Chris Hicks

I write. I play video games. I eat food. I read books. I lie to my dentist about flossing regularly. I occasionally order pizza at midnight and then yell "pizza's here" as the delivery driver leaves so he doesn't think I'm going to eat that extra large all by myself. I am.

My writing journey started in college with a short story about a guy who thought he had an alligator under his bed. My professor liked it so much he told me to submit it to a contest (I didn't win). Since then I've been writing humor columns and sketch comedy in between maintaining my day job and tending to my children/cats/video game characters.

I approach life like approaching a deer in a field; with slow, methodical steps until I'm about ten yards away, careful not to startle it. Then it looks up, ears twitching as it stares in my direction, and I wonder at that point why the hell am I stalking a deer? What's my end goal here, really? Am I going to pet it, ride it, wrestle it to the ground? But I've gone this far, might as well see it through. I manage to take one more step before the deer is off like a shot, disappearing into the dense foliage. I'm left standing in the middle of the field still hunched in some tai chi crouch, wondering what the experience was all about.