I’ve dreaded writing this biography for a while. There are only three instances in which I like to talk about myself: to make people laugh, to simply see the look of shock on their faces, or to embarrass myself. Seeing how this is all I’m allowed, I’ll see what I can do about accomplishing these goals.
First off, my full name is Leighton John Allred. Though I use shortened forms of my name when I travel and am actually known throughout the world by several different names, I use my full name for my novels because of the way I received it. My name, just as my life has, came to me in a rather strange manner. My mom and dad remember how I received my name quite vividly for the simple fact that I am the only one in my family who was named in such a manner.
You see, it was coming close to the time when I was to be born and for the first time my parents couldn't find a name to fit me. They didn't have this trouble with any of my brothers and sisters, and so with me they were a bit perplexed. On a night close to my birth, my father had an interesting dream. He dreamt he was walking down a foggy street and on either side of him signs with names fell away behind his feet. The way he tells it, he wasn't able to read the names clearly until he came to one of those old Marquee signs they have over the old theatres. That was the only name he could read, and because this dream was so strange it stuck with him. Hence the name Leighton John Allred was given to me, and since that time my parents have always teased me about my name being in lights someday.
Now, let me point out right now that I don't see myself in movies later on in my life nor do I have any desire to become an actor. I would rather wander through deserts or jungles and stumble across the typical mayhem that follows me. My biggest aspiration in life is to find a bit of adventure to ward off my own boredom and sprinkle it with laughter. I'll be the first to admit that I don't lead a very exciting life right now, but I'm working on it. Besides this, I have no interest in seeing any movie I would be involved with and I wouldn't want another to suffer a fate I'm unwilling to undergo myself. The only desires I have when it comes to movies is a good storyline, good acting, and the chance to do some of the stunts.
With that said I'm sure we can continue. I was born August 23rd, 1978 into a rather unusual family. My father was a probation officer for the juvenile courts and my mother a simple housewife, but this isn’t the oddity I speak of. My parents, by the time I reached the age of ten or eleven, had adopted thirteen children bringing our numbers to twenty-one, including them of course. The last adoption they completed forced us to move from our small quarters in the mountains to a plot of land they'd bought in a place known as Rose Canyon. Beautiful country.
I still remember our first winter there. Since we weren’t rich we were forced to build our own home that on its completion was four stories high spanning around six thousand five hundred square feet. If I remember correctly we had a late start in building our home, and our first year in Rose Canyon was spent on a single unfinished floor. As I said, we weren’t rich. There was no way for us to find other shelter and because of this in our first winter there all twenty one of us crammed into eight rooms with two bathrooms to serve us all. You could not possibly imagine the mayhem we caused that winter. In my last trip to Alaska I read a sign that describes all of this perfectly. It said, “Cabin fever is a twelve foot stare in a five foot room.”
After that first year we were able to construct the remaining floors whereupon we were each allowed a bit more breathing room. We lived as normally as we could with the nickname of “The Melting Pot of all Nations” dubbed upon our heads. I remember one neighbor actually singing, “One little, Two little, Three little Allreds…” as he unloaded us after giving us a ride. Needless to say, a family can’t live a normal life when they themselves can comprise two opposing forces in a baseball game. I believe this is where I developed my love for oddity, and why my life is different than most. In growing up under such conditions and experiences, your perception changes from what the normal population would view.
I’m sure by now that you’ve noticed my mockery of the word normal. If you learn nothing else about me in reading this, I ask you to take with you this bit of knowledge: In my family, you must have a sense of humor and a thick skin. If something I say offends you, take it in jest as it was meant. If you don’t, I couldn’t care less.
Anyway, back to my bio. I’ll pretend as if you’ve read this far and continue. Around the age of twenty to twenty one I showed my grandpa a couple of stories I’d written, and after he’d read them we started discussing the art of literature. During the course of our conversation, he said something to me that shoved me in the direction my life has taken. He told me that before you can write about life you must live it. I’ve heard such a thing before, but coming from him that advice struck me with further fury. I began to travel. Little bits here and there at first, but over the past few years my wanderlust and thirst for excitement has led me down many paths.
