I’ve been writing since before I could talk. Or, at least, that’s how it seems
Growing up I talked way too much. It was the one thing both my parents and teachers always complained about. My grandma used to sneak teaspoonfuls of brandy into my mouth when I was still very young so that I would shut up in the hopes that maybe she’d get a good night’s sleep (incidentally, this is no doubt where I got the taste for brown liquor).
Truthfully, I never actually really learned to shut up.
Just learned to take everything I wanted to say to the page instead.
My love affair with the written word is long, torrid, and well documented. As a child, I’d spend my weekends making books (yes, actually making, as in writing-drawing-binding, books). It didn’t really matter what kind. Newspapers, comics, collections of short stories. I’d scribble anything that came to mind on notebook paper and then staple the pages together.
Before I knew it, I had a stack of books.
The original self publishing.
In junior high, I graduated to hand writing ridiculously melodramatic novels in tattered composition notebooks. They were a hit with my classmates though, and we all spent more time reading the newest installments than we did actually paying attention to our lessons.
Since then, I’ve had stories published in anthologies such as Lust Chronicles and The Mile High Club and my musings have appeared in publications such as the Huffington Post and The Frisky.
My early professional fiction writing was mostly centered on naughty things but I’ve since entered the twisted world of thrillers. The White Rabbit Trilogy is my first set of novels.
I live in Brooklyn, New York with my cat, Snarf (now there’s a cliche for you).
I’m a passionate lover of books, Scrabble, and cats. I also really like french fries, Indiana Jones movies, ice cream, and Vin Diesel. In that order.