I was raised by ferrets until the age of twenty-five, when a hiker found me cramming myself inside a ferret den. He pulled me out as I chittered and squirmed, crying out for my mama ferret. It was the single most traumatic event in my life. It's what shaped me as the man I am today.

Now...

I am a husband and father of four non ferret children. Was there an adjustment to make? You bet. Human children don't lick themselves clean, you've got to do it, and I'm telling you, at around the age of three, they avoid bath time at almost any cost. Fortunately, my wife was able to convince me that using soapy, warm water and a bathtub would get the kids back on board the hygiene express. Whew! Crisis averted. Another thing that went against my upbringing, was what you feed human children. They do not like small dead rodents no matter how freshly killed they might be. No, they prefer mushy vegetables and fruits after they've just been weened, and then the application of heat to cook meats, veggies and the like. I though that only adult humans ate that stuff. Live and learn is my motto.

Despite my broad learning curve, and largely in part due to my wife's savvy child rearing techniques, the kids have grown to be well adjusted human beings. Three have grown up to leave the homestead in order to forage for themselves, and the youngest has begun the grueling task of surviving high school. God speed, my kits. I'm really not looking forward to being an empty denner/nester. I really enjoyed having my kids around, but if you do your job as a parent, then your kids will become independent beings with their own lives to lead. If you did a half way descent job, they'll come back and visit on a fairly regular basis. (So far, so good.)

When I was acclimatized to the human condition, I knew I wanted to be either a writer or an actor. I tried a bit of acting, and although I've got a descent amount of talent, I decided to forego it for the time being, and focus on writing. I had a young family to take care of, and the infrequent work of an actor wasn't going to cut the mustard. Still, I struggled. I had a bad case of low self esteem, no doubt caused by being uprooted from my ferret roots, and a lack of initiative. I would start and stop, get frustrated with myself, fall into a pit of despair, then crawl my way out of it and start again. I quit writing for several years, but it just wouldn't leave me alone. Neither does the acting bug, but although it leaks out at home from time to time in the form of impressions, boisterous singing and comedic performances, it hasn't been the burden that my desire to write has been.

Now everything's swell, top drawer, the bees knees. Life isn't perfect, but my family is great, I've been writing, gathering momentum for several years now, and I have a book, Professor Wiztinkle and Ginormous Jay ready to take the book scene by storm, or maybe by light showers tapering off by late morning with a high of seventy degrees. I don't know how it's going to pan out, but I do know I've got to do this or join a monastery. I'm not sure why, though. Any who, welcome to my website, and if you've bought my book, I'll love you forever... in the platonic sense. Please, I'm taken!