Here's how you get in touch with me.
I write from Asheville, NC, where I live with my wife Ellie, our son Sam, and our dog Stella. Stella is named for Ellie's favorite cider with a nod to Mr. Williams. Sam is not named after booze.
My fiction has appeared in Analog, Amazing Stories, AE, The Arcanist, Perihelion Science Fiction, Metaphorosis, and The Colored Lens, and is forthcoming in Ares.
If you want to drop me a note, this is where you do it.
If you want to say things to me about my work, this is also where you do it.
If you want to sell me a toaster or you're Rachel from cardholder services with an urgent message about anything, maybe go climb a tree instead. This one is just outside Seattle.
I originally planned to finish this series in twelve months, intending to write one entry a week for 52 weeks. But, other things came up and I didn’t have as much time as I thought I would. We moved, you started a new school, I had other projects, etc. But finally, I’m starting my last entry in September, nine months after I’d planned. Which is the perfect intro to this one.
Time is funny like that. It marches on like a metronome, indifferent to how much you wish it would slow down or speed up. It offers no do-overs, no matter how frivolously you spend it. And it gives zero fucks what you planned to accomplish in the time you had. Once that time is over, you’ll get no more. But, it also stretches out ahead of you into an unknown future, offering untold possibility and infinite choices.
Which is why I hope you both learn to make choices about how you spend your time and understand what those choices mean. Because while there’s never enough time for everything, there’s still enough time to do almost anything.