Welcome!

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This page will hereby serve for the exclusive telling and selling of my life story in the form of an autobiographical memoir documenting my 26 years of life.  I will be publishing the contents of my trilogy right here on this blog over the next few months--chapter by chapter, week by week-- with the eventual goal of offering my completed work to you in a variety of formats.  At the corresponding links, you'll find more information about me, my dream, my project, and my passions.  Thank you for reading and feel free to leave a comment!  Much Love!    -CTM

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First Words, First Memory, First Dream

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#1   First Words My first words, according to my dad, were either the Sportscenter theme song--"Duh, nuh, nuh...duh, nuh, nuh"--or "Bud," which one of the regulars at the bar where my dad worked taught me to say while slamming my empty milk bottle down on the rail for a refill.  Either way, I'm proud, but my mom couldn't be less pleased, so for the sake of keeping her happy, I say my first real word was "Mama." #2    First Memory My first memory is hard to pinpoint; there are three candidates that come to mind, but two lack credibility and all are pretty fuzzy.  The oldest comes from when I was less than one year old, in the Georgia State University daycare in downtown Atlanta, where my dad was taking classes, studying to be an English major.  The memory is strange and questionable because it feels like I'm looking down on myself, hovering over my body with a bird's eye view, and I'm just watching as I crawl up a blue padded r
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The Nest

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#4   The Nest When I was around four years old, my grandfather, Captain Bill, started his own production company and hired my dad, who finally got out of the bar business, abandoned his college education, and moved us into a small house in the suburbs where my mom could quit her secretary job and stay home with me full-time.  This change proved mostly positive because, in addition to the bigger backyard, which meant more space for playing sports, my dad always brought back souvenirs from the cities where he did his "shows."  But during the weekends when he was gone, I spent many a night crying while staring at the picture of us on his mousepad, and despite my mom's best efforts to keep me happy and distracted with movies and games, she just wasn't the same pitcher or goalie, and I longed for my dad's return... That said, I have nothing but good memories from this time spent with my mother, the epitome of which was our Friday routine, which still lives on today
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Mammy and Pappy, Captain Bill, Grammer

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#5   Mammy and Pappy Like most kids, my early identity was shaped first by my family, and I was (and still am) fortunate to have my grandparents in my life.  Growing up, I spent the most time with my mom's parents, Mammy and Pappy, who lived four hours north through the Smoky Mountains in Nashville, Tennessee.  From what I recall, they made the drive down to visit us a few times a year, but other than the boring church services, I don't remember much.  What I do remember, though, is loading the trunk of the car with presents, getting stuck on icy stretches of highway, and spending Christmas at The North Pole... I can still see their house perfectly--red brick with black shutters--and I remember the rush of the sled runs down the driveway and into the yard.  I remember playing catch in the snow with my dad, uncle and Pappy, and I can still see the sign on the red front door: "Santa, Please Stop Here!"  Inside, I can see the ceramic rooster on the island in the kitc
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