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Reflecting on today, plotting tomorrow.
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The Writer

     Most folks who think they know me really only know part of me.

Most folks who think they know me only know the part I let them see.

The part that goes huntin’, fishin’, campin’ out and explorin’.

The part that digs 15 ponds by hand.

The part that shovels 10 feet of snow barefoot in a blizzard.

The part that howls with coyotes, dives butt naked for antique bottles, fights bears barehanded.

The part that soars with bald eagles & sings with the loons.

     But that’s only one small part of me.

Most of me is a survivor’s life.

Most of me is quiet solitude. 

Most of me is hour upon hour spent privately resting and recovering.

Most of me is long quiet days spent sitting at my computer, reflecting and remembering.

Most of me each day finds my strength and connects with folks through writing my stories.

     Most of me lives with my pen as my voice.

Most of me shares my adventures, thoughts and dreams through my written world.

     Most of me spends long cold winter days just like I spent this day, sitting at my computer, living life through my blog.

Most of me sits watching and waiting for folks to read my stories.

Most of me feeds off readers, likes, comments and feedback, for a feeling of connection to the wider world.

     Most of me lives life

In the Day I am In.

Most of me lives the day I am in through my blog.

My blog is my life’s book.

Every read is a sale.

This day was a good day.

I had fifty-one readers this day.

Two from Ireland, two from Great Britain, even one from South Africa.

This day was a good day.

This day I sold fifty-one books.

     Not bad for a guy who Adirondack Life Magazine’s editors once told to

“Take all his stories & stick ‘em in an album for his grandkids to read.”

(Writer’s Note: If ever the folks after a five year publishing relationship you had grown to trust as your editors, after publishing five of the 1st six stories you submitted, after inviting you and your wife to their magazine’s 50th anniversary party, after you drastically changed your annual Memorial Sloan Kettering cancer treatment assessment trip and altered your route to attend, an event at which their editors experienced your deformed face and cancer survivor writer’s voice live for the first time, if after all that, your editors suddenly, without explanation, reject your next six submissions and tell you to take all your “fun tales” and “stick ’em in an album for your grandkids to read.” If that ever happens, trust me. I’m the writer. That is neither coincidence nor compliment.)

    Not bad for a guy who The Adirondack Almanack publicly condemned as a racist for writing stories reminiscing about carefree high school days playing Saranac Lake Redskins athletics.

Not bad for an Adirondack Outlaw survivor living life on the lam.

I’m a writer.

Most folks only know one small part of me.

The only way to get to know all of me is to read the adventures, essays and stories on my blog.

I’m a writer.

I write to share my days with you.


Until Our Trails Cross Again: