I'm a native Floridian who prefers moonbeams to sunlight, magick over science, and traipsing through forests in lieu of highways because unicorns and leprechauns are more compelling than concrete and tail lights. A night owl by nature, an early riser by protest, I was forced to surrender my vampire card when the Consortium of Necrophiles exposed my garlic obsession.
In between tutoring fledgling dragons on the dangers of buzzing airport towers and moonlighting as a werewolf whisperer, I argue with our ancestral faery who gobbles all the cookies in the pantry, dole out treats and mad love to the precocious fur-babies—Monster Puppy and Brave Little Basset, and snuggle with the hubster, Professor Xavier, while watching American Idol and Fringe.
Pizza, rocky road ice cream, and Nickelback are the muses that fuel my soul. And M&M's, Doritoes, and sweet tea. Scones with strawberries and clotted cream. Scottish Highlanders, space captains, knights with dented armor, and things that go bump in the night.
People claim that I'm weirder than I look—an assertation I whole-heartedly endorse. Champion of the underdog, friend of the forgotten, seer of the invisible, I believe imagination is the elixir of life. Slurp it often, I do.