Crispin Sands resides in the Great Pacific Northwest, in the ominous shadows of volcanoes Mount St. Helens and Mount Rainier. Over the years, he's come to truly appreciate Seattle's 360 days of rain, as well as its occasional earthquake. He lives in one of the city's most notorious hotels, a flophouse for loons and creeps of all descriptions. Most of his non-writing time is spent in one of several dives, or greasy spoons, where he drinks to excess and records notes of his surroundings in a Mead Composition Notebook.
Sands enjoys well-chilled martinis and well-cured (if roundly illegal) Cuban cigars. His favorite haunt is the Mecca Lounge on Seattle's Queen Anne Hill, where he can be found scratching his alcoholic itch while playing "Love Cats" on the jukebox over and over. He is an excellent conversationalist, and his favorite subjects are the cinema, literature, and Wagner's Ring Cycle. He also relishes the company of emerging writers, though he doesn't really have any useful advice. He is a full member of Seattle's ground zero for literary pursuits, the Richard Hugo House, as well the the Pacific Northwest Writers Association.
His faithful and sole trusted companion is a cat named Delilah.
Major influences: Nathaniel Hawthorne, Upton Sinclair, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gore Vidal, Carson McCullers, William Faulkner, Thomas Wolfe, Tennessee Williams, Flannery O'Connor, Katherine Anne Porter, John Kennedy Toole, et al.
NOTE: Postmodernism sucks ass!