T. Thomas Elliott

I’m writing a book, and you are welcome to look over my shoulder as I do it. It’s a relatively recent development that I’m willing to share my writing to this extent. Much of my life, I’ve been scribbling away thinking one day I’d pull it together into something presentable (if not marketable). Then something happened (see The Muse, below), and besides that, my friend Matt said I was being “stingy.” So, whoever wants to tune in to this station is welcome to watch my process. If you’re a literary agent, outstanding.

I’m a philosopher by training, a math teacher by trade, a Dad, an islander, a traveler, decorated. You may have known me as a professor or a housepainter or never.

The Muse

About the author is most interestingly about the Muse. See, that was my mom. She gave me books and launched me young into a lifelong love of words. She got to finish 10th grade and then she raised her brothers and raised us five kids. But somehow, and I’d love to know how, she got her hands on Dickens and Tolstoy and Steinbeck. She gave me these fat novels when I was too young for them, and I stayed up late late late. I vowed to write, and I’ve always imagined, of course, the book in my hand finally, the dedication page: for Mom. She was the only person who got to hear everything I was writing. She wanted to hear even drafty crap. She died in September. Then I rowed out to her new island then in a giant canoe. I’m everywhere now, she said. You just get comfortable right here next to me, read me everything. I’m all ears.