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Patrick Gray

Pat Gray was born in the rustbelt of Northeast Ohio in June of 1946, placing him at the leading edge of “Baby Boomerism,” which is a fact of very little significance.


During high school, he failed to learn how to dance. After graduating from high school in 1964, he skipped town. No connection, just another fact of very little significance.

He has been very happily married to Sharon—whom he met at Ohio University in Athens, Ohio—since April, 1968. They have one son, Ryan, and a Westie named Bonnie, who actually runs the house and has done so for eight years.

Pat has had several careers and a number of jobs, among which were:

  • Retired from the U.S. Navy Reserves as an intelligence officer: drafted in Jan 1968; served for 6 years (active) in nuclear submarines doing cold-war operations, then transferred to the reserves, doing various cold-war intelligence activities.  

  • Retired from federal civil service where he worked as a computer scientist, developing AI programs, and as a management scientist, developing large-scale computer simulations of defense department activities.

  • Retired from teaching: Taught high school English, science, reading, and world geography. Also, for two years in Florida, taught grades 1 and 2.

  • Memorable yet odd employment: Chemical analysis of molten steel in blast furnaces; Waiter; Salesman, Cook; Cartographer; Weather forecaster, School Board Member. 

  • Numerous unpaid avocations: Boy Scout Leader; career counselor for U.S. Naval Academy; regional coordinator for U.S. Navy science fair awards, State Legislative Lobbyist, Congressional Lobbyist.


Three conclusions may be drawn from this:

  1. He dislikes routine.

  2. He is interested in almost everything except sports (a fact that he cannot explain because almost everyone else seems to love them).

  3. None of the above—not one!—adequately prepared him for the world of fiction writing, which was the whole point of listing the above jobs. Nothing can truly prepare a person for fiction writing.


After more than a decade of living in Sarasota, Florida, he has clearly noticed three things:

  1. People—fiction writers included—are very, very, very nice, and

  2. Tow trucks rarely get stuck in the snow, and . . . 

  3. He can’t recall #3.

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