I was born in a picture-perfect small town fit for a horror story in 1980’s Indiana. I don’t remember any of it because I moved around the U.S. every few years. I bounced from Texas to Florida to New Jersey, and then to a dead-end street filled with nasty old people who hated children in Connecticut. I was lucky enough to survive and escape back to Florida after a few years. Then I floated around the Tampa Bay area and even made the mistake of attending the Center for Advanced Technologies magnet school in St. Pete in the 90s. This experience allowed me to see through the nonsense of “learn to code” a couple decades before people were preaching it.
After a couple failed attempts at college, I found an opportunity to see the world by actually going out to sea. Got lucky and joined the Seafarer’s International Union, and had an absolute blast as a sailed around the world. I was even able to indulge myself in a variety of beers and liquors, and I am still of the opinion that American beer is superior. If I had to pick my favorite area, it would be the southern far east, where the waters are crystal blue, and it’s so hot everyone wears the bare minimum
When the choice arrived to sit for my officer’s license or settle down and go back to school, I chose to be a beach person (landlubber). Still not sure if that was the wisest choice. I even gave the corporate world a try for about five years. With all honestly, that was one of the worst times in my life. I never knew how damaging the corporate world is to the creative mind, until the “creation” of reports for high level executives. By create, I mean dumb down the reports to a fifth-grade reading leveling for people who could’ve fired me at the drop of a hat. But that’s all in the past.
Now, story creation is at my fingertips, and I can continue my exploration of consciousness and spirituality without the fear of a drug test. My god, what the hell have I done?
Wonderland's Malice 