I was born into a family deeply rooted in the field of psychology. With both of my parents working in the mental health profession, conversations at home often revolved around thought patterns, emotional intelligence, and the dynamics of human behavior. From an early age, I was taught not just to observe the world around me, but to interpret it—to assess both my internal state and the mentalities of those in my environment.

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Though my family attended church regularly, faith was never a central theme in our upbringing. It was more of a cultural routine than a spiritual pursuit—something we did because it was expected, not because it was explained. My mother, a non-believer, valued the church primarily for its moral teachings, while my father identified as a believer but rarely spoke about Christ or the Bible. My older sister, in contrast, held strong anti-Christian views, and her perspectives significantly shaped my own. By my teenage years, I had adopted the belief that Christianity was a tool of oppression, particularly forced upon Black people during slavery. I even saw it as my personal mission to discourage other Black people from reading the Bible.

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Academically, I struggled throughout elementary and high school. My passion was sports—soccer was my first love, but I also played tennis and regularly joined friends for basketball and football games. Reading, at the time, held little interest for me. That changed in high school when a few books began to capture my imagination. The Catcher in the Rye, Of Mice and Men, and Animal Farm were among the first that pulled me into the world of narrative. These books painted vivid pictures in my mind, awakening a new appreciation for storytelling. But the book that truly transformed my worldview was Roots by Alex Haley. I remember my teacher handing me the thick volume—over 900 pages—and encouraging me to give it a try. It seemed impossible at first, but once I started reading, I couldn’t stop. Haley’s work left a lasting impact on my understanding of history and modern racial identity.

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I attended St. Benedict's Prep, a well-known Catholic school in Newark, New Jersey, best known for its nationally ranked soccer program. My father’s main reason for enrolling us there was the athletic opportunity, but the school offered much more than that. I have vivid memories of a week-long hiking and camping expedition through the Appalachian Mountains, a community service spring phase where I learned about law and visited the county courthouse, and even a teacher assistant project in a second-grade classroom. One elective that particularly stood out was a journalism class where we published a magazine called Newark in Depth. Writing for that publication was one of the few academic experiences that truly energized me. Looking back, it may have been the earliest sign of the writer I would eventually become.

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Despite the rich experiences, I continued to struggle academically. I didn’t take my studies seriously, which caught up to me in my senior year when I was required to retake two classes and ultimately didn’t graduate with my class. Still, those early experiences—both the challenges and the triumphs—laid the foundation for a life shaped by introspection, storytelling, and a desire to explore truth from every angle.

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My high school years included a long commute—often an hour each way—either by train or car, depending on whether my mom was working in nearby Jersey City at the time. That commute became even more significant during my “second” senior year, when I returned to complete the two classes I needed to graduate. It was during this season that my mom suggested I enroll in a few courses at the local Middlesex County College in Edison, New Jersey. I agreed, and began splitting my days: high school classes in the morning, then a train ride to Edison for college classes in the afternoon.

That decision marked a turning point.

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College introduced me to a structure that felt both freeing and intellectually engaging. I loved the flexibility—the ability to choose my own classes, shape my schedule, and dive into subject matter that challenged me to think critically. After years of just trying to "get by" in school, something clicked. I started part-time for the first two semesters, then transitioned to full-time once I found my rhythm.

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Looking back, I had only earned a single ‘A’ from kindergarten through high school—and that was in freshman beginner Spanish, which I’d essentially already learned after two years of earlier study in middle school. But college was different. My interest was sparked, and for the first time, I began to consistently earn A’s. It wasn’t just about academics—it was about identity. I was discovering what it meant to care about excellence, to engage fully with the work in front of me. I often think about something my father used to ask when I was younger. After school, he'd say, “Did you do it good enough to get an A?” For most of my childhood and teen years, the question didn’t carry much weight. I was just trying to stay afloat. But in college, his words began to echo differently. I found myself genuinely striving to do things “good enough for an A,” not just for the grade, but for the integrity of effort.

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Now, as an adult and a father, I deeply understand the value of planting seeds through repeated encouragement. Sometimes, the lessons we pass down don’t take root right away. But they stay with us. They linger. And in the right season, they bloom.

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By the time I reached college, a love for reading and learning had firmly taken root. While I had always enjoyed reading about animals—even as a child poring over books and encyclopedias on wildlife—most other books failed to hold my attention. But in college, everything changed. Books became portals to new worlds. In addition to the required texts in my Liberal Arts courses, I began diving into works on psychology, philosophy, and other subjects that broadened my perspective and sharpened my thinking.

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After spending a few formative years at Middlesex County College in New Jersey, I made a major move to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. It was the first time I lived outside of my parents’ home, sharing an apartment with three friends from New Jersey. The plan was simple: gain in-state residency and eventually enroll at Florida International University in Miami. That first year was filled with the kind of youthful freedom you might expect—parties, late nights, and the bachelor lifestyle. But when I did finally enroll at FIU, I was ready to grow.

