I was lucky enough to be born in a small fishing village in northern Newfoundland before roads and electricity. We firmly believed my dear Aunt Lys was a witch – as she could cure all sorts of ailments from warts to festering wounds. Her raspy voice would make us scatter from her garden where we crept to steal the delicious black currant berries she used in some of her medications. In her customary long black dress and her favorite broom she would chase us away, thus conjuring up the dark side of her nature. She was in fact a very smart, kind lady who took care of people and animals alike, but as children we saw otherwise.
I held a belief in Santa Claus until the age of ten. I am still not quite sure.
The old Irish fishermen who lived in the cove told all manner of stories about spirits and demons. I was steeped in the need to tell other folks all that could run wild in the dark of night and the wild places of one’s imagination.
Since then I have lived in many places that offer a contrast and a pressing need to explore how we all might live life differently yet remain essentially alike in our need for entertainment and adventure in what we read.
As writing novels is not enough, I also explore the writing of music, poetry, and short stories. I enjoy gathering by an open fire for an evening of song.
My day job as a certified public accountant (CA in Canada) keeps me from spending too much time in the Fantasy world; still there is art to accounting as there is to any work where the soul is allowed in.
The wonderful picture at the top is my wife’s horse, Shadow. He loves the snow, and don’t worry he has a stall and lots of hay awaiting him each night before the sun sets.
The picture at the top right is my firepit outside my home, on a piece of land that is magical, and I never let a day go by where I have not thanked the gods who allow me to stay here for awhile.
The picture at the bottom was from a most wonderful wedding my wife and I attended some years ago.