Author Central Here I Come


So I finally got around to creating an Author Central profile. Those of you that have followed me for a few years know that I’m not very big on self promotion and in fact when it comes to self promotion I need a big kick in the rear to get something going. So on that note I did it, I created my profile. If you haven’t created a profile for yourself, now is the time! Go claim your name at least. So here are some screenshots of what it looks like inside and out.

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There is some very helpful menus on the inside. You can see a list of your books, update your profile, see your sales info from print books from Createspace, your sales rank on Amazon and even the reviews that customers have left on your books. All good things to know if you like to micro-manage your book business.

Honestly, I find the information on the inside to be more useful than the profile on the outside. Just another profile to add to the internet, but at least this one will help customers on Amazon find out about my books and get to know me a bit better. Go get your profile! You can check out my profile at (Once the link goes live.)


Sometimes you need to just write


I’m not sure why I wrote this, this morning. But I’m a firm believer that writers need to always be writing. I also believe that inspiration is an amazing thing that can come from anywhere and will usually blindside you at the oddest times. Enjoy!

My father was a good man, a smart man and a compassionate man. He was the hero in my life. We would have many conversations next to the river where I grew up. It was a beautiful spot. It was wide at the bend and always sunny. Sunny. It seemed like everyday that we were there it was sunny. It was peaceful. I think that was why my father loved going there. He would often say it was the only place he could go in the world where the voices in his head would just be quite and leave him alone. It was his little piece of paradise and he was sharing it with me. I was so happy then, back in those days sitting at the river.

Sometimes if he was in the mood my father would tell me stories from the past. Stories of things that had happened long ago. Sometimes stories about the things that he had the bad misfortune of being around for. I could see that some of those stories were very hard for him to share with anyone let alone me, his son. He seemed ashamed by some stories and tears would fall from his eyes. I would hold his hand or other times I would grab him and hold him tight. I wanted to let him know that he could never say anything that would change my love for him. He was my father and nothing could ever change that. Some days after one of his stories about war, he had many stories about war, places I had never heard of, some places I would never go to because they no longer exist. Some days after a story we would sit in silence. Staring at the river, I would watch the fish jump around. I wouldn’t say anything else, I would just sit there. I was fine to just be there with him.

Never take the small things in life for granted.