I grew up in the deep woods in northern Michigan and have lived in Los Angeles, Hermosa Beach, Torrence, Van Nuys, Boulder, Denver, Key West, Tampa, and now Spring Hill, Florida.
We began writing (for we were twins in that cabin with deer for neighbors ) about 4th grade in eanest, authoring every play and skit our class put on . At home we made up Arrow Book Lists and lists of our library books when we returned from there, describing or summarizing both real books and ones of our invention. The twin got to read whichever interested her most. If it didn’t exist and she chose it, the reward was a good laugh because we’d fooled a brilliant adversary. We were quite creative so we’d disguise a book like Bambi so the other would never …
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I grew up in the deep woods in northern Michigan and have lived in Los Angeles, Hermosa Beach, Torrence, Van Nuys, Boulder, Denver, Key West, Tampa, and now Spring Hill, Florida.
We began writing (for we were twins in that cabin with deer for neighbors ) about 4th grade in eanest, authoring every play and skit our class put on . At home we made up Arrow Book Lists and lists of our library books when we returned from there, describing or summarizing both real books and ones of our invention. The twin got to read whichever interested her most. If it didn’t exist and she chose it, the reward was a good laugh because we’d fooled a brilliant adversary. We were quite creative so we’d disguise a book like Bambi so the other would never guess it was that, sometimes by paragraphs chosen from the book, sometimes by honest but obscure description. It ended in 7th grade when my sister got hold of a stack of overdue school library book notices and delivered them to my homeroom teacher’s maibox. With a straight face he’d read off such titles I’d supposedly checked out as Secrets of a Seventh Grader by I.M. Flatt. After writing and illustrating several magic books for children I knew (6 to 14), which they kept, I became a 10-hour-a-day journalist to hone my skills. At times life demanded a poem of me and I obliged without choice. These high school poems are here for review,along with a novel written at 17-18 for teens. When both my parents died unexpectedly Aug 07, I began writing a memoir about my Dad immediately before I could get depressed or languish. 11 months later it was accepted, along with another book, this about my grandfather, who was famous in his field, for publication. No agent—the owner of the publishing firm saw a long post I’d left on a forum in April and asked if I’d write a book about Grandpa. I said I had a memoir to sell first and he had me send it with the one he’d asked me to write, which took 3 months. I got back 3 “wow!”s and “great stuff!” and 2 contracts. I will tell where when it comes out.
I have two daughters, one 19 and currently studying in Kyoto, Japan; her dual majors are Asian Culture and Creative Writing and she intends to recieve an MFA in the latter.
Her high school diploma gives special recogniton for passing a rigorous 17-course creative writng program at a school for the arts. My thirteen -year-old daughter, who has to declare a major by 8th grade, a new rule in our state, intends to be an actress (because she’s 13). My father was a naturalist, zoologist, marina-owner and bombardier on over 50 missions in WW2. My memoir is about how little me followed Dad everywhere--Mom had only wanted a baby, not two, so she choose my twin and Dad raised me like a son, hunting, fishing, boating, camping--without Mom or my twin, who had no interest in the outdoors. Two younger brothers were yet too young to be of help to him--then, they met tragic fates. I hope it shows how uninsured Americans are on the losing end; how catastrophic illness can wipe out a hard-working, long-contributing family.
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