and I have endured a roller coaster of challenges in order to present the story, as entrusted to me, to whoever it was intended to reach. It is my hope The Lost Dream will touch you as much as it did my wife and me...