When not writing about my characters populating Gilded Age Englewood, New Jersey,I herd goats, dream about the 1870’s and try (unsuccessfully) to control my dogs.
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“Seems the bit of merriment you boys had got the lieutenant shot,” said the veteran doctor. Buck swung his legs to the side of the bed. “I have to see him.” “No, I’m afraid not, son. Fahy won’t want to see you. He’s upset and angry, poor devil. Says you…
How true this sentence. The squeaky wheel gets the attention. Still waters run deep. Heroes are often times so flamboyant. Victims, when photographed well, move others to tears. But what about the quiet man? Quiet men intrigue me. The quiet purposes of men suffering in silence so often lead to…