My existence in the world of writing began at the age of two. I began a Tolkien-esque original story of my own in Jr. High School and my parents said, “You have to eat. Find a career.” I decided to study Anthropology and Archaeology. Then they said, “You have to eat. Find a career.” So I moved to Los Angeles.

I worked the entire 4 1/2 years I was there. I left after 9-11 and returned home. I got my Master’s Degree in History. I finally completed the one script I researched for half my life at that point–HERETIC: THE LEGEND OF AKHENATEN. That one got interest as far away as Egypt. It spiraled into a second script, NESTA: THE STORY OF THE GREATEST MUSICAL LEGEND THAT EVER LIVED. That one got more interest as far away as Jamaica as well as the eye of the founder of Island Records.

FORWARD: Seven Years later. No one cares. Everyone is annoyed. I turn catatonic and forlorn. I write “The Kingdom of the Woodland Realm Trilogy“. One year later–if I get one more publisher or book promoter inquiry* I think I’m going to find an Orcrist and slash tires! What do you MEAN I’m interesting now? Are you KIDDING ME? How did that happen?

Person who has read the hard copy of TKWR: “I liked the battle scenes. I loved the relationships. When are you going to publish it? Oh, I read your first story. You should get that published, too.

So…I began with fantasy, entered into realism that turned on a bad lightbulb, fell into an abyss only to get pulled up by fantasy. I have to scratch my head. I have fans that reblog my health statuses now like I’m some sort of celebrity. I’m searchable. What did I learn?

Oh, nothing. Life just has the tenacity to lead you down a different path. Sometimes it’s the one you never should have left–no matter what anyone says.–J.

*I know, you wonder, why that would it bother me about publishers and promoters chasing me when I know other writers would love to be in that position: Because I am worshipped as a God by all grammar nazis of all things editable. I just edited an entire blog over one word. Across every website I ever posted that one word. Literally, I can’t sleep if I feel a grammatical error. If anyone tells me I have them, I will die of that–screw rejection by anyone. Never tell me I have a few or even one. If I get that in my head, I could careless if HBO wanted my story. I hyperventilate, get flushed and feel the worst shame imaginable. Recently I turned into the Elven Grammar Slayer. Now I can go into maximum overdrive correcting imaginary languages. I need help.

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