What We Do in the Small, Dark Hours...

Authors are lonely people.

I rule several crowded worlds inside my head.
I have a satisfying social life outside my head.
And yet -- like one of the characters in my novella -- even though I am a denizen of both worlds, I truly belong to neither. The juxtaposition of these disparate experiences happens for me on a daily basis; for you, only in my books.

In the small, dark hours, I delve into worlds -- the fantastical worlds -- and wrestle with my wily subconscious and the ineffable thing that is creativity, and pull back to the here the harvest of my night's labor. Some days, this harvest comes willingly; other days, there is blood. But bring it I must -- the voices will not stop.

I try, as best I am able, to show these worlds to you, the reader.

I often fail.

It is a lonely existence being half here and half there. A citizen of the worlds, but not truly at home anywhere.