In crime on May 14, 2012 at 6:07 am
I’ve been asked to write a legit ‘bio’. I have a short bio I usually fire at people to deflect their advances, but it failed me this time. I don’t enjoy talking about myself that much, see? This is a trait many writers share. I am not claiming to be unique. But I will do my best to tell you in 500-ish words who I am.
I was born in a small town in Florida. I quickly left and have not returned to Florida willingly since then. I moved around a lot as a child, bouncing from one principal’s office to another. It wasn’t that I was a bad kid, I just had real, ‘cut off your nose to spite your face’ problems with authority figures. I still do.
I don’t like being told what to do. And I am a man of extremes. On a recent Motorcycle trip (I am the president of the PPMC, an adventure MC Club), I was putting on sunscreen. I read the directions because, well, that’s what I do. They made a big point of not spraying it on the face. It seems I was supposed to spray it on my fingers and then rub it on my face. Of course, I disregarded this advice.
About ten miles down the hot, angry freeway, sweat carried the sunscreen into my eyes and I was instantly nearly blind. I would describe the sensation as ‘very blurry and mind-boggilingly painful’. I rode on at 70 mph, hoping for a straight line, face shield up, willing that my tears would clear my eyes. Finally, I gave the signal, pulled over to the side of an off ramp, ripped off my helmet, and started pouring water into my eyes…frantically.  I did this until I could kind of see. Then, I told my boys we needed to find a place that sold Visine. My eyes were blood red. We had been on the road for ten hours. They were not happy.  “Why did you spray the sunscreen onto your face?” They were incredulous. Why? Because the goddamn bottle told me not to, that’s why.
When my wife wants something done she tells me not to do it. My daughter is the same way.
Let’s see now. You know I have a wife and daughter (she is three). I like motorcycles (like normal people like cake or oxygen). And I like to write. I collect pocketknives and refuse to throw old socks away.
I got my first professional writing gig when I was 14 or 15, writing sports and feature articles for our local paper. They even gave me a column. Don’t ask me to explain this, I will never understand it. I also played in a band and wrote really good lyrics for really bad songs.
I majored in Creative Writing at San Francisco State University and have lived in the Bay Area ever since. I have written two novels: Joe Café and The BikerI recently co-wrote a book with KS Brooks and Stephen Hise. It’s called Bad Book, but
it is actually a pretty good book.  The first two are crime-ish, noir-ish, character based novels. The latter is what happens when writers blow off steam.
I have written a ton of short stories (most available for free at, along with links to essays, stories about my wife’s pregnancy, and links to my music:
I was a reading specialist for ten years, working with learning challenged kids and “at-risk” youth. I loved it, but I am nearly deaf now, and teaching is hard when you can’t hear.
If there is one thing I could change about my life (aside from the crippling poverty), it would be aviation. My father was a pilot. I want, and have always wanted, to be a bird. A hawk, soaring, like the snippet of a dream, above the chaos here on the ground. I have the scars to prove it.
I’ve won some writing awards and gotten some good reviews. I’ve gotten some rejections. My laptop has probably rendered me infertile. I write for myself and also as a contributing author at
So, that’s me in 600 words. I wash my hands more than I should. I like to play songs for my daughter on my old acoustic guitar. I like to sit around a campfire after a long day of riding through rocks and streams. Fishing is my religion. I like club sandwiches. I used to smoke, but quit ten years ago. I write because I can do it fairly well and it helps keep the voices quiet.  My name is JD.  Nice to meet you.

Next week, another post by orthopedic/author, Robin Rickards.

  1. Did I never say thanks. I must be losing it. Thanks!

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