hello!

My ancestors baked things! And consequently I was born in 1983, just in time to witness the rise of the digital age. It was a fascinating childhood! For me, it was the start of an obvious obsession with video games. Their push and pull were particularly effective in shaping my peculiar path!

It began with Lode Runner and Ballblazer on Atari XE... Then came The Legend of Zelda and Super Mario Bros. on NES... Sega brought Sonic the Hedgehog and NBA Jam! And from there it was onward to the glorious PlayStation and its 3D with 32-bits!

Alien Trilogy and Resident Evil and the brilliant Bushido Blade! Some of the very finest titles by which my mind was made. Oh, no...

Have I begun a rhyme?

To drive this home to you?

Ah, frack it! Why not?

Twisted Metal and Twisted Metal 2!

More metal twisting, perhaps?

Amid rounds of Need for Speed?

Yes! More twisting of metal!

More metal twisting, indeed!

Twisted Metal III, of course!

And then Twisted Metal 4!

I twisted all the metals!

And then I twisted them some more!

And marked maturity meddled not with my mettle, as my meeting Metal Gear Solid merited me my Medal of Honor! Okay, fine! I'll dial it back down to a more mundane prose...

The simple point is that I obsessed over a lot of video games. But more importantly, these games were honing certain skills, traits, and desires. That said, of all the games I played in those days, the most addictive and the most influential was a trio of epic RPGs...

Final Fantasy VII, VIII, and IX... Oh my!

Because of those particular games, I began drawing maps and worlds of my own liking. And each came with a story, and with magics, heroes, and foes. Those were the teenage years, when a fictionist's future formed. By the end of high school, I'd envisioned a career in video game design, a goal which I thought to attain via a B.S. in Computer Science.

However, early in college, a certain Peter Jackson trilogy turned me on to Tolkien's tales, and then over the years, my love for games was supplanted by a love for books. The many works of H.G. Wells ensnared me next, as did The Count of Monte Cristo by Dumas and Don Quixote by Cervantes. And then, of course, there was Harry Potter. But still it would be those tales of Arda and of Middle Earth that had rocked my world the most.

In 2008, graduate school saw me seeking a Ph.D. in Psychology, but it also saw me outlining my first science-fantasy series. As I plodded my way toward the doctorate, I took the plunge into Jordan's The Wheel of Time, a masterpiece which led me to Sanderson's Elantris, Warbreaker, and Mistborn, and all the while I was studying those authors' techniques and styles. Ironically, it would be the unique quirkiness of Richard Adams's Watership Down that became my favorite model!

Somehow, I finished grad school in 2019, and not by coincidence, in the process of taking twice as long as intended, I had also seemingly developed depression and generalized anxiety disorder. And so rather than forcing myself to bear all the stress and uncertainty of long-term career moves, I took a familiar job in I.T. support, right there at the very same university. My goal was to let myself heal, and to further develop the science-fantasy story that had been incubating in my brain for over a decade.

The plan had been working! But when COVID came and filled the entire world with misery, my mental health was knocked back off balance. Enough was enough! I went to the bookshelves, and I took out my Watership Down, along with all my Tolkien and all my Wells!

During those lonely months of waiting for the storm to pass, I reread all my old favorites to help me hammer out a first draft. Kind words and good habits kept my fragile mind occupied, and with the help of my mother's proofreading, I had written the rough draft of over one hundred thousand words by mid-winter of 2021. Still, a year of dismay had taken its toll...

I had completed the draft, but I had suddenly lost my ability to edit. My only desire was to find a way into the arms of my significant other, a Sri Lankan woman who had acquired my heart from afar. Several more months passed before the pandemic would allow it, but in early October of 2021, we embraced for the very first time, and we became engaged!

And so, my mind began to mend a bit. That winter, we each moved away from our homes. Her road led to a teaching position within a severely underfunded secondary school, while my road led to an I.T. job within a prestigious yet severely understaffed law school. 

Within three months, Sri Lanka's tourism-dependent economy began a rapid collapse into sovereign default. And despite the many poor countries still struggling to survive the economic shock of the pandemic, an asshole decided to invade Ukraine, triggering another economic shock and fanning the flames of a global food and inflation crisis! Yay!

Sri Lanka lost its ability to import fuel, and as we all know, no fuel, no bueno. I repeat. No fuel, no bueno. Though we'd had no issues with our visa petition mailings just months earlier, now even simple letters were being bounced back. If ever you want your mental health kicked while it's down, I recommend watching helplessly from abroad, as any number of your loved ones become afflicted by an ever worsening food scarcity with no end in sight. Meanwhile, at your university I.T. support job, enjoy tolerating woe begotten adults, as they quite regularly lose their shit over fleeting frustrations.

That summer, inflation peaked at nearly 9% in the U.S., whereas it continued rising to over 60% in Sri Lanka, and though I had the ability to move myself back to Mom's home (no, not her basement) and into another university job, my betrothed was trapped on an impoverished island. Over the next few months, I inevitably lost my ability to tolerate the insanely chaotic conditions that were becoming common for I.T. support workers. Fortunately, I was offered refuge within a small public elementary/middle school, where compassionate minds strengthened me in my ongoing battle against the complex post traumatic stress disorder I'd developed due to the ongoing nightmare described above.

I'd found my dream job! Or so I'd thought...

After a year and a half of healing, tragedy struck again. My betrothed suffered a significant cerebral stroke on Christmas Day of 2024. During the next several months, I came to terms with the fact that she could no longer travel to the U.S. using our previously approved K-1 engagement visa. Though she had been spared her motor skills and her precious personality, her amnesia was extensive.

This realization came with a level of pain I'll not detail. But I survived it, because a few dozen school children had captured my heart. All were my guardian angels. Every morning, after having endured yet another terrible night in their absence, my first foot out of bed was possible thanks to the thought of returning to their presence. However often our paths may cross, I am forever theirs.

On May 22, 2025, near the end of just another ordinary school year, the great YouTube algorithm suggested a video produced by an adult man who had recently been diagnosed with autism at age 41. I could not ignore it, and soon an oddly familiar autistic man was describing my entire life to me. Within a day, I understood something extremely important about myself. Something that explained everything. Can you guess what that something was?

Anyhoo! Just three months later, I was fired from my "dream" job for failing to meet performance expectations. However, my employers provided scant supporting evidence, and they rejected my pleas to collect any. Something was amiss! How could these companions to whom I was so loyal suddenly not appreciate the amount of life and love that I had devoted to them? Why were they abandoning me? How could they so callously rip me away from my source of happiness and survival? I quickly discovered an alarming employment crisis among autistic people. Perhaps this was simply going to be my life...

Or, perhaps I would start my own business and become an advocate for the employment of autistic people, whether officially diagnosed or self-identified. Perhaps I would once again find refuge in a better day-to-day environment, one filled with true empathy, not the superficial A.I. slop. Perhaps I would then once again resume my long-neglected creative projects, bringing them ever closer to completion. And perhaps I would then once again provide potential supporters with relevant website links at the end of a somewhat brief and probably annoying autobiography...

In conclusion, I'm autistic, and I always have been.

- Mr. James D. Baker