Chuck Wendig
The first time I thought about being a writer — or a storyteller, or a creator like some mad god — I was using colored pencils to write and illustrate a book where, for some fucking bizarre-o reason, Pac-Man and the aliens from Aliens were having some violent fracas, some pop culture gang war inside my own head. I don’t know who let me see a movie like Alien or Aliens at that young an age, but I’m glad they did. (For the record, the Aliens won. Pac-Man may have some kind of hard, yellow candy-coating, but the Aliens have acid blood and snapping teeth. Ol’ Pac never had a chance.)
Later, in 8th grade or thereabouts, I read Robert McCammon’s Boy’s Life, and it was all — well, uphill, since the writer’s life isn’t an easy-breezy one — from there. My brain locked on it. Too late. Shit.
I’ve written a lot since that time.
Had a few short stories published. Contributed to like, 80+ books for White Wolf Game Studios. Developed a couple-few, too. Now, I’m onto screenplays. Or maybe that’s just a hallucination.
You can find more on me here. And also, here, where I ramble on at length about quite a lot of very little importance.
You can find a free, ongoing piece of serial sci-fantasy satire (called Shadowstories) here.
You can find my photos here.
You can track me on Twitter here.
And this is a picture of a baby duckling. Please to enjoy.
© Chuck Wendig 2009