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Everything shifted during that semester. I began working at Whole Foods Market, where I met people who would profoundly impact my life. It was during this time—at the age of 23—that I began to feel a spiritual awakening unfolding alongside my intellectual development. Up until then, I hadn’t been a strong believer in God. But things began to change. It was as if the Most High was slowly unveiling spiritual truths I had never considered. Then came 9/11. In the weeks leading up to that tragic event, I sensed that something monumental was coming. When the planes struck the Twin Towers and the Pentagon, it confirmed what I already felt stirring within me—God was real.

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My focus at FIU gradually shifted away from academics toward a deepening spiritual hunger. I had been studying sociology, but my real passion became the exploration of truth, faith, and divine purpose. A co-worker at Whole Foods named Courtney introduced me to the Bible in a way that felt entirely new. It wasn’t long before I underwent a spiritual rebirth—baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I began exploring not only the Bible but also other spiritual traditions such as Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism, and the teachings of figures like Gandhi and Haile Selassie. Though I studied widely, Scripture became my foundation.

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After 9/11, both my job and my work-study hours were cut as Florida’s economy took a hit. I had to leave school and move back to New Jersey, where I transferred to Rutgers University in New Brunswick. During the transfer, I changed my major from Sociology to Anthropology—a field my mother had once pursued at the doctoral level. Anthropology captivated me with its vast scope, from archaeology and linguistics to cultural studies. What fascinated me most was social anthropology—the study of how people live, think, and relate to the divine. I saw culture as a mirror reflecting humanity’s understanding of God.

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After earning my bachelor’s in Anthropology, I worked in education and human services—first with preschool children, then with emotionally and behaviorally challenged youth. In the classroom, I observed children’s earliest social experiences. In the homes of at-risk teens, I witnessed how environment shapes behavior. Later, I directed a 4-H youth program, working with young people who inspired me deeply.

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In 2010, I got married and started a family. Two years later, my wife at the time, our children, and I moved back to Ft. Lauderdale. Though I had fond memories of the city as a bachelor, our family faced challenges—especially with my stepdaughter’s school environment—which led us to relocate to Kissimmee. There, I found meaningful work at the Transition House, a counseling center and reentry program for incarcerated men. I loved that work. I was able to offer guidance and support to men in need of second, third, or even fourth chances. The only problem was the pay.

That’s when the Most High opened another door.

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In 2015, I published my first book: Genesis: Let There Be Light, a detailed exploration of the first two chapters of Genesis. This was followed by The Official Israelite Nation Holy Bible, which included supplemental insights into Hebrew culture. That book marked a turning point. My monthly earnings from publishing grew steadily—from $85 to $200, then $400, $800, and eventually over $1,000. It allowed me to continue working in a purpose-driven role while still providing for my family. I also began helping other aspiring authors publish their work under my publishing imprint, which I initially called Blackstone Publishing.

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I went on to publish a growing body of literature—mostly spiritual and cultural works—and officially established Blackstone Publishing as an LLC. A few years later, I discovered there was another company with the same name operating in Washington State. That led to a rebrand. That’s when Black Scribe Press was born. I kept the BSP initials, which were already tied to my website (www.BSPBooks.com) and social media presence. The name "Black Scribe" held deep meaning for me—“Black” symbolizing mystery and power, and “Scribe” reflecting my role as a transmitter of sacred texts. I embraced this calling, inspired by ancient scribes like Ezra who treated their work with deep reverence.

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Until the release of The Violet Light House, all of my books were non-fiction. Writing that novel revealed something unexpected: the gift of storytelling. Fiction became a new channel for imparting the same spiritual and cultural truths I had explored in my other work. I discovered that stories could sometimes speak louder than sermons. The Violet Light House was my first foray into fiction, but God willing, it won’t be my last.

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The Violet Light House is deeply personal to me. While it is a work of fiction, it draws heavily from real-life experiences I’ve lived—both from my time developing in the conscious community to my journey with Christ. Writing this novel allowed me to weave together the complex threads of spiritual searching, identity, cultural exploration, and divine awakening that I have personally walked through.

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The main character, Jayden, is not a mirror image of myself, but he definitely carries fragments of who I’ve been and what I’ve seen. His questions, struggles, and turning points echo aspects of my own life. At the same time, Jayden’s story is also shaped by the lives of others—people I’ve crossed paths with, broken bread with, debated, and learned from along the way. His journey is a composite—a reflection of the questions that many of us wrestle with when seeking truth in a world filled with mixed messages.

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The supporting characters in the book are no different. Each one carries traces of real conversations, authentic personalities, and spiritual dynamics I’ve encountered. Some represent ideologies I’ve grappled with; others serve as symbolic figures that challenge or affirm certain truths. In crafting these characters, I didn’t just want to tell a story—I wanted to paint a spiritual and emotional landscape that readers could see themselves in.

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What excites me most about this novel is not just the story itself, but the purpose behind it. The Violet Light House is filled with lessons and truths that are not just theoretical or theological—they’re practical and livable. This story invites readers to reflect, to question, to grow. My hope is that those who pick up this book will walk away not just entertained, but enlightened, encouraged, and equipped to walk in truth. For some, it may even be the spark that ignites a deeper spiritual awakening.