The oldest piece of thought I’ve produced is a letter I wrote to my parents from camp where I wasn’t happy, from where I wanted to leave and come home. I promised to repay Lionel my father the fee he’d lose if I did return, for even though I’d been elected Little Chief of the cabin, Cabin 4, I still wanted to come home.

I carry this letter wherever I go. It’s in my cheque book next to my bankbook, a prized and precious piece of paper, an obvious indication that I would write whether I were paid or not, for it was apparently, according to how I said what I said, obvious to me at least, I’d been given a gift.

I started to notice in high school that I would have to wait until my fingers were ready to type whatever it was I had to say. This, after some thought, after a few notes, after some reading in some cases considerable research, this would come over me that I was primed to put something on the page. And I would sit and type and out would come, usually six hundred words or so of what I thought about a certain topic. This could be sustained but that’s how my writing would arrive. There would be no sitting looking at a blank page, no writer’s block. I would either know I was ready to type or I wouldn’t bother sitting down. I tried that on many occasion but gave it up. Nothing ever appeared more than two or three lines, and those not arresting at all.

Thus much of my prose or poetry is short. Pieces might be strung together to make something larger, but this more often than not would read disjointed!y, would be bumpy with not a consistent or fluid rhythm, would be unsatisfactory.

I’ve written many letters-to-the-editor over the forty years I’ve done such a thing, but lately many of them are not being printed. They’re good enough, if I may say so, but concerning topics which don’t seem to see the light of day-to-day news but which concern many people, many world wide. It was beginning to appear to me at least that the media was a sieve, straining out reactions and comments unpopular with corporate and governmental agencies.

Therefore, I began thinking about my own website, where my thoughts, such as they were, would be available to anyone who’d heard about them, who’d found them. So here I am, and here you are, among some of the pieces I thought might provide substantial indication of who I am.

I’ve taught senior math and English in a high school in Brantford, Ontario, Canada for seventeen years after many more before that time elsewhere. Then I started teaching overseas, in France, Palestine, Turkey and China, and I’ve travelled widely, have seen much of this world and how it’s evolving.

I consider this website as a place to put my writings where others might find them, as a place where others sense they too are not alone, as a place where concerns for peace and common sense might be aired, stimulated and brought to light.

Welcome.

Stephen Moyer

Brantford, Ontario, Canada