g allen thompson

ga thompson spent his career doing serious work — thirty years as an electrician in heavy industry and mining, a stretch in the Army that he didn't volunteer for but survived anyway. Retirement, sensibly, went sideways. He discovered that sitting still didn't suit him any better at seventy than it had at nineteen, and that a long empty road still looks like an invitation rather than a warning.

He lives on five wooded acres in the Pacific Northwest with a German Shepherd and a cat who has made her feelings about domesticity perfectly clear. He cuts his own firewood, works on his own equipment, and periodically disappears for weeks at a time on a motorcycle, returning with material.

This has produced, somewhat improbably, ten books across memoir, noir detective fiction, military comedy, and intelligence history. He has no particular explanation for this except that once you start, it's hard to stop — which, come to think of it, also describes motorcycles.