Today we’d like to introduce you to Ross Otte.
Hi Ross, we’d love for you to start by introducing yourself.
One of the first real short stories I ever wrote was back in 1997 for an English class. It’s called “My Nightmare.” On the surface it’s a simple narrative: a father and his six-year-old daughter are driving home on a sunny Sunday afternoon when a drunk driver changes their lives forever.
The story follows the dad through the immediate aftermath — the hospital, the grief, the way everything beautiful in his world suddenly feels fragile.
I wrote it as pure fiction, but I poured a lot of heart into it. I wanted to explore how one random moment can shatter a perfect day and still leave room for the character to keep going.
Even back then I was interested in the idea that life knocks us around, but we stay in the ring and fight back. The project is short, raw, and ends without a happy ending — which is exactly how I still like to write.
Looking back, that story was the first time I realized I could take heavy feelings and turn them into something that might connect with someone else. It’s stayed with me for almost thirty years, and every time I read it I remember why I keep writing: to make sense of the hard parts and to remind myself (and anyone who reads it) that the scars don’t have to be the end of the story.
We all face challenges, but looking back would you describe it as a relatively smooth road?
I grew up in a small town in East Texas, in a county where everyone knew everyone else. Those kids all played summer basketball, winter football, and spring baseball.
I was about 12 years old when I lost a close friend and little league teammate in a four-wheeler accident. The next thing you know, you’re learning to drive, taking your new truck to bonfires and tailgate parties, making lasting memories with new friends.
Then one spring break party, a friend was murdered in the middle of the night — pillow forced over his head, shot dead in his bedroom while his father lay asleep not far away.
Watching the people around me experience loss while I was growing up and then having to say goodbye to my entire support system in recent years, showed me how heavy life can feel. But I’m reminded that this isn’t goodbye per se — it is “we will see you later.”
We all experience this kind of loss, and it connects us all. Every morning when you open your eyes, you get another chance to make a memory, another day to fight, and in the end, a happier story to tell that loved one you’ve been missing for so long.
Alright, so let’s switch gears a bit and talk business. What should we know about your work?
By day I’m the Recruiter at Hardman Signs in the Houston area, where I recruit the people that help create custom signage and graphics that businesses and people use every day. It’s steady, hands-on work that pays the bills and lets me keep moving forward.
What really lights me up, though, is the work I do outside those hours — writing personal essays and living the stories I write about.
I’m currently finishing a piece called “An Experience that Launched an Obsession” about a freezing December night I spent at Gallo Campground in Chaco Canyon right after losing my mom.
That single trip — the 7° tent, the coffee at sunrise with Fajada Butte glowing in the background and standing in the doorway of an 800-year-old room at Pueblo Bonito — completely changed how I see loss and adventure.
I also travel in a heavily modified red Ford PreRunner designed to go deep into places far from cell service.
Whether I’m revisiting old short stories from 1997 or starting a new children’s tale told from my dog Alex’s perspective, the goal is the same: to make sense of the hard parts of life and remind myself (and readers) that the scars don’t have to be the end of the story.
Who else deserves credit in your story?
First and always, my mom. She’s the one who taught me to concentrate on the positive and kick worry in the ass. Even after she was gone, her note still rides in the glovebox and her promise to seek happiness is what got me on the road to Chaco that December night.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/american_muscle_truck/
- LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/rubark/
