Author

As I regained consciousness after my coma over a decade ago, I faced a dilemma I had no way to answer: how did I know what was real and what was not? During my time in the hospital, I had truly, fundamentally believed that my dreams were reality.

It took me awhile to realize that this was a question that others had thought about, longer and more in depth than I ever had. The Greeks had a word for what came to my inability to comprehend the world outside of me: Solipsism. It’s what I clawed onto for the first few months, the belief that I had to remark everything I knew before I went under and what I knew afterwards. I could only determine the world was real if I experienced new things.

My writing is a product of this idiocy before I grew up. I write Science Fiction, and I fundamentally want to answer one question: how does someone, in a world beyond our current (either in technology or comprehension) continue to maintain the conceit of their importance and uniqueness?