I live and write and teach in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia, where I was born and grew up with three brothers.  I now have three sons.  I suspect this is why quite a number of my stories are written through the eyes and minds of boys.

In this particular corner of the world, ocean and river meet, which is why it’s called Delta.  My part of the delta is Ladner, and it’s an oddly prairie-like piece of farmland.  But I’ve only to look north and there are the mountains, lit up on winter nights for skiing. (Where the 2010 Winter Olympics took place–at least the trickier parts of the skiing and snowboarding.)

My life has been filled with turns.  An academic might say it’s been “recursive.”  A kid would say I’ve been going around in circles.  But it’s—so far—been an interesting path.  The one thing that has been consistent throughout is my need to write.  That’s what distinguishes a writer from other folks: the need to put words on paper.  Because really, that’s all it is: just words on paper.

Deceptively simple.



Lake Louise 1967, with my dad and brother