T.C. Blue

Snarky smartass with a love for bad-ass boots. Dazzling with brilliance or baffling with bullshit. You decide. Oh, I also write gay romance. Raised in and around Washington, DC, T.C. Blue doesn’t write about politics. A wild youth spent doing whatever the heck sounded fun and interesting led to a smattering of knowledge in many areas, from motorcycle courier to hairdresser to retail slave to professional chef. An admitted Jack of all trades and Master of none, these days T.C. can be found writing in front of the computer, collecting pajama pants and cowboy hats (only rarely worn together), or driving for the sheer joy of it.