Sen Braieth (The Official RT Metcalf Author Site)

April 3rd, 2026

For as long as I can remember, I have been a writer.

At the time I write this, I’ve never been published, except for a few articles in newsletters and an entry in a poetry contest, many years ago. I’ve written four full-length novels and countless short stories and poems. The ink is in my blood. Words are my sustenance. Imagination is the very air I breathe. Heroes and villains and those in between, themes and scenes and intricate plots, these elements are always swirling about my mind, a tornado of ideas that shield me from reality, calm me in times of stress, or pull me from sleep. Oftentimes I’m able to harness these living dreams and find a home for them on a Word document.

Sometimes they come together into something special, at least to me.

I may never write “the next Great American Novel.” I may never be Shakespeare, Tolkien, Milton, or Martin. I may never make a living as a professional author. My stories may never reach more than my closest friends and family. I’d be lying if I said that I won’t be heart-broken if I’m still unpublished when I reach my death bed. But if that sad day does come to pass, at least a part of me will be grateful for all the characters that have come to inhabit my world, and for the stories they’ve told, even if I’m the only one to see them.

I’ll always be a writer, so I’ll never be bored, I’ll never be alone. Even if I never have the fortune of writing for the world, I’ll never stop writing for myself.