Dear Reader,

To give you even a slight understanding for the author of “TUSH”, I would need you to read it. Odd-yes. Irrational-no.

I write in a moment, through emotion and fear, chewing an idea, around imagination, scratching experiences that once were, a great need to laugh at myself in an aroused state of blame.

“TUSH" is a poetry book of 144 mixed, scrambled, tossed, rolled, unorganized pages without numbers. And transforming myself from Author to reader by my own hand. It is my 7th book and strangely 2 more editing now.

I don’t hate bios. Simply because just maybe if you know where I am coming from, you may enjoy an understanding of your journey. Which is writing, partnered with reading.

See, now is the part where I am humble and modest to list accolades. Most confusing and if this hurts to become what’s already permanent, leave it out. Each weighing a million pounds in credibility and gratitude; 3 Editors Choice awards, Stanford’s Who’s Who, Canadian Literary Foundation, Poet of the Year at Hub pages, numerous spotlights interviewing me and my sister’s approval.

Now lets do something impossible today.

On a personal note I love two things; people and enjoying their experience. Stand at the middle of a very busy train station during rush hour, spread your arms palms up and in your stillness, close your eyes to whatever you cleverly see. People. Then I admit to an obsessive, very frequent need to change my furniture around my home, encouraging a new positive flow of energy, improving every time.

As an Author and at the risk of sounding defiant, I am not one that has to write, reads avidly, know many writers, or re-reads writings. My entire love for writing is encompassed by a bleeding need to express my imagination, continually. Author or any title, everyone has a story. Mine is found in these pages

I have only just begun.