T. James came late to the world of fiction writing and poetry, his creativity having been buried for 25 years under a lab coat, Fat Cat business suit, a charity volunteer's holey jeans, and a hospital therapist's uniform.

 
At the present time he is perfecting his ability to bend the written word to his will across a range of genres, styles, and forms. He has wheezed his way up the knoll of the novella, squeezed through the constriction of non-fiction, and breezed to rest in the tepee of poetry before he found a big enough word-shovel to dig out a novel.

He continues to believe that "X" marks the spot, but wonders why every treasure map is upside down, no matter which way he turns it.