Michael Francis John. That’s me. Here is a short description, a brief sketch of the path I traveled before finally emerging as a writer. Born in England. My formative years were spent on the streets of east London.
Left London to travel extensively throughout Europe. Often without food or money, usually without legitimate entry documentation or passport. I was the consummate undocumented worker.
Side streets and alleys in the cities, back roads in the country. Better were the freighters and fishing boats waiting for crew at the docks. The merchant marine would soon carry me much further afield.
I eventually returned to England, married a beautiful woman who did not deserve me. No, Wait….The other way round. Anyway, our first child Timothy was born, quickly followed by daughter Laura. Moved with the family to America where baby Ryan was born.
Divorced, and then married again. My second wife died within four years of our wedding. Married again and remain in that happy state.
I always enjoyed writing; never believing it would be possible to pursue a writing career. I was laid off from work unexpectedly, a situation many would call disaster. A situation I now call a great gift. Instead of driving two hours on a congested California freeway I have time to write these novels and short stories. I plan to continue doing so and hope my readers will continue reading them.
Here I live in a small desert backwater, a neglected agricultural community with few amenities. This is a harsh environment in the heat of summer, during the winter months just as challenging. There is beauty here though. A deep stillness in the early mornings, brilliant cold star filled skies at night. Small natural wonders impossible to find in the cities.
There are reasons for stereotypes. In my case I drink too much and have no money. I am told these circumstances alone qualify me as a writer.
Here is a link to my ( scratchline ) website. I assume most visitors arrived from that site.
http://www.scratchline.com
Left London to travel extensively throughout Europe. Often without food or money, usually without legitimate entry documentation or passport. I was the consummate undocumented worker.
Side streets and alleys in the cities, back roads in the country. Better were the freighters and fishing boats waiting for crew at the docks. The merchant marine would soon carry me much further afield.
I eventually returned to England, married a beautiful woman who did not deserve me. No, Wait….The other way round. Anyway, our first child Timothy was born, quickly followed by daughter Laura. Moved with the family to America where baby Ryan was born.
Divorced, and then married again. My second wife died within four years of our wedding. Married again and remain in that happy state.
I always enjoyed writing; never believing it would be possible to pursue a writing career. I was laid off from work unexpectedly, a situation many would call disaster. A situation I now call a great gift. Instead of driving two hours on a congested California freeway I have time to write these novels and short stories. I plan to continue doing so and hope my readers will continue reading them.
Here I live in a small desert backwater, a neglected agricultural community with few amenities. This is a harsh environment in the heat of summer, during the winter months just as challenging. There is beauty here though. A deep stillness in the early mornings, brilliant cold star filled skies at night. Small natural wonders impossible to find in the cities.
There are reasons for stereotypes. In my case I drink too much and have no money. I am told these circumstances alone qualify me as a writer.
Here is a link to my ( scratchline ) website. I assume most visitors arrived from that site.
http://www.scratchline.com