Sadly, his parents did not leave him an orphan. Radioactive spiders avoided him. Secret martial masters did not move in next door. Only through a self-imposed immersion in Dungeons & Dragons, and repeated viewings of Ice Pirates, did he preserve a small core of perversity that would blossom later to produce a man capable of writerly ventures into both types of literature: scifi and fantasy.
Today, he shares his home with an Earth Goddess, a Warrior Cat Princess, and a flambillion fire ants. Surviving in a damp, dark chamber on stale coffee grounds and the glue used on book bindings, he is, even as you read this, hard at work on his next offering to you.