He had an orderly childhood, rode with Ucla the Mok, ogled Colonel Wilma Deering, and was devastated when his parents patiently explained that he could not, in fact, grow up and be Johnny Quest.

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.


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