60+ three-time immigrant, whose life in Africa, Australia, and America, work with industrial and medical quality & safety, and obsession with mortality data and accidents, results in morbid short stories. I write fiction # shortstories that are like “Final Destination” meets “The Monkey’s Paw” (W. W. Jacobs, 1902). A little bit Poe, a touch of Dahl, and a hint of Gorey. When I am not writing, I do bare-bow archery, walk a husky, and pick up other people's litter. # writer # author # fiction
60+ three-time immigrant, whose life in Africa, Australia, and America, work with industrial and medical quality & safety, and obsession with mortality data and accidents, results in morbid short stories. I write fiction # shortstories that are like “Final Destination” meets “The Monkey’s Paw” (W. W. Jacobs, 1902). A little bit Poe, a touch of Dahl, and a hint of Gorey. When I am not writing, I do bare-bow archery, walk a husky, and pick up other people's litter. # writer # author # fiction
The universe is one fucking huge and weird place, and a million Steve Jobs holding hands in a chain would neither be noticeable to the universe, nor interesting
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