Okay, this is moi.
I’m a tree-hugging beer drinker (and vice versa). But I’m not fond of the wimpy, yellow stuff; I like my brews the way I like my words: robust, real, usually amusing and sometimes dark, but always flavorful.
I like to ski fast and sail slow. I don’t tolerate harm to creatures or children. No glue strips or poison for my mice (drat the cute, little buggers).
I believe the world is still a mostly beautiful place and we ought to save it. It’s the only planet we have.
I write to get the voices out of my head.
“In wildness is the preservation of the world.”
— Henry David Thoreau
Photo by Laurie Hall © 2014
Favorite authors: Terry Pratchett (Sir), Carl Hiaasen, Tom Holt, Christopher Moore, A. Lee Martinez, Douglas Adams, Catriona McPherson, Robert B. Parker, Dorothy Sayers, Howard Spring, Elizabeth Goudge, William Saroyan, Ray Bradbury, Marjorie Allingham, Pat Conroy, Anne Rivers Siddons, Ferrol Sams, Rosamund Pilcher, and P.G. Wodehouse. Oh, and Fredrik Backman. How can you possibly leave him out? Or my new love, Ruth Hogan? Wonderful authors all.
Yep, I’m all over the place, but I adore funny.
I like tall trees and mountains right by the ocean. New England is lovely, but I really miss California’s coastal redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens). I like them so much, I planted two in my back yard. One toughed it out and is still living.
I love spicy food and singing arias as I rake leaves. And playing loud music of all kinds: Pablo Casals’ Brandenburg concerti mix up just fine with Linda and Leon (Rondstadt and Russell), and the cool trumpets of Hugh Masekela and Wynton Marsalis. My house is a duster’s nightmare, but all my stuff are friends; they came a long way to live with me–from all over the world–and I’m not about to take them back. I like things that are done well: smart, thoughtful, and brilliant, so I mostly watch PBS. If they’re also hilariously witty, so much the better. (I own the full set of Monty Pythons.)
Aka Laurie Hall, I write under both names. My mother’s folks were Stokers and I was named after my Uncle Laurin. Family legend says we’re related to Bram Stoker somewhere far, far back and far removed. Who knows? But I took the name and ran with it, or, in this case, wrote with it (mostly).
I come from kind, fair and helpful people—the Stokers—people who taught me to cherish wonder, and what is beautiful and just, and even laugh-out-loud funny. Even if it’s you who’s the subject of the joke.