Once again, it is time for a bold and bare-faced self promotion

of my work meanderings.

All twenty books and their covers are show below;

AND — not only that

there is a free preview of each book.

(For the sake of all that is holy; purchase at least one. As they say on each cover there is a free app that allows most all devices to mimic the all-powerful Kindle.

Click on one or click on all, there is a non-pecuniary introduction to every book.

BUT WAIT! —— there is a notice that you must look for in the top right corner of each book image that you select. That image says

That may take a few seconds to show up.



No common thread binds my work together. This should shame me, but it does not.

Allow me to make a few statements about my youth and later life. They are irrelevant at this moment. However, the picture will become clear very quickly.

As a young boy I spent my time on the river banks and gravel pits. I was attracted to any unique stone that I spied. I am not speaking of pretty or brilliant stones. I speak of stones that are different than most. Some had spots, others where layered in various colors, a few had a depth of history and they all appeared to gain in their attributes when sprinkled with water.

I have worked as a laborer, tool and die maker, programmer, educator and system analyst. My favorite locations are the Adirondack Mountains, Puerto Rico and Germany. I have two favorite rivers; one for my youth and another when I matured.

I closed out my life of labor as a licensed amateur Paleontologist, a shovel bum working in an archaeology department and a delivery driver for a four county library system in upstate New York.

As an adult I continued being attracted to the unique. These were not the stones of my youth. These were unique personalities and events. They had depth, breadth, integrity and appeared to gain in their attributes when sprinkled with fiction. My mind, unconsciously, collected them.

I placed these tales on the window sill next to my prized stones. Nothing happened to the stones. The tales, however, appeared to combine and change. Some became laced with horror, others with philosophy. What surprised me were those that I became emotionally involved in. As a laborer I could not foresee literary fiction or essay. And how was I to know that there were two faces of religion? Was this my deepest burden?

No. My deepest burden was to know that I would start out a sentence with the word “and.” This did not keep me from writing in the manner that I wished, despite all the advice that I was tortured with. I believe my style and the unique way I look upon life will bring you to tears of laughter, joy, sorrow and wonderment; most of it basted in allusion and eeriness.






© Waldo Tomosky