When my then 12-year old son found out that I wanted to write a book of essays, he was confused. “You don’t have to write essays, and you want to write a book of essays?” he asked.
Many times, I questioned myself too. Why am I starting this? Will this ever be complete? Who will read this? Where will this lead?
After a lot of thought, I decided that these questions do not need to be answered. I can do whatever I want; I am over forty years old. If I don’t complete it, I can blame global warming. It’s a win-win.
Part memoir, part musings. This is a part of me.
1867. The Civil War is over. Yet there is much unrest and resentment that lives on throughout the land, and in the hearts of many... Marco steps out of the ashes of the war; a man turned bounty hunter had everything which mattered most to him violently stripped away. So he emerges with a burning desire like none other to find redemption, and a new purpose in life. He sets off i...
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