Kenny Dupar
AUTHOR

Kenny Dupar

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Avoiding a premature death makes life riveting. At 57, I’m tickled to still be running the race. Joining the Army in college provided a tribe, a backstop. The grownup world called after graduation and a bewildering and crushing career path ensued. In 1999, I got married, procreated a honeymoon baby, was promoted to Captain, given a Company Command of a hundred Soldiers and went into heart failure all in the span of three months. I’m feeling much better now. Some short stories, a few metered poems, and creative writing classes gave me flashes of joy, but the “what to write about” seemed stuck in the mundane. The craft became like an instrument never picked back up. My creative dreams were drowning until I went to war. The Army paid me to go to Southwest Asia a few times. I wrote down my goofy vignettes about my deployments as therapy, making myself either laugh out loud or cry in my beer. Once again, I was hooked on the creative. Nothing tingles my brain like smithing words to make a reader feel what I will have them feel. I became a scoundrel, allegedly. My second novel was interrupted by COVID and the love stories got a hard twist. Like the sound of gunfire, where suffering is intense, draws me like a magnet. I’ve become a hard man. But the goofball still remains. Having to earn a living on the road never occurred to me. “Have hammer will travel,” became my resume. I’ve worked all over the US and now live in God’s country, East Tennessee, retired. Being an independent author and publisher has been like pushing a boulder up hill. I could play golf instead of writing, but it isn’t as much fun.
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