The clockwork man is crafted, to begin with—his father forced by that terrible tyrant Time to create her a slave for all eternity. His brain boasts balance wheels and torsion springs; he can wind himself up with a key in his side; and, most importantly, his gyroscopic tourbillon heart glimmers with pure diamond.
He is a living being and he is art, and he refuses to remain a slave forever. He therefore slips through Time’s fingers as the Sands of Time slip through the cracks of reality (at least, when the time cats aren’t using them as a litter box).
Among astounding adventures, despite harrowing hardships, and in between escaping interfering enchanters, the clockwork man seeks his imagination, his purpose, and his name.
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I spent years as an editor and designer, both freelance and at a publishing company. My free time is, unsurprisingly enough, mainly spent reading . . . and interacting with my beautiful Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Flora. And watching my nieces hug and kiss Flora. And watching Flora bravely not run from them.
Hours of entertainment, I tell you.
I’m also pretty artsy, although I’ve never quite achieved the rank of artsy-fartsy. I paint not that badly. I can knit with all the fancy cables and laces but usually don’t bother. I sew when I can’t get out of it. I spend hours baking feasts whenever I can grab enough people to eat them.
(Which is pretty often. Who says no to free food?)
And, of course, I write.