I am a bear who dreams that he is a man.I look like one. It is a strong dream. I am only flesh and stubby claws, and the world clouds over. I can't speak, because I have nothing to say. Their words are emptiness, and their ways are like a river that I am drowning in.Only she is real. She shines like gold, like sunlight piercing the clouds. I follow her wherever she goes, because she is the most true thing in this place. I can hide from the dreams in the reality of who she is.
I wish that I had had some kind of grand revelation that I was supposed to be a writer. Maybe that would make it more fulfilling. Or maybe it would give me something to talk about. It wasn't a revelation, so much as a letting-go of being afraid of what people would think.And it's turned out to be so much fun that I haven't ever looked back.I've done my growing up kind of all over. I got moved around a lot with my family -- corporate, not military -- and, finally, we settled down in North Carolina. I went to school at NC State, majored in Creative Writing, only to find that novelist is not a job.I know, right?Anyway, I heard about Clarion West through a friend of mine and it looked a lot like National Novel Writing Month. Only a little less hectic.And here we are.
"Luminary" - The Glass Coin"The End of the World" - Orion's Child MagazineAs well as freelance work with marCis interactive and iDevice Rumors.
Riddled with tropes and talking heads. Could stand to show more.
A Swanwick. Every week. Still not sure if I'm going to use a novel to do it or if I'm going to write a bunch of short stories.