Deer raid the small vineyard. A lost swimsuit shows up in the leaves of a banana tree Still unused to country ways, I shoot guns from the upstairs balcony to breaks the maddening quiet.
When cows get loose and the old Jeep won’t crank, I nudge them home with an old but, sadly, not vintage Jaguar.
A flock of turkeys is collectively named The Wilsons—as in “Hey look! The Wilson’s are here!”
I’ve worked in ad agencies and then as a brand development consultant to new business
start ups and new product launches. My private workshops feature a series of exercises and discussions for brand positioning based on target audience, competitive set, value proposition and unique selling proposition. Then we go from there into sales and marketing programs. My clients are located around the globe.
Almost every morning for over twenty years, I’ve dedicated an hour or so to write fiction. Now, I’m able to carve out more time for that. I have one novel, Blue Rubber Pool, set to be published by a small/mid-sized traditional press in September 2018, and two others in the works.
My approach to writing is simple: start with one part Jack Kerouac (long winding sentences, as if paid by the word) and one part Hunter S. Thompson (complete disregard for the rules). Stir. Next add one part memoir and another part dream. Shake vigorously. Pour in all you know about love, sadness and redemption. Then allow to ferment until the cork pops out on its own. I have three other manuscripts going.
I’ve enjoyed sailing, going bare foot for days, roasting oysters, fresh peach cobbler and a Pawleys Island hammock on a second floor porch overlooking dumb cows but have been thinking it might be time to back in the world again (i.e., the scene in Forrest Gump where he suddenly stops running).