: About Me

My love for the written word began with reading. There were periods of my life when I read a book every day. Still, I didn't write anything because I couldn't spell. From the hundreds of books I read, I developed a visual memory which allowed me to spot misspelled words, but I couldn't begin to correct them. I used to pass my malady off as being genetic and tried to blame my parents. I knew that wasn't true, so now I just say I'm spell challenged. It doesn't matter anymore. With the advent of computers and spell check, all I have to do is pound on the keyboard like one of the proverbial million-monkeys and hope something decent dribbles out.

I recently retired after 37 years as a police officer. I loved my job and obtained a hard-knocks education that few other professions offer. Learning to write was a job requirement. Watching man's inhumanity to man offered a source of powerful short stories and personal experiences. Being able to read and understand the subtext of those confrontations offered insight into what was really going on-and what was about to happen. It was a necessary survival skill. It also gave an understanding of true language; something I try to turn into natural sounding dialog in my writing. Of course most of the stories I witnessed can never appear in Helium because anything close to true language is prohibited.

I also write a lot of poetry. That might seem like an odd genre for a cop, but when one spends one's working-life in filth, beauty and harmony become priceless. Poetry seemed like a way to capture bits of beauty long enough for them to refresh the sole.

Retirement is allowing me to spend time with my very understanding and supportive wife, my grandchildren and my dogs. I missed out on so much of their lives while working holidays, weekends and rotating shifts.

Retirement also allows me time to write. I write for the same reason I've always read: because I must. Without contact with the written page, life is hollow.

My passion is ...

Family, reading, writing, politics and science

I know too much about ...

Man's inhumanity to man.

My parents always told me ...

A man with a haircut and shined shoes is welcome everywhere.

My childhood ambition ...

To be a master machinist like my father.

My favorite memory ...

Holding my children right after they were born.

Why I write ...

Because I must.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

Anythng by W.E.B. Griffen.

My first job ...

Farm hand at 12 years old. $2 per day.

My best moment ...

hasn't happened yet. The Pulitzer Committee hasn't gotten to me yet.

My inspiration ...

Music: oldies, blues and classical.

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: No words

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My father wept as the flag passed by; At rigid attention he stood. He had no words to explain just why; Only the veterans understood. I watched my bride walk down the aisle, And my words did surely fail. There were no words for what I felt As I softly raised her veil. As I looked down at my just born child, So much I had to say, But emotion choked my very air And stole my words away. I stand above the fresh filled grave, A victim now of fate. At last I say what I need to say, But the words came way too late.

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Writing:

• Marketplace Approved Writer
• Creative Writing Gold
• Helium Charter Member