🌲Hidden🌲 on Nostr: Jackson (He/Him) Jackson Ford has spent most of his life involved in incredibly ...
Jackson (He/Him)
Jackson Ford has spent most of his life involved in incredibly stupid shit.
He lost his sense of smell as a child after falling out of a very tall tree—one he was explicitly told not to climb. He has been concussed multiple times, all his own fault. Once from snowboarding, once from parkour, and one time when a speaker fell on his head.
He has visited over forty countries on all seven continents—yes, all of them—and passed through most states in the US. He has been in cars that have caught fire in Italy, swum (voluntarily) in the freezing Antarctic ocean, climbed Kilimanjaro, and has narrowly avoided getting eaten by a pack of hippos in Zimbabwe.
He thought he could make a career as a journalist, interviewing mob bosses, game developers, and members of the Wu-Tang Clan. Often simultaneously. He spent a long time trying to make it as a rapper, and also put in the hours as a sound engineer. You know those terrible ads on Spotify? His fault.
When none of these things worked, he turned to fiction.
Even more amazingly, he ended up getting married. His wife clearly decided that she needed more stupid shit in her life than even Jackson could provide, because they now have two psychotic Boston terriers. The dogs have more Instagram followers than Jackson does, because of course they fucking do.
He is hoping nobody notices that his real name is Rob Boffard. He’s written books under this name too. Most of them set in spaaaaaaaace.
Jackson clearly did all of this by himself, with no assistance whatsoever from his publishers Orbit Books or his agent Ed Wilson, at Johnson & Alcock. He also would like it noted that Brooke McAllister did not take that photo.
His characters all think he’s a dickhead.
He makes his home in [REDACTED]. No, it’s not Los Angeles.
Jackson Ford has spent most of his life involved in incredibly stupid shit.
He lost his sense of smell as a child after falling out of a very tall tree—one he was explicitly told not to climb. He has been concussed multiple times, all his own fault. Once from snowboarding, once from parkour, and one time when a speaker fell on his head.
He has visited over forty countries on all seven continents—yes, all of them—and passed through most states in the US. He has been in cars that have caught fire in Italy, swum (voluntarily) in the freezing Antarctic ocean, climbed Kilimanjaro, and has narrowly avoided getting eaten by a pack of hippos in Zimbabwe.
He thought he could make a career as a journalist, interviewing mob bosses, game developers, and members of the Wu-Tang Clan. Often simultaneously. He spent a long time trying to make it as a rapper, and also put in the hours as a sound engineer. You know those terrible ads on Spotify? His fault.
When none of these things worked, he turned to fiction.
Even more amazingly, he ended up getting married. His wife clearly decided that she needed more stupid shit in her life than even Jackson could provide, because they now have two psychotic Boston terriers. The dogs have more Instagram followers than Jackson does, because of course they fucking do.
He is hoping nobody notices that his real name is Rob Boffard. He’s written books under this name too. Most of them set in spaaaaaaaace.
Jackson clearly did all of this by himself, with no assistance whatsoever from his publishers Orbit Books or his agent Ed Wilson, at Johnson & Alcock. He also would like it noted that Brooke McAllister did not take that photo.
His characters all think he’s a dickhead.
He makes his home in [REDACTED]. No, it’s not Los Angeles.