Jeff Taylor

A dozen years ago, Geoff Taylor was spelled Jeff Taylor. Stuff happens, things change. My next book will be written under a new name, also mine: G. Damon Taylor, not as an affectation but as a subliminal helper for the front cover. Currently living as an informal unpaid night watch in a mountain community, renting writing space in an herbal laboratory. I feel like an Igor.

In the summer of 2009, a small moving van rammed into my home, almost killing me at my desk. I had awakened from a nap ten minutes before its arrival -- picture a Mel Gibson movie where a vehicle crashes through a living room wall and stops six feet in front of the camera, and that's what I mean by "arrival" -- and got to watch it lose control and come through the gable-end wall while I was writing on deadline. Thought to myself, "Golly, I'd better run like a caffeinated bastard for the farthest corner of the room, just in case." One second later, the van arrived. Both the cat and I survived unscathed.

So yes, since you asked, I do believe that my guardian angel was on duty that day. And how was your summer of 2009?

Looks like I've won two national awards from Quill & Trowel, including the Golden Award of 1999, for writing about gardens. (I'm not a very good gardener, but I appreciate these stewards of the backyard paradise.) A columnist and contributing editor for GreenPrints, and also a "Pundit" on Policymic.com; have written about 2500 articles, essays, columns, short stories, and reviews, and writing makes beads of sweat form on the brow of my soul, it's so damn hard. But it has its rewards, sublime and subtle.

About to utter a few books, written over the years. Best agent in NY. Solid reviews on Amazon. Only daughter happily married to a good guy. Survived the truckosaurus attack, saved by Marines. So far, so good. Nothing to lose and not dead yet. As Kipling asked, "Heart of my heart, have I done well?" That's for the Creator and posterity to decide someday. In the meantime, it's for me to figure out how to do it well.