D.G. Valdron:  First off, I’m very private, and quite reclusive.

I’m a wayward Maritimer and currently a denizen of the Canadian prairie.  My dad was a mechanic, my grandfather was a carpenter, and between the two of them, it left me an arsenal of skills, a work ethic, and a practical approach to life.  Growing up, we did everything and worked on everything from retreading tires, to small manufacturing, to construction, to running cement, doing carpentry, building and working at a motel, a garage, a car wash and a drive in theatre. and working on cars. We raised chickens. There was always something to do.  We were all involved, the whole extended family. The drive in was a big one though.  I spent the summers of my youth working at a drive in theatre, which has left me with a lifelong appreciation for B-movies and pop culture.  That and watching old carry-on movies, and older horror movies on Shock Theatre, late at nights when I was sleeping at the Garage, to keep it safe from break ins. I was a little smarter than average, so that got me into University. It was a revelation, and I decided to spend the rest of my life there.  I wanted to be a student forever, surrounded by books and ideas.  I got into campus journalism, and began to experiment with being a writer, it was a heady time. I kept collecting degrees.  But unfortunately that eventually wore thin so I decided to see what the rest of the world was like. I’ve had the usual assortment of quirky writers jobs, mechanic, carpenter, projectionist, cook, waiter, woodcutter ditch-digger, journalist and school teacher. These days I’m a lawyer working in the field of aboriginal rights, I’ve been doing that for a while, I’m good at it, and I like to think I make a difference,  Let’s face it, anyone who wants a career in the arts needs to have a day job to pay the bills.  And I’m trying to write a bit here and there. I think I’ve been a writer my whole life, even when I wasn’t writing.



My earliest memory is dragging my brother, in his high chair, over to a blackboard so I could draw Batman adventures for him. I couldn’t even write in those days, but even back then, I knew I wanted to tell stories. No matter where I’ve gone, what I’ve done, that storyteller has always been in me, struggling to get out. I published my first story when I was thirteen.  Just like Ray Bradbury. Actually, I published two of them.  So Bradbury can suck it. But I don’t think I decided to get serious about writing until my grandfather passed away.  I’d dabbled with fiction before then, writing short stories and novels, most of which are deservedly lost.  After he died… I dunno. I think I had to ask who I was and what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a writer.

I have a couple of collections of humourous spec fic and fic – Heroes Wait in Line and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Apocalypse.  My schedule is pretty flexible they might be out this year, maybe next.