SHORT BIOGRAPHY
Besides ingesting my grandmother’s stash of arsenic at two years old, nothing of significance took place until I decided to become a writer.
I was eight years old.
I wrote about an Alphie bug with the head of Alfred Hitchcock, a war between the Decromats [sic] and Conumists [sic], and a bear who found himself stranded on the Moon.
I was ahead of my time.
I lived in Alaska for 15 years.
I hiked all through the Chugach mountains. One day, a big old grizzly charged me.
It was the best day of my life — I lived.
For 7 1/2 years, my brother and I traveled the world together.
We toted everything we owned in a backpack and a duffel.
He photographed, and I wrote.
We made our way through jungles, rivers, coasts, and interiors—from Yucatán to Patagonia. We then moved over to Iceland and made a slow trek south to Eastern Europe.
Alas, while exploring Macedonia in 2019, my brother suffered several strokes.
So, we came back to the U.S.A.
But we fulfilled a childhood dream, which began with us standing on the beach, staring at the sea.
I write full-time, we’re still best friends, and we remember our times beyond the sea.
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