AUTHOR

T. Ethan Glassel

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T. Ethan Glassel is the four-year-old who couldn’t figure out how to pronounce “the” when learning to read. He is also the towheaded, innocent-eyed nine-year-old who reminded his relatives of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. He’s also the sixteen-year-old who climbed the stairs of his parent’s split-level home and realized, entirely unprovoked, that he wanted to be a writer. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he saw beauty in the linear pathways of prose that paint pictures, evoke emotions, and tell stories, and so he began. He is also the twenty-one-year-old husband that submitted his first college poetry assignment by rhyming everything with -ing—painting, walking, talking—because that’s the best he could do. Poetry, he realized, is pure and unadulterated black magic, and its practitioners, wizards. He is also the over-confident mid-twenty-something who believed his first novel was ready, and who cased the science fiction and fantasy conferences like a career thief, believing he could steal the attention of those crafty book agents and editors. He is the twenty-nine-year-old father, holding his firstborn son in his arms. And he is the early-thirties dad who bought life insurance as every responsible dad should, but who knew that no matter what life threw at him, he would always keep writing. Now with a wife, four kids, and a cat, Ethan continues to pursue the epiphany he had at sixteen, placing one word after another. He lives in Minneapolis, where he survives by coloring with fancy markers during Zoom meetings and slaying virtual rat-men by night. When on kid-duty, he is the master of hide and seek, but only because the furnace room is scary and no one else dares to venture in. He likes football, but mostly in the “who won the game?” type of way; he once bowled a 300 game; and he can catch a falling egg on his foot thanks to his teenage obsession with a hackey sack. If pressed on the subject of his favorite book, he might murmur something about C. S. Forester’s Horatio Hornblower series, E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web, Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn, and Patrick Rothfuss’s The Name of the Wind.
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