Writer bios are informative. They list years of experience. The successful fruits of often lonely labors. Achievements. Prizes. And memberships of august organizations. But I can’t do this. I hit the keyboard pretty late. And I hit it as a result of a party at a guy’s apartment in Seoul, South Korea. I didn’t know the guy well, though we hit it off. I’d met him less than a handful of times. But there was always booze around. And his party was no exception. He also loved fishing. Then he went to Germany. I haven’t seen him since. It was that kind of party.
The people I was talking to at the party I still know very well. And there were others that joined in the conversation. We were seated at a tall table. About the height of a tall table you’d find in a bar. But this table was big. It could easily seat eight. It could also easily hold plenty of beer, red wine and later some kind of German liquor I can’t remember the name of. It was that kind of party.
My mate and I started talking TV. Others joined in. There was some good shit happening on the small screen, we all agreed. But there was still a mountain of crap out there as well. We decided we could come up with better storylines than many of those shows people were watching. I can’t remember the ideas. The German liquor did its job just fine. It was that kind of party.
But now the creative barb had jagged deep. I’ve always read sci-fi. I've also read a lot of other stuff, but my default setting invariably returns me to the worlds of space and of the mind. So I started writing sci-fi stuff down. This was November 27th, 2013. I’ve kept writing ever since.
And Frank. If you ever read this. Great party, mate. Leave me that table in your will.