See other books by Bill Russell in the Romance and Historical Fiction catagories to the left.
Bill Russell is the author of Clyde: 60 zany stories about a wisenheimer tin chicken wallowing in a sea of dysfunctional friends (feathered and otherwise).
The author has also written a hilarious memoir about his transformation from klutzy schoolboy to semi-klutzy manhood in the U. S. Marines. (See excerpts below.) On the serious side, he has two novels soon to be published: China Clipper and Not Without Fear. Both historical adventure/love stories.
Raised on the beaches in San Diego, he is now a resident of Yuma, Arizona, having lived in the desert southwest since being stationed at Barstow, Califonia with the Marines in 1953.
***
Excerpt from, Oh, God, What Have I Done? (A memoir)
One of the trio of Marines staring us down was a heavy-weight drill instructor named, Corporal Beefslab. He was not just big, he was gigantic. We’re talking massive and his face looked exactly like a bulldog. Picture blue jowls hanging on either side of a jaw the size of Manhattan and a lower lip sticking out like the bumper on a Mac truck. Now envision beady little eyes glaring at you from under the visor of a barracks hat pulled low and you have a snapshot of the perfect nightmare. With an enormous chest tapering down to a trim 34 inch waist, shoulders the size of watermelons and arms that looked like the hind legs on a water buffalo, he was a frightening apparition rising out of the morning gloom. Now, add a voice that could stop a freight train, a snarl that could curdle holy water and you have the terrifying instrument that is going to mold and shape us during the next twelve weeks. As I remember, I think I soiled myself when I first saw him.
***
Excerpt from the Clyde Story, I liked You Better When Your Name Was Rufus.
Clyde was payment for a five dollar loan I made to a mad welder who lived next door. The guy moved out in the middle of the night and Clyde was the only thing he left behind. Now I’m beginning to find out why. After I brought him home, I took a rag and tried to clean him up before I set him out on the patio. When I rubbed, there was a puff of smoke and a loud crash, but no genie popped out like in Aladdin, instead Clyde started moving. I stepped back, thrilled but horrified at the same time.
“Where am I?” he groaned, stretching his stubby little wings and shaking his head.
“Who…Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
“I asked first,” I said.
“Then you get to answer first.”
***
PRICES AND ORDERING INFORMATION TO COME.