My childhood home.

Raised in Chevy Chase, MD, now an elite, wealthy suburb of Washington, D.C. I grew to love city life. But in 1983, my dad had a dream to move out west and buy a small business in West Yellowstone, MT at the entrance to the national park. My family drifted away when my folks split up two years later and my eldest brother, Scott, died in a car crash when I was thirteen. My middle brother, Michael, went to college that same year and I was restless to get out of the small, rural town regardless of how beautiful it was to live there. High school had good memories, great friends but it just never felt like that town belonged to me.

Missoula gave me a place to start fresh and find out who I really was and what I might become. I dabbled in various pursuits and took my first literature class, which I strove to improve my writing. My interests in school led me toward the sciences, however, and writing would have to wait. I met the love of my life in 1995, she left for Oregon that summer and by Christmas I said goodbye to my beloved Missoula and friends.

It turned out to be a good move because I married that girl in the fall of 1997 under the shade of autumn leaves near Corvallis, Oregon. We both finished school at Oregon State where I continued to pursue a degree in the sciences working toward a ‘practical’ degree field. Still, writing pulled me in again when I took a creative writing class. I was terrible, still am too, clearly why you’re here – you train-wreck chasing mouth-breather. Yet, I discovered something in that writing class, felt the surge of creation deep within.

Then I didn’t write again until I was forty years old. Too bad, surge of creation, didn’t have time for ye. But now I do and the surge is on again. Still terrible, but I want to be better.

Or great. Great would be fantastic.


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