He-He-Hellooo, so I spotted on Insta and Twitter, these accounts doing a “this is me” post for all the newbies who follow them. I liked the idea and with my new book coming out (shameless plug #1), I thought I’d do one too. But as I tend to scroll past those rather unceremoniously, I decided to put our meet cute here on my website instead. You can’t scroll past this bitches…oh, what?…oh they can. Well, that’s a huge flaw in my plan, but nevertheless, we persist.
Welcome to my little corner, some of you have followed and supported me for a long time on my journey (and oy have they suffered, I barely post, and my content is so-so at best. My nudes are fire tho) and I appreciate all of you, truly. And for the new kittens who are joining us, allow me a moment to introduce myself. I’m Eric David Roman (until the edibles kick in and then I’m Shelley Duval, baby!) writer, lover, and all-around delicate homosexual. I love all things horror, camp, and queer and if I find anything mixing all three – heavenly. But I’ve been a horror dude from the age of 5, when my father woke me up late one night to watch Night of the Living Dead – been hooked ever since. Horror runs through these veins as deeply as the gayness does (and that’s pretty deep).
Before I turned my focus to writing, I’d spent over twenty years wandering the wrong paths, making ill-advised decisions, and generally being an adorable mess; some people would probably choose another word, but I’m sticking with adorable. I worked the wrong jobs (turns out streetwalking, not a profession for just anyone), sought validation from the wrong people (hey it happens), and lost myself multiple times along the way. It’s always fun to get lost, until you’re kind of always…well lost.
I’d been writing since I was six but I avoided fully committing to my passion over the years, despite writing all through school. Instead, I whiled away in retail management hell (a harsh rock bottom) and steadily grew more unhappy. On paper, I had everything equaling a good life; a good job, a great husband, a nice place to live, a wonderful circle of friends. Except, I was depressed as hell, miserable, and looking for the exit (which is what I politely refer to my suicidal ideation as) I had no choice but to do something before the Depression and Anxiety took me down (it’s not a 3way I recommend – no one ever comes) And because it truly is okay to not be okay, I got some help.
After the worst passed, I found myself trying to return to my ‘normal’ but doing so made me feel worse. A mini-lesson for all of us trying to reclaim the “normality” we once had pre-Covid – sometimes that normal is what’s toxic and there’s better waiting for us on the other side when allow change in. I knew I needed to step up and take care of myself in a way I’d never had before. Frankly, in a way I’d never been taught how. Growing up half Puerto Rican and queer, and a little awkward and weird, in the south, in the 90’s, was no picnic. But with therapy and a little spirituality (don’t worry I’m not all in your face about it) I started the long and painfully fun process of healing.
And part of that healing was finally allowing myself the freedom to follow my long-gestating dreams. At 37, I walked away from my job to give writing the full-hearted, full focused attempt it so richly deserved. Success or failure, whatever happens, at least I know I stepped up and did the damn thing, right? I set out to write more of the stories in my head and had a goal to get one book accepted by a publisher. I’d self-pub’d my last novel but the Depression/Anxiety gangbanging me made the experience a mess (I’m a master of hiding my mental health issues- check on your friends) Any any joy from the release was overshadowed by the suicidal ideation I was experiencing. So I set off on a different course when my head cleared and went off to find a publisher. (Like picture me with a bindle and a determined face stepping out of my bedroom, walking down the hallway, and jumping onto the first passing search engine I could find. choo-choo)
A writer’s story always varies, but the gig normally comes with a lot of rejection, and then some more rejection, and then another round, because why not? Until one day there’s a yes. Trusting my intuition, I continued along my path and now, at 40, my childhood dream (well, phase one) is coming true; the first two of my projects are gearing up to release this year. And I love them, but I’m always biased. I hope you’ll love them. I’m excited to share the horrors rattling around in my head with you (its time they tormented someone else).
And that’s a little about me, and if this meet the author post conveyed anything to you (past my plea for you to buy my books) let it be this: There is no time limit on your dreams. Don’t listen to societal standards and the timelines they create – they’re fictitious. At any age, at any time, you can turn things around and magic can happen. You can create and manifest the life you want (ok, I slid in one spiritual thing, still not in your face about it). You can find success and happiness. Focus, gratitude, and work truly make anything happen. I learned that the hard way, but I know now, and I promise, there is nothing you aren’t capable of accomplishing.
Until the next scream, Kittens.