About Me

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by sound—its invisibility, its power, its ability to carry emotion and meaning. This fascination laid the foundation for everything I’ve done in my life. From an early age, I was drawn to music, writing, and the mysteries of the world around me. I wrote stories and comic books with intricate plots, often combining elements of science fiction and fantasy. I filled my notebooks with imaginative worlds, exploring themes of sacrifice, loss, and resilience.

 

My passion for music took hold when I was twelve, and by thirteen, I was performing original songs live with my first band. I dove deep into music theory and sound engineering, eventually producing an extensive discography through my independent record label. Along the way, I cultivated a love for science—particularly cosmology, astrophysics, and geochemistry—pondering the mysteries of the universe and imagining the unseen forces that shape it.

 

As much as I embraced creativity, my life was also deeply shaped by loss. When I was fourteen, my mother took her own life. That tragedy left an indelible mark on me, influencing how I see the world and the stories I choose to tell. Death, grief, and sacrifice have always been at the heart of my work, including this book. I wanted readers to experience those emotions deeply—to feel the weight of loss and the beauty of resilience.

 

The seed of The Lands Gone Still was planted when I was in elementary school. At the time, I had this wild idea: what if microscopic or subatomic universes existed within sound waves? What if sound wasn’t just a vibration, but a force of creation—a doorway to an entire hidden world? I imagined a cathedral choir whose voices gave life to this microscopic universe, their harmonies weaving the fabric of this unseen realm. The idea stayed with me over the years, though it remained dormant, waiting for the right moment to grow.

 

That moment came years later, during a turning point in my life. At the time, I was stuck in a monotonous routine, living day by day without a spark of creativity. I felt burned out, uninspired, and disconnected from the passions that had once driven me. Then, one seemingly uneventful day at work, everything changed.

 

I was helping a coworker move wooden picnic tables, stacked top-to-top—a task so familiar I could’ve done it on autopilot. As we maneuvered the tables, I suddenly lost my footing on the smooth concrete beneath me. In an instant, I fell forward at full speed, landing throat-first on the edge of a wooden support beam. The impact was shocking, crushing into my throat and knocking the wind out of me.

 

I immediately dropped to my knees, clutching my throat with both hands as I struggled to breathe. I couldn’t see straight, and I could barely speak. My voice, reduced to a faint whisper, felt like it might be gone forever. I was left choking and gasping, my airway so compromised that I teetered on the edge of suffocation. It was a near-death experience—a stark reminder of how fragile life can be, and how quickly it can be taken away.

 

That evening, I went home early from work, overwhelmed by the physical pain and the emotional weight of what had happened. It was in that moment, needing to distract myself, that the idea resurfaced. That fleeting thought from childhood—of sound as a universe—began to evolve. I imagined a scientist who discovers a war-torn world hidden within sound waves. To make such a discovery, she would need to find a way to slow sound waves to near stasis, unlocking secrets that could never be seen at normal speed. This single spark reignited something in me.

 

Writing these books has become a transformative process. It gives me a way to merge all the things I’m passionate about: music, sound physics, fantasy, science, and storytelling. It allows me to pour my imagination, my questions, and my experiences into something tangible. In the process, I've rediscovered myself. I'm pursuing an education in astrophysics, and I've rekindled my love for learning and creating.

 

The Lands Gone Still represents everything I love—music and science, beauty and wonder, sacrifice and resilience. It is a reflection of who I am, a culmination of the stories I’ve carried with me throughout my life. My hope is that it resonates with you, as sound does, as a fleeting yet unforgettable experience.

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—P.J. Banfield