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.
