Somebody kill me.  You’d think I was writing a press release for some politician caught in a hotel room with a dead hooker and a large trout instead of one little old “About Me” bio.  Really, it’s not that serious.  Why do I want to poke my eyes out?

It could be because I’m acutely sleep-deprived and devoid of any fuse, much less a short one.  I write this next to a hypnotized toddler who is watching Baby Einstein, and who is also up waaay past her bedtime.  I am so going to relish getting her up for school one day.

It also could be that I am a stark raving perfectionist when it comes to this kind of stuff, which doesn’t necessarily mean anything I do comes out perfect.  It just means I make myself crazy.

Anyway, after days of pushing this thing around in my word processor, this is what I’ve come up with so far:


“I was born in Southern California, spent my early years in Okinawa, then New York, my elementary years in Oklahoma, junior high in Germany, and high school back here in Southern California where I remain a determined future resident of Hawaii. I am married with a toddler, and I have all the prerequisite animals, bad habits, and weird social quirks to be a great writer.  (But if I’m deemed lacking in any of these things, I’m open to developing a drinking problem.)

“After high school, I earned my stenographer’s license and worked for several years as a freelance deposition reporter, then as an official court reporter in a civil courtroom, before taking the next logical step and opening a karaoke bar with my family. We ran the business for five years and sold it right after our baby was born.

“Somewhere in all of that, I attended the San Diego Writer’s Conference, a week-long workshop hosted by Writers of the Future, and I completed the year-long Professional Program in Screenwriting at UCLA. So far, I have had two short stories make it to the quarterfinals of Writers of the Future Contest, and I am working hard for my first professional sale.

“Throughout all of that, in between the questions of counsel and the answers of witnesses, in between drink orders of bar patrons, and the interminable, endless hours of commuting, I always, always was thinking about the writing. Always. In court, the margins of my trial notes were always filled with plot outlines and ideas, and every attorney and witness became a character sketch. At the bar, my apron was always stuffed with karaoke slips and order tickets with ideas.

“Even at home now, caring for my beautiful little girl, in those little tiny spaces of time where I’m able to form thoughts, it’s all about the writing…and it’s getting worse as I get older.  Or maybe it’s getting worse because I’ve got someone looking up to me now.  In any event, this is the year I become a published writer.

“So this is where I come to share, vent, experiment, philosophize, hope, dream, and cheer about writing, about the writing process, and the writing journey.

We who write are but mortal gods setting forth alone and together on a wide, endless road. Stories and worlds are the tracks we leave behind, heroes and angels gather where we sleep, and villains and darkness lay in waiting just around the bend.

“So come walk with me. Ya know, safety in numbers, misery and company, and more heads being better than just mine. I have peanut butter-stuffed pretzels, boatloads of tea, and an iPhone. We can take turns watching out for werewolves and aliens, and swap war stories over the fire.”


Whaddaya guys think?  Is the tone/voice consistent?  Feel free to be honest.  This is just a draft.  Seriously.  Don’t let me rattle on and on with spinach between my teeth.  If any or all of it sucks, believe me, I will be grateful to be told.  And if it works, please, oh, please, for the love of Neptune, tell me that, too, so that I can just stop.

I’m going to bed now before my eyelids slam shut.  Thanks in advance for reading.  I love you guys!  Don’t ever change!  Good night!

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