I wrote one book.  It took years of research due to the fact that the people in the story had either died or couldn’t be found.  I had one purpose for writing this book and that was to TELL THE STORY of someone I knew in my life who had been the victim of murder.  She was a Pittsburgh girl I knew, and though I didn’t know her well, I still knew her, and it just so happened that I was with her on vacation in Las Vegas when she was murdered.

The mystery haunted me for decades, and it was one of those things where she had a local ‘notorious’ Pittsburgh crooked cop for a boyfriend, so many were scared to speak of any of it, ever.

Before launching this blog I debated whether to write more books or just tell stories.  After the extreme thrashing I took on Amazon by other writers, bullies and trolls, I decided it wasn’t worth it.

My book got catalogued in the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh where locals could pick it up and read it and maybe provide a clue to an unsolved murder mystery.  I’m satisfied.

Stories are the wisdom of life.

Don’t like the blog?  Don’t read it.  It’s just me telling stories.


Cormac McCarthy who is well into his eighties today, still telling his stories.  He writes fiction, but ahhh, we know those stories came from some ‘real’ experience growing up in the Smokey Mountains.

The people and places of our lives.

Oh, you can find my one little book here on Amazon: