Frequently Asked Questions

I get asked a lot of questions, like, “Are you serious?  You wrote a book?” and “Do you know what time it is?”.  I figured it might be easier to answer the ones I most often here, well, here.  Feel free to drop me a line (all the info is on the CONTACT page) if you have a question that isn’t answered here.  As more questions are asked, I’ll list them when I feel I’m spinning my wheels answering them over and over.  I personally respond to each and every email!

Here goes!

Alea Jacta Est: what the heck does that mean?

Alea jacta est is the phrase attributed to Julius Caesar when he crossed the Rubicon River.  In the Roman Republic (we’re talking about 500BC – 30BC) the traditional border that no Roman army could cross was the Rubicon River.  Think of it as their version of posse commitatus.  They didn’t want Roman armies within striking distance of Rome itself, out of fear that popular generals (like Caesar) would try to start a coup and take over the government as dictator or king.  Remember, Rome was ruled by a dynasty of kings for a few hundred years before a bloody revolt threw off the shackles of the monarchy and the Republic (hey, that sounds familiar) was born.

In 49BC, Julius Caesar was backed against a wall.  He had ambitions to power in Rome (not necessarily as dictator or king) but Pompey (the great general that had basically taken control of Rome while Caesar was off in Gaul conquering the Celts) riled up sentiment against Caesar in the Senate and forced his recall.  Caesar was facing political, professional, and economic ruin.

In his mind, he had no choice but to march on Rome and liberate it from the likes of Pompey and a few other uber-powerful Senators and Consuls who were, in Caesar’s view, twisting the very fabric of what Rome was.  He crossed the Rubicon – the point of no return (it was punishable by death for a Governor or general to lead an army south of the Rubicon) and uttered the phrase, “alea jacta est.”  The die is cast (or, there ain’t no going back now, boys!).

So, what’s the Freehold?

The Freehold is the name of the apartment complex that Erik and his people turn into a fort.  It used to be called Colonial Gardens, but when the SHTF (shit-hits-the-fan)…well…you’ll have to get the book to find out the details.  If you want to see what it really looks like in real life (yes, it’s quite real…or, rather the place that inspired me to create the Freehold is…) go to my blog.  The picture in the background is the apartment complex that became The Freehold (in my mind).

Do you have a Facebook page?

Why, yes, yes I do.  Here’s the link!

Do you write full-time?

No–I simply have too many responsibilities to be able to devote the time needed to writing full-time.  But I’m working on it.  And every time someone buys one of my books, it gets me a little closer to that goal.  So thank you! If you want more stories, then encourage your friends to buy my book and I’ll be able to write more!

Typically I write just an hour or so a day–when I can.  Raising three children and caring for the house (both inside and outside) is a full-time job in and of itself.  Then to top it off, I have to wait on my wife hand and foot–just kidding, she’s the most beautiful, wonderful, hard-working, loving, intelligent woman I have ever met.  I feel blessed to even know her, let alone to have married her!  And she’s actually pretty good at taking care of herself.

Are you a cat or dog person?

Neither!  They both make me sneeze my head off.  But, if no one’s looking, I like cats.  Yes, I get asked this all the time.  What this has to do with writing I don’t know, but there it is.  And yet I have a dog.  A slightly ADHD viszla named Trinny.  Go figure.

Who is Steven M. Vaught?

Who is anyone?  Who is John Gault?  Who are you?  An alter ego?  A time-traveler from the past sent to gather information about the future?

Some say he’s the reincarnated, alien-hybrid vampire-slaying Abraham Lincoln.  Others say he’s merely a pseudonym for me.  Or, that he’s just a guy with a computer, too much time on his hands, and too many stories to tell.  I prefer to think of him as the real me.  This person, Marcus Richardson, is a fiction, a myth, a legend, a movie waiting to be made. My nom de plume.  But I’m not supposed to tell anyone…ugh.

Again with the oops.