I began writing poetry and short stories when I was 9 years old and have not stopped since that time. I have had a passion for the written word as far back as I can remember. This passion was fueled by my dear Grandpa, who gave me my first typewriter when I was 10. It was a huge army-green monstrosity! With a box-like shape that looked to be all keys and carriage. One had to practically stand on a key to get it to strike the paper hard enough to print!

Journalisation, writing diaries and poetry were a useful part of my coping skills during my young life. This continues, although not nearly as religiously, nor, for the same reasons, as in years past.

I have had numerous articles published in the local newspaper here in Western North Carolina, where I now reside. Some were reports on fire-fighting from my days as a certified fireman. Others, covered community service related issues.

Commercial Art was my major in college. Psychology, my Minor. Art, of course, being my first love, yet, difficult to separate from the emotional side of life. The interaction of the two so evident in all art forms. With art gaining the advantage in this symbiotic relationship.

There is a collection of 'dark' poetry which is planned for submission for publication within my lifetime. 'Dark' is the only description that fits most of my poetry. It is the kind that hurts one to read. Only because it brushes the base core of our existence and exposes that quivering, indistinguishable, shapeless reality that we will all get to touch, albeit repulsively so, at some point in our lives. No writings from Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm here!

There is, also, a novel in the works; a fictional piece entitled "The Price of the High Life - $100 Tips and Ten Cent Lies", which is based on the lifestyles and social ills of the obscenely affluent. Employed by a private country club for 6 years, it was quite the opportunity to observe the culture of many of the wealthiest and most affluent of this nation in their own habitat.

There are, of course, always another few projects on that invisible, yet ever-growing, list of things one hopes to accomplish before our time here is finished.

Everything in my life is pursued with passion and vigor! The same way articles here will be presented. I am an analyst of all things. This, more than likely, will not be a place for the faint of heart, nor for those prone to hypertension.

In my opinion, one of the most outstanding oddities of my personality is a total lack of being impressed.

It is my personal, and sincere, wish is that every reader of these articles will take them in the manner in which they are intended; as in-depth critiques of some every day goings-on in our lives.

By asking pointed questions; making unsolicited, and many times, unwelcome, observations, I strive, as do all persons, to find meaning and purpose in life; to look for answers where there seem to be none, and to bring full circle the fact that we, while supporting our government, our nation and its people, our friends and our families, deserve to be listened to and that we do get weary of being the low man on the totem pole in the schemes and dreams of others.

That 'bottom' position, in and of itself, demonstrates the power, strength and support we continue to offer to those who would have the audacity to believe that we do not need to be informed as to exactly what we are expected to continue to support.

Knowledge will always be regarded as a valuable asset. An informed person is an aware person. I write to coax your mind to pay attention; to ask questions; to be aware of just what it is that you are spending your precious life on. Sometimes, I write just to show others the Big Picture that may be obscured by just so much 'framery'.

No matter who you are, or, what you may think my reasons are, I will tell you that I feel compassion for all persons, empathy for many, intolerance for some, outright loathing for an unfortunate few. For me, nothing provokes such a swift response as injustice or unfairness in any form. I find nothing more repulsive than greed.

Having learned years hence that the grease is not forthcoming, I remain the proverbial Squeaky Wheel.

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