M. J. Carlson is an American author and activist. His novels are billed as science fiction or suspense but frequently incorporate elements of current social issues, humor, and romance. He has short stories in anthologies alongside the likes of Kevin J. Anderson, David Farland, Todd McCaffrey, and Brandon Sanderson. Several of his short stories have received honorable mentions or been finalists in the Writers of the Future, New England Science Fiction Writers Association, and Florida Writers Association contests. Who are you? Like the caterpillar’s question to Alice, I’ve always found "Who are you?" to be the most difficult one to answer. More so because it has always struck me as less about personal trivia than the more esoteric aspects of personality, like "what are your beliefs," and "what is your philosophy," or "what color are the glasses through which you peer at life?"–not to be confused with the question I’m more commonly asked–"what color is the sky on your planet?" In that same vein, I’ve always believed that the inner person is reflected in his or her description of their world. Not all, perhaps, but more than a curriculum vitae will ever tell me. My home is Florida. It’s who I am. But my Florida isn’t tied tightly together by six-lane ribbons of asphalt or littered with strutting, pastel, multi-million-dollar beach sandcastles. It’s a Florida of scrub palms and sand spurs, of cool December beach breezes, forty-minute four o’clock August thunderstorms, and sultry, honeysuckle-scented summer nights. And when I say Florida I mean all of it. I’ve lived in every corner of my prickly paradise, from the rusty buckle of the bible belt up in the northeast corner to a stone’s throw from John D. McDonald’s Slip F-18, from Pat Frank’s rural North Florida with its live oaks dripping with Spanish moss to walking distance from where the road ended for Jack Kerouac in St. Pete. I’ve watched the sun rise over the Atlantic and drop into the Gulf of Mexico on the same day, walked the heat-shimmered backroads, raced motorcycles across the Everglades under a full April moon, and awoke bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed on Key West’s Duval Street more than once. Along the way I’ve met good people and said good-by to some bad ones, made a few friends and, I hope, not hurt anyone too badly. Over the decades, Florida’s changed under my vagabond shoes, but my restless quest for the perfection of the next butterfly wing continues. When I get old enough, I want smile lines deep enough to hold all my memories and when I’ve finally run far enough and I’m done falling and skinning my knees, I want my ashes to feed the mangroves and orchids. That’s who I am. You can find out more at mjcarlson.com or say hi on facebook.
阅读完整简历
