Bob is an abnormal character living in an unusual situation, and due to repetition, the surreal wears a disguise of normalcy.

He is born into the Great Western Carnival and Extravaganza. When it becomes clear that he isn't capable of participating in his family's act, the decision is made to send him away. Jim, the general maintenance man for the carnival, can't stand the idea and, against the will of the owner, adopts Bob. Their relationship gains depth as Bob follows Jim about, while Jim slowly and patiently mentors Bob in the ways of maintenance, and gives him a father figure to attach to.

When his mentor and guardian dies suddenly, Bob becomes untethered and enters a world that we find normal, but he knows it is just waiting to traumatize him. Having had a brush with grief, he is caught off guard by the depth of this loss and finds himself thrown off center again and again.

By chance, he wanders into a life that is richer than he has ever known, but the sweetness of it tortures him. His inability to accept it has tragic results. Perhaps love can save him.

Two years ago, I decided to write this book. I asked my employer if I could take two months* off at the beginning of 2024. Not only are they my employers, they are my very good friends as well. Since winter is the off-season, they granted my request.

In the summer of 2023, I met a screenwriter, and we talked about writing. After I described my book, we had a short conversation about the process of writing. I made an off-hand comment that I wasn't sure if I would write or watch every episode of Friends. He became animated and assured me that without a solid plan, I probably wouldn't get anything done at all.

So I came up with a plan: Be in my chair by 9:00 and stay there until 2:00. No social media. Wait patiently if I ran out of words. I was excited, and it seemed like this set of rules would be good guardrails to keep me productive.

I followed the plan for exactly one day. After that, if words were eluding me, I would often wander off into Facebook or go outside to check on my planter boxes (not do anything, just look at them with the idea of doing something). I think once I washed my car.

While I don't recommend this, maybe something contributive was going on in the back of my mind while I procrastinated. I think that's probably the best explanation I can make up that will help me maintain some dignity.

Thirty years ago I told my young daughters a bedtime story that I came up with on the spot. Twenty years ago, I thought it would be a good idea to turn it into a book. In 2024 I did just that.

When no one is looking, I high-five myself.

*two months to come up with a horrible first draft. Another nine months of coaxing followed.

Here's a picture of me that was taken when my second wife and I owned a forty-one-foot Roughwater cruiser. I was probably 50 then, but it's a good photo so let's just assume I look exactly like that now.

I was born at the Queen of Angels Hospital in Los Angeles and spent the first six years of my life ten blocks from the beach. Thanks to my mother, I was a frequent visitor. Then we moved to Palo Alto, where I learned to ride a bike, which was a ticket to adventure and also let me make some dough by delivering papers for the San Fransico Chronicle.

At fourteen, our family moved to San Juan Island. This was glorious. We had a sixteen-foot runabout, and for some reason, my parents thought it was a good idea for me to go out on the Salish Sea alone. I developed a love for the San Juan Islands, and as it happens, I've spent most of my life here.

I've had a paper route, been a dishwasher and a janitor, and worked at Pizza Hut and Motel 6. I worked for an art supply store. I've been a laborer at a landscaping company. What started as a summer job turned into a twenty-year career working in construction on Orcas Island. I spent quite a while as an estate manager. For the last four years I was a project manager navigating governmental regulations. I've been on Orcas for most of my life, not including an eight-year adventure helping (not very much) to run a hotel in Bali.

Today, I would describe myself as a father and a writer, in that order.