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Mark Wm Smith
An overeducated, blue-collar cowboy, I grew up on along the banks of the Yellowstone River in Eastern Montana. Raised by a long haul trucker and a bartending waitress, I learned the hard ways of the modern frontier, scraping life from the unforgiving high chaparral.
My Writing Blog
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The Last Winter of 2000
Beginnings are impossible. I’ve been starting the author game for 20-plus years. It rarely appears as work in progress. Fits and starts. That’s my record. Fits lead to starts/restarts lead to fits, ad nauseam. Time to stop beginning and advance. Accept my invitation...
MGC Chapter One
When a kid goes missing, there’s really no possible way to justify the importance of a seventy thousand dollar car sale. I was elbow-deep in 240Z engine grease, replacing the ignition switch for the umpteenth time, when my sister, Renée, called to test my resolve on...
Pale Horse, Pale Rider & Miranda Rose
“I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.” — Revelation 6:8 NIV...