I was removed from my mother’s body in 1986, with a glorified grilling apparatus, about a month after her appendix. I’ve been told this explains a lot, but no one will tell me what that means. Two younger brothers came out some time afterwards; I grew up playing roller-hockey and boardgames with the brothers, but never really bonded with the appendix.
My young life was spent in Mississippi, where I developed a taste for forests, fishing-holes, and animals: I begged for dogs, collected cold-blooded pets when allowed, and attempted to ride sheep (harder than it may seem). I had occasional, awkward-family-reunion meetings with God through my life, but it wasn’t until I was twenty that he wrestled me to the ground and made me get to know him.
I went to college in Birmingham, Alabama, where a love for literature was grafted onto my early love for science fiction and fantasy. I also developed a taste for schoolin’, which led to my prolonging adulthood for four more years at Beeson Divinity School in Birmingham.
While slinging coffee to buy Ramen and textbooks, I met a Birmingham girl with sky-blue eyes and a smile that can open flowers. Telling her I liked her was the bravest thing I’ve ever done; I’d fooled her enough that she liked me too, and we got married in 2011. We now have two rambunctious kiddos and a third on the way shortly.
I write, because I read, mainly pastoral theology and fiction. Things that make my mental mouth water include the study of the soul, the study of God, history, music, nature, and boardgames. If my writing were an adolescent boy growing into his family features and people said, “That boy’s got some ______ in him or I’m a monkey’s uncle,” I’d hope some names listed would include Gaiman, Card, Chabon, Wolfe, Borges, Lewis, and Chesterton. Whether they make the phenotype or not, they’re certainly in the gene pool.