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More than a half century ago the winter solstice delivered me to this world. It was a Wednesday. A bleak and foul day - cold and snowing; a day custom tailored for the arrival of such a child as me. Created in Ireland, I made the journey across the Atlantic to Canada and then on to the city of my birth.
Edmonton, Alberta in winter can be a cruel place for the unprepared; I was up to the task. I came into the world screaming like a warrior on his way to battle, four days too early for sainthood; an injustice I have spent my life compensating for.
Those that know me will deny the validity of some of these recollections. I am a writer of fiction, and these are the events as my memory has preserved them. If you have difficulty believing these words, then perhaps you should ask yourself why.
I was the first born of three sons. The pressure of the responsibilities associated with such rank wore heavy on me, but I met every challenge with honour. One of my few refuges was the quiet times I spent alone inside my own head. I allowed my imagination free rein to create stories and lives that didn’t exist. I created stories that amused and entertained me. They gave me a host of friends that always did what I wanted them to do.
The source of my stories is varied. Some are interpretations of tales shared with me by trusted shaman. Others were concocted from scattered and somewhat unreliable memories of parties I attended. Still others are adaptations of creations I shared with pretty young prospects in my dating days. Some are from the memories of my youth. Some I have no idea where they came from – perhaps fragmented memories of nightmares or dreams.
In all cases the focus of my writing is story. I believe fiction is for the heart and imagination. The sole purpose is entertainment. I do not believe work created with such intentions should require a dictionary at the ready, nor should the reader need to be a student of English Literature.
I have studied a variety of topics, and been employed in a myriad of occupations. I have been an avid motorcyclist, skydiver, recreational pilot, philosopher, magician, psychiatrist, saxophonist, and clarinettist and a computer slave. I am a father, step-father, husband and master of domineering lower forms.
I enjoy cold beer on a hot day, laughter with good friends, short walks, children laughing and playing, beautiful music, beautiful women, moonlit nights, rolling breakers, and writing. I enjoy and cherish my siblings, parents, family, memories, and myself.
My writing started for my own amusement and sanity. Taking work of mine, publishing it, and sharing with the world is a scary proposition. A written work, even one of fiction, allows a certain insight into the mind of its author. Welcome to my mind – I hope you brought a flashlight.