When I was a child, I had no siblings and lived in the rural wilderness of West Virginia. My imagination was my best friend (along with my cat) and I filled my days dreaming up impossible worlds. Bridge to Terabithia became my favorite book, because it told me a story that was all too familiar: refuge from poverty and unpopularity in an imaginary kingdom, all around us and yet invisible to those who didn't look too closely.

As my friends and I grew up, their worlds grew quiet, but mine persisted. I whiled away countless days and nights unable to escape unreality as so many others did. These worlds and characters refused to be silenced. So I started telling their stories, and haven't looked back. Writing isn't an option. It's as necessary as respiration.

Unforgettable wordcraft. Precision editing. Reviews you can actually use.

All that and more at your fingertips at Oiseau de Feu.