Andrew Marc Rowe

Born and raised in St. John's, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada, Andrew Marc Rowe had no idea that the human psyche and the nature of reality were going to end up as his prime fascinations in life. Perhaps he had more than an inkling that he would not wake up one morning as a jock doing sports things, given his penchant for nerd fare like mythology and fantasy and science fiction, but matters of the spirit and philosophy were the furthest things from his mind as an adolescent. More his speed were the most puerile and juvenile expressions of toilet and sexual humour offered up on silver platters by stand-up comedians and nascent Internet peeps. People grow up, though, or so Andrew has been told. His interests expanded, limited world views were shattered, horizons increased in scope. Mental health problems became intractable, psychedelic medicines and following one’s dreams were recognized for their curative powers. Atheism became raving pantheism became ‘wrong question, dude’ as Andrew found himself no longer young enough to know everything or believe anything. Instead, he finds himself writing characters who *think* they know everything. If you really want to stroke Andrew’s ego, tell him you’ve never read anything like his work before. It makes his writing nearly impossible to market but at least I’ve got chicken, as young Leroy Jenkins once proclaimed to a bunch of nerds in the mid-aughts. What’s that? You want bog-standard biographical info? Lawyer, father of one, man nearing middle age who gets his jollies pushing and bending and licking the literary envelope. Happy?