I edit Willa Snap's memoirs: sentient Clockwerks, time-traveling dragons, highly verbal cats, steam-powered rhino cabs—that kind of thing.
And when not shifting unpredictably into third person, Richard lives with his wife, two lovely daughters, some cats, and three ducks, in a magical bookstore that is—quite frankly—the only thing that stands between you and raging hordes of zombies who haven’t read a good book in, like, forever.
He has won the Independent Publisher Book Award Medal (for juvenile fiction), the National Indie Excellence Award (for juvenile fiction), the Moonbeam Children's Book Award Medal (for pre-teen fantasy). He's received a Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Award Honorable Mention (for middle-grade/young adult, was shortlisted for the International Rubery Book Award (for young adult), and has been a finalist for the Eric Hoffer Book Award (for young adult).
Standing in the hallway was a man enveloped in steam. I say man, but honestly, that was up for debate. His leather coat seemed normal enough, but the cloak draped over his shoulders was studded with small steam pipes puffing away at regular intervals. WAS THIS GUY STEAM POWERED? In one hand he gripped a brass-topped cane, in the other, a clipboard covered with gears. Perched on his head was a top hat mounted with aviator goggles. A monocle—a monocle!—adorned his left eye. He must have had a good twenty pounds of brass gadgets strapped to him. And I couldn’t have told you what a single one of them did.
Excerpt from Willa Snap and the Clockwerk Boy. (Coming Fall 2017.)
We emerged into a hazy courtyard. The Blasted Dragon’s stone exterior looked like two immense dragons curving around face to face, their outstretched wings forming a high-pitched roof. A row of blasted steps between their smoking snouts appeared to be the only way in or out. A rumbling shook the cab.
“What’s that?” asked Nimet nervously.
Bertie glanced uneasily at the top of the steps.
“Wait for it,” he said grimly.
A few seconds later, the dragons’ mouths erupted into a fiery red blaze, completely engulfing each other’s heads.
Nimet let out a little shriek.
I turned to Bertie. “That’s fake, right?”
“Yeah . . . never really had the nerve to check that out.”