“A hopeless romantic screenwriter with a bad memory” is the latest elevator pitch of the biopic I’m actively writing for myself. Every day I live is another scene to be added to the foolery of my future novel, or the next honest chapter of  my Memoir.

Whatever happens, I’m all open. But, you should know where I came from, and that’s probably why you’re here, huh?

Ryan. James. Allen.

Born June 7th of ’96, I–a wee little biracial baby–made sure to warm the hearts of elderly woman, dogs and small children. Probably. It sounds about right.

My bio-dad hadn’t yet lickitty-splitty yet, and I was definitely his favorite son. After all, he only had one.