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When I was born, I was a baby. I didn’t know how to write yet, so I just screamed a lot. Along with eating and sleeping and loading my diaper, screaming kept me busy for quite a few months. The screaming made my throat sore. So I grew up. Kind of. At least, I got bigger and stopped screaming. I also required fewer diapers. I discovered words, so I talked a lot. But not always in complete sentences. Eventually, I realized words could be written. This was a wonderful discovery because I frequently spoke without thinking. Writing gave me time to think first. As I spent more time writing, I spent less time getting in trouble. Except, of course, when thinking failed to halt the underlying juvenility of my mind. (Example: Completing a research report for my Masters degree based on a “Toilet Tendencies Questionnaire.”) Finally, while working as a fourth-grade teacher, I realized that if I fully embraced such juvenile writing, I would be left with only one option—creating children’s stories geared toward boys. So that’s what I started doing. Now, thanks to a recent cross-country move and an understanding wife, I work from home as a freelance copy editor and online college professor while also devoting many hours to my writing. In between writing middle-grade novels, packing kids’ lunches, and digging out from under piles of dirty laundry, I thoroughly enjoy both music and sports. I also have a dog that loves to run and a three-legged cat that loves to sleep. Neither of them knows how to write, although the cat would never admit it.

When I was born, I was a baby. I didn’t know how to write yet, so I just screamed a lot. Along with eating and sleeping and loading my diaper, screaming kept me busy for quite a few months. The screaming made my throat sore. So I grew up. Kind of. At least, I got bigger and stopped screaming. I also required fewer diapers. I discovered words, so I talked a lot. But not always in complete senten... More