Geoff North

The madness started early. I was eight years old, maybe nine. A big stack of horror comic books (they didn't belong to me) stared at me from the shadows under my older brother's bed. Yeah, the comics belonged to him, and he was a monster. Still is. I took them to my room (barely more than a crawl space compared to his palatial digs) and devoured them all from cover to cover. Twilight Zone, House of Mystery, Ghosts, and Boris Karloff Tales of Mystery to name just a few. He had them all.

After the beating, I started collecting my own horror comics. I moved onto novels as an early teen, Stephen King, Robert R. McCammon, Dean Koontz, and dozens more. I created my own series of comic books - really bad, but fun to work on. Then I grew up, worked, got married, had kids, got divorced, and so on.

Now I'm writing stories, publishing books. Horror, suspense, science fiction, a little YA. Whatever adventure I think might be lurking under a bed, waiting to be developed, I'll pull it out. The madness continues. There's no cure.