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From an early age, in the small town of Spanish Fort, Alabama, I delighted in conjuring fantastical worlds and unique characters. Alone in my room, I imagined them in most dire of situations, overcoming impossible odds, and snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. It was fun and gave a hyperactive child a way to occupy his mind constructively, rather than wreak havoc and get into trouble. 
By the time I reached my teens, I was doing my level best to give my inner voice a real world platform for expression. Though it was not likely that anyone else would take time to read the fruits of my labors, I didn't care. The simple act of creation was where I derived my pleasure. 
As an adult, other interests dominated my life. I continued writing, but without hopes of turning it into a career, instead focusing on the dream of being a rock star. As it turned out, I wasn't cut from the right cloth and was never able to realize my ambitions. 
It was in my late thirties, now with a wife and young son, my love of writing circled back into my life. And with the encouragement of those who love me, and with no small amount of inspiration of my boy, I finally found my purpose. It was in front of me the entire time. But I just didn't see it. 
Many worlds, thousands of characters and more than a dozen novels later, I can look back at the events leading me to this point with a sense of humor. The various misadventures and terrible choices had become sources of inspiration, whereas before they had been thorns of regret - memories I would use to malign myself in those dark moments of reflection. 
But enough about me. Let's move on to new worlds and great adventures.

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