I may be a science fiction author by trade but I'm not a city slicker by any stretch of the imagination. I've been to big places like New York, Philadelphia and Boston and I lived in Atlanta (and really enjoyed it) for a while when I was younger but I'm really a country boy at heart. That means a lot of things. Like I'm more at home eating lunch in a small town diner than suffering through a fine-dining experience in a puffed-up, over-priced restaurant.It also means that I'll never pretend to be a savvy self-promoter with all the tricks of that trade at my fingertips. What I like to do is write. Everything else is just nuts and bolts and, being an aging hick from Appalachia, sometimes I forget where I put my wrench, although I'm pretty sure I can remember how to use it when I find it.
What it doesn't mean is that I'm willing to just remain a hick. A big part of me wants to finish out my life in some place like Hawaii or the south of France. Living the same way I've always lived and doing the same ol', same ol' until I die sounds very unappealing to me. There are times when I'd like to chuck the barn coat and ball cap and don soft summer clothing and eat most of my meals on a terrace somewhere. Preferably my own lanai. Then I'd never go back to being a hick, not even for a day. I wouldn't feel phony at all. I'd feel like I was finally evolving into the person I really am.
One thing readers and followers will never get from me is anything besides the real me. Yep, that's the guy in the tan ball cap and brown barn coat standing in front of the old slaughterhouse. But it's also the guy who dreams of putt-putting around Rome on a Vespa or having lunch with a lady companion while overlooking the Mediterranean. Both men are the real me.
