I remember the first time I picked up a Stephen King novel. From the first pages of Salem's Lot,  the horror genre grasped me in her claws, refusing to let me go. Little did I know the comfort it would bring throughout the years of teenage angst and sometimes the uncertainties of the adult world.

From an early age, I proclaimed I was to become an author. I remember adamantly stating it in front of my English class several times. Why I never followed the initial dream, I'll never be certain, other than to attribute it to mediocrity and the whole "life just gets in the way" excuse.

But it was an excuse. I never stopped writing; page after page, night after night. I never stopped dreaming up characters, situations, and tangled plots. The J Rae Books and other stories are the product of those intense nights of hiding in my head, wondering about real life and the challenges we face. As a child growing into a teenager, I acutely understood the intricacies of human nature.

Coupled with my love for the horror genre, and never having a word to describe the genre I wrote in (until I stumbled across Orwell), my words began to form into a dystopian world that sometimes terrified me. No matter how hard I try, even today, I always return to a dysfunctional society, a family or a single human teetering on the brink of disaster, struggling to claw back at life. 

It's not apocalyptic - it's dystopian - the before and after picture of the big meltdown that is always avoidable.

To be a dystopian writer, you need to understand what you write about. If you care at all for the message you are conveying - which is usually a heartfelt  pleading to be careful - you have to understand the intricacies of humanity. You need to know what makes us tick. And you need to be honest.

Writing is a part of me. I never had a choice. No true writer, young or old, ever has a choice.