I was born to a mother who is obsessed with the justice system and a dad who worked for a telephone company. Most of my childhood years were spent up North but I also resided in the South sometimes – to which I hated at first until I befriended a girl from New York, named Karina. I wasn’t your typical kid riding bicycles and going to playgrounds. I spent a lot of time writing stories, drawing pictures and assembling books – or at least, that’s what I called them.
I used to play “school” with my cousins in the library at one of my grandparents’ houses and assumed that my future lied in Fine Arts of some sort until my senior year in high school when I realized that all of the great artists -- painters, sculptors, etc. – that they teach us about are all dead. That didn’t sit well with me – I wanted my money before I kick the bucket.
In the meantime, I had been documenting the days at my high school with a video camera and following my uncle around as he recorded family gatherings. So when it came time to decide what I was going to do after graduation, I went to school to study film and video. Ironically these days, writing puts food on my table while I try to figure out how to carve out a filmmaking career. I haven’t lived long enough to have a “life story,” so this is where I’m at so far.
I'm currently reading an autobiographical book written by a monk who performed in a punk-rock band, and am curious to know...what is the last memoir YOU read?