My earliest memories are of a home made from books and my mom filling its empty spaces with music. Stories drifted from room to room to a small patch of blue above. She encouraged daydreaming, watching shuttles launch into space, solving mysteries, and going on adventures—even if they were just down the nearest dirt road. My dad brought logic, a framework, a love of history, and the spectre of science fiction. He never failed to question someone’s motives, whether real or created.
With their encouragement and unintentional tutoring, I set pen to paper. At first, it was poems about Pharaoh having a really bad day with Apophis the Terrible, then came some pesky aliens searching for peanut butter. Ever so slowly, the writing evolved into what you will find here. I may already have peaked with some sticky-fingered aliens, so I’m glad you’re still reading. Stay a while longer. Let’s dig into some other worlds.