I always wonder if folks like my work better or worse once they know something about me. Do I matter? Or is it the creative output that is important? Good questions. Let us explore this and other topics.

I’m just shy of the big 5-3. Gasp! I’m blind and have no index finger on my right hand. I can touch my tongue to my nose. I drive a brightly painted bus to work every day. Is any of this true?

Seriously, though, I am forever 49. I am not blind, technically. I have poor vision without ocular aids. My right index finger is, thankfully, intact, but it does have one of those unsightly, calloused bumps you get when you hold the #2 too tightly. (Sexy!) Yes, I’m supremely talented and can, indeed, touch my tongue to my nose. And no, I do not drive the Partridge family bus. I actually drive a fabulous 1960s convertible muscle car. But not every day. And never in the rain. It leaks.

Should I get serious so you take me seriously? Ummm, I probably should, but I’m full of sass. I must confess I don’t take this sort of thing too seriously. I should clarify. I take my art, writing, and design seriously, although in many cases my art is rather humorous. My manuscripts have their moments, too. But bios, I struggle with. I’d much rather talk about the work than myself. But if you must know, I enjoy music, classic cars, Bob Ross quotes, and Marshmallow Peeps.

If such things are important, I studied art and design in school and have been creating both since high school and college graduation. I design for a living. I create to maintain that unsightly, callous bump on my right hand. Why else?