Bob is an odd writer cursed with an unusual blend of wild imagination, poor penmanship, and nagging call to humor. Armed with the gift of written gab, Bob had entertained his little planet for years with witty theatrics, clever word play and a substantial sense of immaturity. Then he stopped. Then he came back for one day and then stopped and now is once again trying to regain some traction.
Bob, while most recently was up to his eyeballs in a book project with publisher, Storypeople Press, is now freed from that burden; a positive way of saying they went in a different direction. Bob continues to author Cranelegs Pond (the blog), after a two year hiatal hiatus. He also tweets at Cranelegs and HCaulfieldLives occasionally.
Prior to these current adventures in writing, Bob busied himself with writing two full length screenplays, a TV sitcom script, a collection of stories about growing up in the Sixties, sixty mediocre e-zine articles, a Christmas story novella that is still being tuned, and an assortment of dead blogs, his beloved Cranelegs Pond being the oldest, surviving sibling. His hobbies include: deer-spotting, vacuuming, sophomoric phone calls to Oprah's office, and acoustic guitar.
Bob lives in New Jersey as the humble servant to and loving husband of Keaton*, and 2) personal trainee of a 3 year old lab/boxer/American bull terrier rescue, really named Keaton. Not far from this little piece of rural paradise lives Bob's son, wife and grandson, as well as Bob's step daughter, husband and step grandson. This has all occurred since the last time he posted to this blog some three years ago.
[In the spirit of full disclosure, Bob does not normally talk about himself in the third person. He is not sure why he is doing it now to be honest, although he suspects it might have something to do with how Bob is addressed and conversed about in his presence at the dinner table and in general.]
* Not real name as requested by the person with the real name. Can you blame her?
