BIO

Portrait of the Artist(e) as a Young Man

Lady Irony may be dead. She certainly has been misused and woefully misunderstood. But she has always been a boon traveling companion to me, and I don't think I would want to venture any further down another mucky path without her beside me. So come on, kids! Clap your hands if you believe in irony! C'mon! That's it. She's glowing again. That's it. Clap harder. Clap those Bibles and congressional reports together. She's alive. Lady Irony is alive, kids. Thank you!

And thus I may now begin at the literal beginning of my tale and state, without grief, that it was somewhat ironic that a Sodomite such as I should be born on March 30, 1966 in Tulsa, Oklahoma in hospital named after St. Francis, patron saint of that Sodom By the Sea and my future home, and that this very hospital should be as pink as the bow the nurses would affix in my tuft of just-dried hair, knowing full well that I wasbiologically at leasta boy.

Portrait of the Artist(e) as an even Younger Man

Yes, Lady Irony made me her page at birth and I have been carrying her chamber pot from court to court ever since. Well, that's how I wish the tale went. Actually, it was only in fits and starts that I came to learn and embrace my calling as Irony's varlet.

But to make a long story short, and to save as many plot twists and turns for my first novel, suffice it to say that I was raised in suburban obscurity and lived out much of the years to follow in urban obscurity until... now.