Gwen Singletary
Gen X'er. Drank from the garden hose. Pretty sure there are no long-term effects, though this bio may be the only evidence either way. Latch-key beta tester, raised by basic cable, a banana-seat bike, and the streetlights coming on. Came home to an empty house and a key on a shoelace, and I turned out mostly load-bearing. Mostly.
I write fiction that refuses to pick a lane. A comedic western. A sci-fi. Something set several thousand years before all of it. The genres do not match and the tones do not match, and I have made peace with that. The one thing every book has in common is the woman standing in the middle of it: competent, unbothered, and more capable than everyone who doubts her. I write strong female leads because somebody in each book has to have their life together, and it was never going to be me, and, no offense, it was probably never going to be you.
People assume it all comes from the same place. It does not. One book is pure life experience and exactly zero research; I lived enough of it to fake the rest. Another cost me days of reading just to decide which year of a very old, very bloody war to strand my heroine in, which is a sentence I never expected to say about a career. And one showed up uninvited as a dream after a late-night Star Trek movie, a dream I have chosen, in the interest of my own dignity, not to describe here. Inspiration is not a muse. It is whatever wanders in while you are tired.
Lover of Dragons, Dolphins, and Dogs, in that order right up until a dog walks into the room, at which point the rankings are void and the dog wins. I shift, sometimes temporally, between Blacksburg, VA and Haymarket, VA, with side quests to any taller mountain or mother ocean that will have me. I would respec my entire build for a good view and an afternoon nobody put on a calendar.
I will start a new series before finishing the last one and call it foreshadowing. I run on coffee, spite, and the specific joy of fixing something that was installed wrong. Currently accepting XP in the form of reviews, dog photos, and being left alone to write. Answers to Gwen and to the sound of a treat bag opening three rooms away.