My name is James David and I am a writer; I am the last writer - and perhaps the last man - left alive. I keep this chronicle for an imaginary audience, a parliament of survivors that grows more difficult to believe in with each passing day. Put me up against a wall, put a gun to my head, I'd tell you I know there's no one else. But I have to believe there is, or else the madness wandering at the edges of my psyche like a hungry dog would rush in and swallow me whole.
And having done that after all, it took genuine effort not to continue my mad little story about a mad little man at the end of the world, who just so happens to share my name.
I love writing. I love where it takes me, and it's my favorite thing to do, with the exception of sleeping or showering. (And, let's be honest, sometimes I love writing more than those things. Say it with me: Eww.)
In a perfect world, I'd
My interests inform my writing, and I'm interested in horror, dark comedy, science fiction, fantasy, magical realism, and creepiness for creepiness's sake. I have seriously got a mad on for works that stick with me long after they should; I find beauty in forlorn, broken, terrible things.
To put it another way, I enjoy being haunted.
I believe that life has meaning, that people can be happy, and that wonder is the key to both. We need to be unmoored from our foundations, to feel the ground we took for granted shift beneath our feet and bring us to our knees. Awe is essential, not optional, whether it's awful or awesome - they used to mean pretty much the same thing, after all.
It's my goal to make you laugh or cry or nod or cheer or look over your shoulder. If I can do that, then you'll forget yourself for a moment, or fall so deep into yourself that it's more or less the same thing. I'd write even if no one else read a word of it, but it's so much better when I imagine my audience reading along.
Help me keep that hungry dog away, huh?