: About Me

John Tabler, who prefers to be called J.C. or "Dicky when he's a-thinking", was raised in Kentucky by a pack of wild lawyers. He is, as he says constantly, a hack writer who lives on a combination of Camel cigarettes, bourbon, and coffee that would kill a mule. While harboring an unhealthy fear of midgets, he freely admits that his perspective on the world has landed him in many strange situations. A "Christian without the bull, the bigotry, and the building" who believes animals are put on Earth for him to eat, he is married to a Buddhist vegan. While he has in the past been a steamboat deckhand, a manure handler, a legal assistant, and a bartender, John is currently a student of history at the University of Louisville when he can manage to get out of bed.

His most recent work, "A Question of Freedom", can be seen in the upcoming issue of Allegory, http://www.allegoryezine.com, when it publishes on January 1, 2008.

My passion is ...

Not editing or spell checking a dang thing I put up on Helium. It's not as if this is a submission to a magazine, after all.

I know too much about ...

Strange history

My parents always told me ...

"Stop doing that, boy!"

My childhood ambition ...

Was to be a beach bum. No lie. Personally, I still think it sounds like a good idea.

Why I write ...

Writing, to me, is like snorting lines of an illicit drug for the first time. It occupies the mind and soul and leaves you with a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day. Of course, once the high wears off you become a literary prostitute, turning articles and stories in exchange for a rent check to support your filthy, filthy habit.

My first job ...

Employed as the man who put manure in fertilizer sacks. Amazingly enough, I tended to feel dirtier when I worked for a lawyer.

My best moment ...

I'm going to have to go with finishing two entire bottles of whiskey, yet still being able to find the bathroom without a major accident.

My inspiration ...

I don't have a muse, I have a manic-depressive sculptor on an ungodly amount of uppers who shapes my work like clay.

Health & Fitness > Alcoholism Educating the drinker on the dangers of drunk driving

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Let it be said right now and ring from the mountaintops down to the masses below: Jail is not fun. A party, a few too many drinks, and an assumption that it was okay to drive the few blocks from the bar parking lot to my apartment were what made me an invited guest of the Louisville Metropolitan Corrections Department for one October night in 2005. After a brief encounter in which I got acquainted with both a friendly police officer who made me stand on one leg and sit in the back of a car with pretty flashing lights, I found myself locked in a sparse concrete holding cell directly below t...

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