J.C. Sasser 

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I was born in Savannah, Georgia and grew up in a small town called Metter, sixty miles northwest. I first discovered writing through sound. As an infant, I crawled around the ankles of two of the best storytellers I’ve ever heard, my maternal grandmother and true Southern queen, Rubye Trapnell Becker, and my father, Hugh Esten Cromartie Jr., a legendary whitetail deer hunter and T-4 paraplegic with no legs. When I was old enough to make requests, I’d ask them to tell my favorite stories over and over again, sometimes four or five times in a row. The plots were not what I found most interesting. It was the way they told these stories that never got old. When I was ten, I discovered the power of the written word while plundering in my mother’s bedroom. I’m a plunderer. It’s one of my greatest strengths. I found a diary of sorts that chronicled some of my and my brother’s childhood antics. Of course I read it. I found that words strung together in a certain way had the capacity to make me laugh and to make me cry. It made me want to write. It made me want to write so bad that I swallowed the ink from my mother’s pen, hoping that somehow the magic would get into my blood. I’ve been writing ever since.
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