I was born the night after Halloween in Sacramento, California, though we lived in Folsom near the prison. According to legend, if I had been born just one day earlier I would have been able to “see and talk to spirits.” Instead, I only hear voices.
My first “critical acclaim” occurred in high school when my creative writing teacher praised my story’s opening line: “The neighbor’s yard looked like a three-day beard.” The teacher said, “You may never write anything good again, but THAT is a great line!” I was happy to hear this, but of course focused on the eerily prescient “…may never write anything good again…”
After a decade-long detour in Los Angeles, I have been calling middle Tennessee home for the past 20+ years. I am married, with a young daughter, an old cat, an even older pug, and now, our daughter’s Boston Terrier puppy.
I was joking about hearing voices, by the way. My humor is sometimes difficult to detect. My stories are often inspired by my greatest fears and/or frustrations. Writing things down in a safely fictionalized way helps me to better understand myself and the world around me. It’s a sort of DIY exorcism.