Writing about being a writer seems incredibly recursive. Beware: this page may implode or cause a rift in the space-time continuum at any moment.

It all started with reading. Here’s a little-known tidbit: reading is a gateway drug. It wasn’t long before I was writing notes, writing letters, writing my own stories. It led inevitably to the hard stuff: collaborative and crossover fan fiction. Fortunately for me and my family, this is becoming a socially acceptable habit and I share it now with the trust that you won’t spread it around out of context.

I’m a thinker, and I enjoy history. No, not like world history or United States history. I mean, I like to read the About pages of websites. The prefaces and introductions of books. Watch the bloopers and behind-the-scenes documentaries about movies. I like to know how something came to exist.

What does this have to do with writing? It means I ramble. I don’t just tell the story, I like to tell the WHOLE story.

As a teen, this led to 14-page letters sent to pen pals and 30-page letters to my fiance. This natural tendency to long-windedness (yes, it runs in the family, as anyone who knows my dad can attest) does not bode well for my online endeavors. Web copy is supposed to be tight, concise. Quick and to the point.

Fortunately, my content is usually engaging enough to keep people reading, if they’re interested in the topic in the first place. And to cut back on the rambling, I edit my own work. Ruthlessly.

Okay, not ruthlessly, but I do manage to be concise when necessary. And no, I don’t consider it necessary here. It’s my home page, and I’ll ramble if I want to! (Sing it, baby! “It’s my party…”)

Yep. So I’m a writer. That’s me.

Hm.

Page still hasn’t exploded. Be sure and let me know if you arrive and it’s just a big hole in your screen.

I’d appreciate it.