“Woolly” Willie Alsedek

Father. Husband. Writer. It was a naive game of rock paper scissors that sent Mr. Woolly into the educational bosoms of a college education. Where he carried his dream of film making on a scholarship to the Art Institute of Philadelphia. He received his bachelor’s degree in digital media with the accompanied accolade of best portfolio. Proudly stepping out from the college blanket, and into his own office, he began his motion graphics career. Which took a sudden nap in honor of a national financial recession. Naturally, he went on to busk on a beachside boardwalk using musical comedy to pay for groceries. Amongst a revolving repertoire of street performance acts, he found himself working in kitchens, pouring concrete, repairing homes, constructing sets for live theater while doubling as a stage hand, living in the prop room of that theater while the LSD put his feet back on the ground, managing projectors in a movie theater, making breakfast on set for a B-horror flick, drinking rum on a drawbridge, managing I.T. for virtual college courses, and making a juice one time for Michael Keaton. Mostly he freelanced, peddling his motion graphics skills to whomever he crossed with such a need. All the while his story telling passion carried from one outlet to another. With films being the expensive endeavors they tend to be, Willie refocused his screenplays into books. A decision which has set his pen a blaze and has broken several laptops. And the way things are going, there are a great deal more to break, and more to blaze.

Mr. Woolly writes for fun, and for necessity. Writes because he needs to say something, and because he needs to be ridiculous. Because life is an endless pit of emotional turbulence and he needs you to feel how serious the fall is. Willie writes because stories are wonderful, and his imagination will not leave him alone. Willie writes because God is holding a gun to his head right now and forcing him to write in the third person. I’m joking. God is in the kitchen sink stuck between some harden hollandaise sauce and the slick glazed finish of a ceramic plate. And I’m not really writing, I’m typing.