Writing is my second mountain—a little steeper than the first, but a more satisfying climb. I studied creative writing at Dickinson College in PA. That was a long time ago. My professor was the renowned author, Robert Olmstead, who, back then, had a very red beard and was not renowned. Bob and I drank beer on a few occasions and talked about writing. We talked about character and people. He introduced me to the sound writing makes when it's better than good. It didn't surprise me that he became a literary success. Robert Olmstead lit my literary fuse.

​Detonation? Well....that took thirty years.

I was in my fifties when I finally gave myself permission to write. I have no regrets. It's okay to be a late bloomer. It's okay to hold your water until you have something worth saying.

I was born on a US Airbase in Germany. We moved around a lot when I was kid. My first real job had me driving across Iowa and South Dakota, selling carpet out of a white minivan. I spent twenty years grinding through the Midwest selling stuff to people. I played rugby for over a decade, sang in a seven-piece jazz band, and spent half a year driving across the country towing a camper. Somewhere along the way, my wife and I started a small business—its success being entirely her fault. The characters I've crashed into along the way have been a gift to my writing.

Kath and I now live with our Aussie, Duncan in New Hampshire. We've been married over thirty years and she is my best friend. We have two adult children, Drew and Jennifer.

I am grateful for having found my voice. Even if it came late. As all the best things seem to do.

Thank you for being a reader!