Writing a novel was something I never thought I’d have the patience to do. My attention shifts too quickly. And I really liked creating stories. Logically, short stories seemed to me to be the best creative venue in which to express myself.
A few years ago an idea for a story came along. I just wanted to write about the end of a day in a small farming community isolated from the world around them. The story took place in my mind in the dead of winter.
“Darkness fell upon the small town as if by the stroke of a painter’s brush.” That was the first sentence. After writing a couple thousand or so words it resembled a short story. During one of the rewrites, I said to myself, “This is not a story, it is a chapter in a novel.”
It was at that point the imagination and creative process emerged. Thus, my first novel, Ice Too Thin.
The novel’s setting is a small farming community of Lonely Plain situated in the upper Midwest. The time frame is the 70s or 80s (1981 to be precise). The characters making up the community are common folks, yet they are called upon to make extraordinary decisions and carry out an extraordinary assignment.
The small town is held hostage by a right-wing paramilitary group. What starts out as a very quick and unimpeded mission quickly turns into a perilous situation with nationwide ramifications.
Cunning, calm, and bravery save this small community.
This novel quickly takes the reader from wherever they are and places them in a small town that lives only to let live. It takes you to a frozen winter where simple people overcome political and radical ambition of tyrannical forces.
The reader is not only plunged into a world of intrigue and espionage but also memories of a man plagued by a hidden event from his past and finally finds the reason for it.