In the mid-1970's, Illinois farmboy Marc Allen is a feisty, hell-drivin' 19-year-old full of dreams and ambition. Just one problem. Marc's dreams do not include baling hay and plowing fields.

By this time, Marc has become not just a farmboy, but a disc jockey, club musician, and songwriter. So now he's happy, right? Wrong. Marc becomes bored and restless, longing for something greater. An adventure.

So, instead of wallowing in his own self-induced nest of misery, Marc decides to take wing and fly away. Chucks it all, leaving two steady girlfriends (at least two) and heads for Nashville, in search of a little fame and a lot of fortune.

Alas, an old story, one that's been told a million times. Except in Marc Allen's case, he just happens to be me. What can I say, I was young and foolish. Now I'm old and foolish. Still, all things considered, I think it's a story that needs to be told. You'll see what I mean. A story of dreams, adventure, and tragedy.

And many years later after I had moved to Florida, my teen-aged daughter, Maddy, began asking all sorts of pointed questions. You know, stuff about my past, Nashville and the music business. She's a lot like her Pop, curious about every damn thing.

At a young age, Maddy had taken up the piano. And over the years had listened to her Pop go on and on about the "runnin' days." Home, then Music City. Me and my big mouth.

But anyway, the more we talked I figured what the hell, maybe I could put it all together ya know? Into book-form. A keepsake. And so, here it is, written as though I'm speaking to my daughter—-because I was at the time—-the story of my young life. The up's, the down's, and how a terrible tragedy kept me on the edge for many years.

But ya know, people like that have two choices. They can either end it all, or somehow find a way to go on. Thanks to Maddy, l found a way.