My name is Bruce. As far as I know, I’m not named after anyone in particular, but I quite often point out that the last king of Scotland was Robert the Bruce, though I’m not sure how he rates a “the ” in his name and I don’t (perhaps “Bruce the Blake” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it). I’m married to a beautiful woman who is a mother and a burlesque performer, and we have two amazing children.
Born in Nova Scotia, the son of a military man, my family moved around a lot when I was a kid, with three stints in Nova Scotia, as well as P.E.I. and B.C. before getting stuck in Ontario (no offence to anyone who lives there, but I’ve become one of those stuck up British Columbians you all hate who thinks if you don’t live in B.C., there must be mental illness in your family).
Officially, I work as a sales manager at a new car dealership in beautiful Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, but don’t let my vocation colour your opinion of me (or the way I spell colour, labour and the like, for that matter). In reality, I am a writer struggling to get published in a way that will earn me an income (for my stories that are published and don’t make me any money, you can go to “Contributions to the Literary Landscape” and find links). They say it takes three things to become a successful author: skill, time and persistence. Number three, I’ve got; number one you can read my stories and decide for yourself; that sucker in the middle always seems so difficult to find.