Synopsis
this is the adventures of Bill and Troy who lived in the small village of Staples, Texas down along the San Marcos River during the 1950s.
About the Author
Bio John A. Roof Born in Coshocton, Ohio, January 14, 1949, I noticed fairly early that something was different. I wanted to fit in, but I was always just outside the circle looking in. I loved to spend my time looking at almost anything. My parents would always say “John, wake up.” I remember once when I was on a Boy Scout campout in the winter and snowed it heavily. I sat by the fire all night listening to the snow hitting the ground and watching it glimmer in the fire light as it fell from the sky. When daylight came I walked off into the woods and marveled at what lay before me. I started to write poems and short stories when I was in the ninth grade but never showed them to any one. Back in the 1960s boys did not write poetry. Starting college at Port Huron Junior College in Port Huron, Michigan as a business major, I was only a business major one semester. I took an art coarse to get my grades up and never looked back. My sophmore english professor recognized my ability to write short stories and my imagination for stories. I spent my summers in Cimarron, New Mexico, at Philmont Scout Ranch. I could walk for hours looking at the trees, sky, and mountains. Sometimes it was like the earth was put here just for me to see the true beauty. I also watched the sunrise from the top of a 12,000 foot mountain. I did this often--the colors seen cannot be painted. I then transferred to Texas Tech University, in Lubbock, Texas. I never grew tired of telling or writing short stories some were fiction and others were non-fiction. I graduated, got married and we moved to Houston, Texas, where I worked as the retail store manager of Texas Art Supply on Montrose. We started our family and it became harder and harder for me to find time to paint, so I would draw and began to build furniture. This became my artistic outlet. We raised three children, and time for art got less and less, but always there was this thing of looking and watching. I was a voyeur of the world around me. I was always writing poetry or short stories. I fished everyday on the San Marcos River, watching, listening and enjoying the beauty given to us. Then one day I was looking at the corn fields behind the shop. I found a piece of plywood and some spray paint. I have not stopped painting or writing.
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
