My name is Matthew. Not Matt.
It doesn't really bother me if you get it wrong. Unless you want me to know that you're talking to or about me.
I live in a white house up on a hill on a quiet dead-end street in Midtown Memphis, Tennessee. I share this bright and airy space with my lovely girlfriend, my guitars, her costume wardrobe, and our shared drive towards constant improvement in our creative lives.
You see, for people like us, "good" isn't enough. I mean, it feels nice, but it was just that one thing we did. Everything has to be great. Not good, but phenomenal.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not hung up on the idea of genius, as though the only things worth doing are the ones that immediately yield genius. If there's anyone who successfully wields that attitude, I haven't met them. I have a degree in creative writing from Ball State, and if that taught me anything, it's that you have to do something constantly if you're ever going to do it well.
What good is a creative writing degree that doesn't teach you those basics? I can craft a solid sentence in my sleep, but if you must know, the most important lesson I learned was this:
Poetry doesn't pay. Learn to do something else.
And so I did. I waited tables, I sank my teeth into print and web design, and learned every format and platform I could. All so I could write about it and for it and on it. Even if it's 140 characters at a time.