What’s in a name? That which we call an author, by any other name, would appear just as deranged. And deranged I am – though, I like to think it’s in a good way. As a writer (and a reader), my interests center mostly around the fantastic: I specialize in Greek, Norse, and Celtic mythology, as well as just about anything involving swords and wizards.
I’m a nerd – and proud. A day may come when I stop quoting the Lord of the Rings (but it is not this day). I talk to myself. I make faces in the mirror. I leave the teabag in my mug far too long. I’m dangerously close to being dependent on coffee. Speaking of which, a cream and two sugars, thank you very much.
My books are my most prized possessions. I write things with a fountain pen just for the fun of it. I send people letters with personalized wax seals on them.
I dream of being a published author. I’ve written a full-length novel, which is my proudest achievement. I plan to write four more. I devise the tragic deaths of my favorite characters in my free time (as all good authors do).
I grow far too emotionally attached to fictional characters. I grew up trying to be like Percy Jackson (The Lighting Thief). I wish I could give Nico di Angelo a hug; Zeus knows he needs one (The Last Olympian). I think bow ties are cool, and I cried when Matt Smith said goodbye (Doctor Who).
I’m not limited by my senses, by “facts.” I don’t look at the world and see what is. I look at the world and see what could be. I see an infinity of possibilities, just waiting to be explored and discovered. I feel. I fear. I hope. I dream. I love.