A J Cole

A.J. Cole lives in seclusion somewhere in New England. Not where she'd prefer to live in New England, but marriage vows are binding and she's not complaining. Much. Out loud. Anymore.

Along with her very patient husband, ar her two amazing and inspiring spawn, as well as the biggest chicken of a Saint Bernard mix the world has ever seen. He's the goodest boy though. Unless you're the UPS man. FedEx and USPS are apparently okay. He adores the trash man.

Before getting into writing, her former 9-to-5 involved layout and design (among other things) for textbooks. She is now cursed with great knowledge of all things in the literary process. And pictures of eyeballs she can never unsee. So. Many. Eyeballs. *shivergrimace*

When A.J. isn't reading or writing, she's binging her comfort shows (she would live in Michael Schur's brain if she could-provided that didn't sound weird or stalkery?) or planning her return to the coast of Maine where her soul thrives.

Writing is her passion, and if she didn't get the voices out of her head and onto the page with any sort of regularity, she'd be far more insane.

To quote Taylor Tomlinson, "I could be a lot crazier if I wanted. But I keep a lid on it pretty good, and I deserve to stop at Target on the way home. With no time limit. And I want a cart, not a basket."