Chaz Sin is my pen name, and what certain friends call me by in the public bodies, while others don’t (you know who you are, people). The bit below is one version of the story of how I got here.
Born during a booming thunderstorm beneath a rusting iron dock in VA, raised by winged loggerhead turtles who flew with the US Air Force, took a boxcar to a Hot Desert town with three odor-free hobos and sang an off key version of You Don’t Bring me Flowers at the high school talent show, directly after the guy who tried to swallow a goldfish and ended up biting it in half. College found me driving a campus security jeep through midwest blizzards dressed only in Hawaiian shirt and shorts. Designed weapons of pithy destruction until I found my way to the Windy City, loved a woman who wore a coat made of weasel fur, woke up from a hangover to find myself on a beach in SoCal, dragged an ice cream cake for 7 hrs up a steep mountain, limped into the Baytropolis with nothing but the shirt on my back and pining for merciless rain to pelt my face in summer months. Some 4 years later, I got on a plane to a tiny Dutch cottage perched high above the Caribbean at the base of a seni-dormant volcano to tackle my first novel.
It’s fall 2018, and I’m journaling a visit to the mighty epic Iceland. Hope you follow it, and if you do, you enjoy it!