Yo.

I can sing along with Tenacious D at the top of my lungs, then launch into a discussion on the flaws of Occam's Razor, tell you that I love you, that my heart gave me no choice, that I love myself because I can create beautiful things, and then fall into a self-loathing silence. All in a space of five minutes.

Oh, wait, that "bio" thing...yeah. I'm twenty, in college, in work, in Austin, in Texas, rarely in love or in luck, and I am currently in a chair, nursing a foot that I broke when I was celebrating my new job by clicking my heels. Landed poorly, you know.

What matters to me, as a writer? Atmosphere. Characters. Clarity. Emotional impact.

Genre? Epic plots? Ripping off established authors? Cutting myself in the name of angst? No. You want to know where you can stick those? Moon me and I'll make a reference sketch for you.

Some people might remember that there used to be twenty or so little stories and poems here. Well, they're gone. I've trashed almost all of them, as they were becoming a little archaic and not very representative of who I was. I'll be posting new stuff over the next few months, with hope. Yep. Hope. Hope and want. It's all that keeps us alive.