My eighth grade teacher, Mrs. Pabst, had done her master's thesis on Tolkien. She showed me how the trilogy was patterned after Norse mythology. She was also the first person to encourage me to submit stories for publication. The idea of writing a fantasy based on myths never left me, and many years later, this would lead me to write Percy Jackson.

Leo fell in love with every girl he saw-as long as she was completely out of his league.

For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing in everything as you come across--hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me.

Leo grabbed the neasrest thing he could find- a Porta-Potty seat- and threw it at the face. Leve me alone!

Percy yelled. "What's going- Gah! Shrimpzilla!

I got the feeling Poseidon really didn't know what to think of me. He didn't know whether he was happy to have me as a son or not. In a strange way, I was glad that Poseidon was so distant. If he'd tried to apologize, or told me he love me, or even smiled. it would've felt fake. Like human dad, making some lame excuse for not being around. I could live with that. After all, I wasn't sure about him yet, either.

I guessed his name was Face of Horror. I wondered how long it had taken his mom to think of that. Bob? No. Sam? No. How about Face of Horror?