Estevan Vega

I’m a writer. Well, technically an author, because they say that you magically become an author (i.e. true creative) if you’ve published something, and you’re a writer if you haven’t (you know those closet aspiring geniuses who just scribble stuff into notebooks and hide it from the world?). But I still call myself a writer. I’m one of 4 brothers. The middle son. I guess that’s supposed to make me uber weird and dysfunctional, but the jury’s still out on that one. I love mint chocolate chip ice cream. Like, really love it. Watching movies and going to rock shows are 2 of my favorite pastimes, and I am addicted to telling stories.

It all started because a 5th grade teacher decided to become a meddler in my life. That’s right, one of my least favorite authority figures at the time assigned us to write these 1 page short stories for class. We had the freedom to create whatever we wanted (within reason), but the assignments were do every day, and upon completing the school year, the plan was that we’d all bind them to compile a book. Well, at the time I hating reading, hated writing, and wanted to be a comic book artist. I figured I’d one day work for Marvel or Disney or something. And I was pretty good at sketching too. But I always found it hard to create my own characters, and I often just settled for copying somebody else’s masterpiece.

Something was missing.

Well, then a 2nd meddler enters the picture. My pops. He starts helping me with the stories. And by helping me, I really just mean I was there more as a consultant and a constant nuisance, ensuring proper grammar was employed. He was the real writer, in my mind. I just wished I could be him. My teacher started grading the stories, and I was floored to see A+ after A+. And she liked my stories enough…ahem, our stories enough, to read them in front of the class. The response was terrific. My classmates actually gave a crap. They wanted to know what happened next. So I turned 1 story into about 12 or so, and made a little book out of it. Looking back, it’s probably terrible. But the point is…I was hooked on the game.

My father and I began discussing book concepts until finally, in 6th grade, I set out to write a “real” book, all by myself. 3 years later, Servant of the Realm was born. It was so under the radar it wasn’t even funny, but I was just stoked to have my book searchable on the internet. It’s a pretty cool feeling when you’re 15. 3 years later, I released The Sacred Sin, a much darker story about a detective on the hunt for a serial killer who can steal souls. (THE FORSAKEN is the revamped version. I literally rewrote every page, and added about 100 more pages to the story. So if you haven’t picked that baby up, you might wanna.) 3 years after that–I know, 3 is the magical number, it seems–ARSON was unleashed. This story is closest to my heart because it came from a very unique place and time in my life. It’s like I grew up while writing it.

Well, sorta…

Flash forward to now. I’ve got 5 novels and several short stories out. I’ve been interviewed on TV, radio, and the internet. I’ve done several blog tours, have my own Youtube channel, twitter page, FB page, so quite frankly, there’s really no reason for you not to stalk me. I’m still that sort of college kid looking for his path while already on a path. I love to write. I love to ask the big questions, to create raw, flawed characters who do incredible things. And I’m reminded every day why I do what I do, why I write, why I tell stories…because of you. Because of something greater than myself. Because if I didn’t, I’d probably go insane.

Welcome to my dysfunctional world.

Spread the fire!