I’ve slugged and been slugged. And I went under the knife once, losing my pound of flesh.
I have friends of all persuasions, ethnicities and creeds. I was raised agnostic Jewish, married an agnostic Episcopalian, and had my daughter baptized. I have dined in fancy houses and been waited upon by butlers and flown in private planes. I’ve also eaten dinners in the homes of poor friends and helped them do the dishes and traveled the subways late at night, when rats dance in the railroad ties.
I watched my mother die and I watched my daughter come into the world.
All of these experiences have given me insights into the human condition, that vast subject that all fiction attempts to capture.
For most of my life, those who have read my writing—parents, professors, friends, literary agents—suggested that I write more. When I reached my late forties, that’s what I decided to do.
In my writing, I process who I was and who I am and what I see and what I saw. You’ll find my life in the real places that I use in my fiction, but also in the made-up places. It’s in my good guys and my bad guys, my main characters and my walk-ons.
I am a storyteller. I write thrillers and mysteries and horror (under a pen name), and I have one main goal — to keep you turning the pages.
Go ahead. Immerse yourself.