By John Gregory Evans | Featured Contributor
Lying in my upstairs bedroom at home in San Antonio, Texas back in 1999, I was frightfully sick with a terrible flu-related virus. I felt as if I were dying. I laid half asleep and half out of sleep. At this depth of illness, I cared not whether I lived or died. So I simply fell asleep thinking this was it for me. I was forty-five at the time. Life had proved cruel, and all so often we need some type of boost to get us back on track. I felt I was at the end of my rope, both emotionally and mentally, but my writing career was just beginning. Spiritually, I was alive and well, but my body had suffered greatly over the years. I was in very bad shape.