I was born and raised in The South but I’m not your typical Southerner. I don’t care about NASCAR, don’t like collard greens, don’t follow my high school football team long after graduating, but I do love me some sweet tea. I had plans as a teenager to escape The South, but various things (such as the college in San Jose I wanted to attend losing their accreditation while I was there visiting) conspired against me and I now live a whole 30 minutes away from my childhood home. In the years since those angsty teens I’ve come to terms with my place of birth and have realized it has its charms and makes for a pretty good homebase for adventures elsewhere.
I taught myself to read at a young age and from the time I could read and write, I’ve been a writer. I joke about it being my way of exorcising my creative demons, but that joke isn’t far from the truth. If I didn’t write, or draw, or get things out of my brain through some creative outlet I probably would have gone insane a long time ago. Ideas pop up in my head and take hold and little else gets through until I get those ideas out in some form. Even if it’s just to write some notes and store it away for later. There will always be more ideas than I have the energy to bring to fruition. Running out of them is not something I’ve ever been afraid of. Being eaten alive by one of them is a different matter altogether.