About Sam Reeves

Rabid Bookworm - The Thinker

Some of my work...

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I love my wife, even though she thinks I need to be on some maximum strength anti-goober medicine.  I love my son, too.  He's a genius in my eyes (although I wish he would use his powers for the forces of good.) Always beats me at Magic: The Gathering. And he likes to draw, write, invent his own fashion statements (usually based on the coolness of bow ties) and spontaneously abandon his Midwestern US dialect for any number of accents from the Western hemisphere.  Also, I like to tell him our house is monster-free because I sprayed for them.

We have a pet dog named Betsy. She's half chihuahua and half toy poodle. This makes her look a little like Toto from The Wizard of Oz, but with a perpetual bad hair day. She loves belly rubs, shredding leaves, and playing fetch with pigs. Not real pigs, of course. Her first toy was a stuffed pig, so for the sake of consistency, we have referred to all subsequent toys as "pigs." House guests give us strange looks when we toss one of her stuffed ducks and shout, "Get dat pig!"

My interests include horror novels and superheroes and comic books and scary stories and scary comic books and monsters and Medieval things and bugs and dinosaurs and space and aliens and puppies and pizza and everything else middle-aged kids like me are rabid about. When I forget that I'm a painter, I write fantasy and horror.  (And vice versa.) Otherwise, I'm either reading or writing or painting or drawing. An art instructor once told me that I don't paint. Instead, I "draw" paintings. I guess, then, I draw more than paint. Regardless, my medium of choice is usually Photoshop, so that makes my official title a pixel pusher, I think. Except when I'm your friendly neighborhood writer-man.

Love movies, chainmail armor, Photoshop, and Sherlock Holmes. Doctor Who. Star Wars and Star Trek.

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History of the Samitarium

In 1974, when I was three, my family moved from Kansas City to the Ozarks of southern Missouri.

The Mark Twain National Forest bordered our 100-acre farm that grew maples, strawberries, and snakes.  (The snakes outnumbered the other two by about 17 to 1.)  Growing up, I often carried my pet chicken under my arm, because all chickens love tricycle rides.  At 15, I moved with my parents to a small mining town in Oklahoma.  It is now a massively polluted ghost town. (Not our fault.) What the government has not hauled away, tornadoes erased. I have lived in the general area since.

My wife and I met at Wal-Mart.  She told me my watch was ugly.  I proposed to her a week later.

My son is awesome. Have I mentioned that I taught him to play Magic: The Gathering, and I have NEVER won a game against him?

I've been a lone night clerk at a convenience store, a janitor, a nursing tech at a mental health facility, a consignment auction lackey, furniture assembler, graphic designer, retail department manager, unpaid farmhand, and a ditch digger for a septic tank company.

After college, I worked six years for a Native American casino as the IT manager, director of marketing, supervisor of the receptionist pool, orderer of office supplies, and (early on) sole graphic designer (yes, all at the same time--but I'm not bitter).  After that, for a couple of years, I returned to my alma mater, but this time to write programs, maintain databases, and threaten to chuck troublesome network servers out a third-story window. (The same went for troublesome coworkers.) They fed me cookies and asked only that I stop submitting uniform requests with the word "Staff" scratched out and replaced with "Minion."

Otherwise, I paint (er, I mean "draw"), study pai--drawing, and spend disturbing amounts of time wishing Michael Whelan or Kim Jung Gi would adopt me as his son.

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