“Loonies in the Dugout” is my first novel. It is based on a true story about the 1911 New York Giants baseball team. It is a satire on fame and celebrity. Because I enjoyed my two fictional character leads, Chet Koski and Eveleen Sullivan, I wrote them another story, “Loonies in Hollywood” based on silent film director William Desmond Taylor’s unsolved murder in 1922. Chet learns the killer’s identity, but it may not solve the murder. Their third story is “Silent Murder” and while Chet and Eveleen are at the center of all three stories, they are stand alone books, not really part of a series, though reading them in order is still fun. I have also written two collections of paranormal short stories. Clicking the title of individual books will give you descriptions of the books as well as reviews.
I have a degree in English Literature from Western Washington University. I wrote film reviews for ten years for a small town newspaper in addition to freelance profiles and interviews. A brief memoir was published in Christmas Spirit by St. Martins Press in New York, 2011. A short story The Book That Couldn’t Be Put Down was published in Mason County Writes, 2016.
Now the fun stuff: Since I was born the following has happened to me: my mother and I saw a UFO; I performed in a play without being in the play as my lines were recorded at the Washington State Performing Arts Center and used for the radio DJ in the Terrence McNally play Frankie and Johnnie in the Clair de Lune; I was a volunteer legislative aide for one year in the Washington State House of Representatives; I managed theatres; owned a bookstore; a brief memoir of mine was published in “Christmas Spirit” by St. Martins Press; I visited the homes of John Keats and Charles Dickens when I was in London (they weren’t home); I stayed in the same hotel in London-though I did not know it at the time-where Jimi Hendrix died; I nearly severed a large vein or artery (how do you tell which is which) on the back of my hand with a broken dish I was washing at a friend’s apartment in Goteborg, Sweden; while house sitting at Ocean Shores, Washington, a butcher knife fell out of a cupboard nearly slicing my finger off; I may have encountered the Manson Family one month before the Tate-La Bianca murders; I was stranded in Esbjerg, Denmark, without money; I am descended from two Danish Squires and a Viking chieftain; I am a Strat-o-matic fanatic; I learned when living on North Cherokee in Hollywood, that across the street on the next block was one of the places where “The Black Dahlia” lived; I owe Rick Barry, NBA Hall of Famer, an apology; I heard Anthony Burgess, author of “Clockwork Orange” tell a lie-and I was reasonably disheartened; I could go on, but I have to stop sometime.