Two memories find themselves in my mind at this moment. The first is of my trip into Hawaii. I went scuba diving, and during the course of this dip I cornered a sea turtle and rode him for just a moment before my hands slipped from his shell. Then later, while backpacking into the mountains of Hawaii, I found myself sleeping beneath a rock outcropping to escape the rain. While there, I found myself nudged awake by a wild boar searching out the can of fruit cocktail I had forgotten to close, and in the course of my weariness, I believed him to be the remnants of a dream and rolled over so that I might finish whatever imaginings my mind would conjure in peace. If you’ve never been to Hawaii you must go. Both the land and the people are beautiful.
The second memory is of a road trip I took with my sister, Sommer. We were leaving Vegas on our way to Lake Powell when I had a blowout at seventy five miles an hour. I rolled my car several times before finally ending up in the sand between the two roads of the highway. For now we’ll ignore the fact that my seatbelt snapped off before wrapping around my neck and the only reason I’m alive today is because my sister grabbed me and pulled me back into the car. Suffice it to say, I was knocked unconscious while putting my head through the window. The first thing I remember when coming to was looking up and finding a strange woman pressing something to my head. The only clear words I can remember her saying were, “Don’t worry about the strange Indian woman holding a wet towel to your head.” Then and still today, those words bring a smile to my lips. Before ending this and allowing you all to think Sommer is a saint, I would like to point out that after we stopped rolling she ran away from the car because she thought it was going to explode like they do in the movies. I was forgotten inside. She did remember after a time though and went back to see if screaming and shaking me would help me wake up. Also, another reason why she is banned from the list of sainthood, she saved me. What good can come from such an act?
That is the sort of life I have lived. These and every other experience I’ve had has brought me to this point thereby permanently scarring my perceptions of all around me. There are but two pieces of advice I can give. The first, if it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else, do as you please. The second, search out the things you love and experience them every day of your life. The latter of these suggestions is the most important of the two. Besides the chance to experience the emotions that may overcome you, what’s the point in spending even a single moment unhappy? The only answer I have ever been able to raise to this question is that those instances would offer ones heart the chance to feel.
Enough of this. I’m sure I’ve chased everyone away, and because of this I feel it’s time to explain my writing experience. I started writing the summer after my graduation from high school, and, thankfully, the computer I was writing this fabulous novel on crashed after an entire summer of work. Without a backup copy I lost it all. That bit of good luck spared any from ever reading that beautifully idiotic rambling. After the disappearance of those words I stumbled across a story I had begun at the age of sixteen. The storyline it sparked in my mind was sound, but I lacked the ability to tell it properly. Over the next three years I wrote this story, passed it out to others for their suggestions, and upon receiving their remarks threw the entire novel out to begin anew. I don’t recall how many times this happened, but a good estimation would be somewhere in the ballpark of four to five times.
No, all this rewriting did not pay off in the form of a publishing contract. After reading it that final time I still found myself unhappy with it. Because of this, I readied myself to rewrite it again, but since I was a little disgruntled with the idea of writing it another time I sat and just wrote out a couple chapters without any clear idea where the story was going. I liked what I wrote, and because of this I showed it to a good friend of mine, Charley. He and his wife, Cami, are the ones I must attribute the entire No More series to.
They allowed me to invade a corner of their home so that I might have the chance to write unhindered with the everyday occurrences of my life when I stay long enough in one place. Because of this and their constant support and encouraging comments, I wrote the entire series and I wrote it well with their help. Just to warn all those interested in No More and the pending novels Retribution and Salvation, I can’t take full credit for their birth. If you came looking for the writings of a single man you should look elsewhere. You won’t find it here. Without Charley and Cami I would still be a deranged, unpublished author. If nothing else, I can promise you it’s an intriguing story.
If you’ve made it this far I must compliment whatever drugs you’re using to keep yourself awake. I’ll end this prattling dialogue before I cause some hapless soul to commit suicide in their boredom. Before I go though, feel free to look into my photo album wherein you will find pictures of my family and friends.
