If you asked me which was more important to my spiritual being, writing or breathing, you might be surprised by the answer. One is only marginally more important than the other.
I have been, and continue to be to this day, a brain surgeon, an audiobook narrator, a fiction author, a husband, a father, a brother, and a son. Oh, and a baseball fan. This list is not necessarily in any specific order of importance.
I tell you these things because they inform who I am, and that is mostly a writer of fiction. I practice being many things; I excel when I take up the pen. I write every day, 365 days a year, for as many hours as I can fit into my schedule, which is usually somewhere between three and eight or more. Rarely less, often more. What do I write? Ah, therein lies the crux of the thing. The bones of the matter, so to speak.
I write tales to escape this mundane world. Tales to allow you, constant reader (to borrow a term oft used by a certain Mr. King), to escape as well. My tales are often informed by medicine and surgery, though rarely if ever about medicine and surgery per se. Writing about the establishment bores me. I like to shake things up a bit. Ruffle the feathers. Abrade the skin.
I am the author of a series of tales best described as supernatural medical thrillers. These are collected under the sobriquet TALES OF THE BLOODY SCALPEL. They range in length from short story to novella to novel. TALES OF THE BLOODY SCALPEL are compelling, haunting, stand alone fiction. They contain elements of horror, the paranormal, ghosts, madness, monsters, fear of the unknown, or occasionally just taught medical situations. Be warned: these stories have a tendency to stay with you long after reading.
I also write tense medical dramas, wherein the reader is taken into the mind of the surgeon, under the skin of the jangled patient, or behind the mop of the observing janitor. Great fun.
So, constant reader, take my hand and join me as we peruse the avenue of delights:
Go into the operating room with an overly nervous patient.
Hitch a ride in the middle of a blizzard with an unusual traveling salesman.
Lay with a surgeon on his bedroom floor, in his own blood, as he struggles to save his life after a terrible accident.
What secret have the gravediggers of Saints Innocents Cemetery taken with them to their own graves for centuries?
Be there when brain surgery goes wrong—really wrong!
Examine an ancient portrait so compelling, it has lured admirers to their final rests for a thousand years.
Labor within the walls of an eighteenth century Paris hospital.
What has an old man kept buried in his back yard for half a century—and why is he digging it up now?
Who are the illusory men?
Do the dead think?
Witness first hand a fraught battlefield hospital during the American Civil War.
What business have you with Mr. Nosidy?
These and other tales are available now if you can stand the heat.
Or handle the blood.
Visit me at surgicalfiction.com.