Character Bio for Clyde:
Prior to joining the Discreet Demolitions team, Clyde* was a gnome without a home or purpose. He wandered aimlessly from town to town, surviving by eating unsuspecting house cats and the occasional pomeranian. During this dark period, Clyde developed a chemical dependence on garden fertilizer, which led to his working as a common lawn ornament in exchange for access to his drug of choice. His appearance on the decorative wreath was his lowest point. Fortunately, Clyde's wreath and future were salvaged from a roadside trash bin by T, and Clyde is now a gainfully employed denizen of the Underworld, working as a security consultant and unofficial bodyguard for Discreet Demolitions. He also makes really tasty margaritas and has replaced his fertilizer habit with a fondness for Slim Jims.
*As no one in the Discreet Demolitions office speaks gnomish (well, except Clyde), the bio above is an approximate reconstruction of the life and times of Clyde the gnome. By T, because J refused to participate in this exercise. Also, we have no idea if his name is Clyde. He just looked like a Clyde. Again, we don't speak gnomish.
Jeanette graduated with an English degree with a concentration in medieval literature which explains her possibly unhealthy fixation on edged weapons and cathedral architecture. She spent a summer in England and Scotland studying the historical King Arthur, which did nothing to curb her obsession. To satisfy her adrenaline cravings—since sword fighting is not widely accepted in these modern times—she rode a motorcycle at ridiculously high speeds, got some tattoos, and took kickboxing and boxing classes. She gave up the bike when her daughter came along, although she still gets pummeled at the gym on a regular basis.
When she’s not writing or working, Jeanette spends time with family, hikes, reads, makes decadent brownies, buys killer boots, and plays Pocket Frogs. She wishes there were more hours in the day so she could actually do more of these things. She lives with her daughter and their two psychotic kittens in North Carolina.
Tracey is a science writer by day and gamer by night. She’s worked in a tea factory, dropped creamed spinach on a four star General, wrangled the prose of college freshmen, and stage-managed more amateur theatrical productions than you can shake a stick at. Her random and misspent youth also included a yearlong sojourn in Scotland that left her with a strange fondness for daffodils and fife and drum music. She lives in North Carolina with her husband, two children, every video game console known to man, and an extremely low-maintenance cat.