Hello!
I'm not a scientist. In college I majored in moldy English novels, which was the closest thing to a writing degree offered by the University of Southern Maine. I planned to be a rock star. Or an artist. I avoided the mandatory laboratory-science course until the eleventh hour, at which time I realized I should have spent the previous four years in the geology department. But it was a bit late.
After a stint as an editor at New York-based Garbage Magazine in the late 1980s, I returned to Maine to start a freelance writing career. I worked for oodles of magazines, traveled the world, and gathered a fascinating variety of fungal infections and other diseases.
In
the
late
1990s,
I
was
recruited
by
the
Discovery
Channel
Online
for
a
grand
experiment
called
live
internet
reporting.
Under
this
model,
Discovery
detailed
writers
to
distant
and
uncomfortable
corners
of
the
globe,
from
which
we
wrote
daily
dispatches
on
various
subjects.
I
spent
one
unbathed
month
hunting
dinosaurs
in
the
depths
of
Mongolia's
Gobi
desert,
for
instance.
I
spent
another
at
the
Montserrat
Volcano
Observatory,
where
the
fine
volcanic
ash
made
a
ruin
of
my
computer,
fogged
my
contact
lenses,
and
fixed
my
hair
in
the
style
of
a
ball
of
jute
twine.
Stuck
for
weeks
on
a
research
vessel
in
the
Pacific,
I
endured
low-grade
harrassment
from
an
unsavory
researcher,
but
in
the
end
found
myself
piloting
the
Alvin
submarine
around
"black
smokers"
a
mile
and
a
half
under
the
ocean.
I
also
wrote
a
column
called
"The
Skinny
On..."
[link]
which
dealt
with
weighty
scientific
issues
like
why
your
pee
smells
funny
after
you
eat
asparagus.
It
was
a
glorious
era,
until
one
fine
day
while
covering
an
adventure
race
in
New
Zealand,
when
I
was
roused
from
my
sleeping
bag
in
a
field
of
sheep
doo,
and
pulled
off
the
project.
Discovery.com's
own
plug
had
been
pulled.
The
magazine
market
was
on
the
ropes,
too,
so
I
took
to
book-writing.
My
first
effort,
The
Secret
Life
of
Dust,
was
published
in
August,
2001.
Dust
had
been
a
hard
sell
to
publishers,
but
readers
loved
it.
So
did
judges:
It
was
a
finalist
for
the
prestigious
Aventis
Prize
for
Science
Books
in
the
UK.
Most
recently,
The
Secret
Life
of
Dust
has
been
published
in
Japan,
where
people
read
from
right
to
left,
and
up
to
down.
The
beautiful
Japanese
cover
is
on
the
back,
and
the
book
has
a
built-in
silk
bookmark.
My
new
book,
Suburban
Safari:
A
Year
on
the
Lawn,
gave
me
some
quality
time
at
home.
After
bouncing
around
the
world
investigating
the
strange
and
exotic,
I
dug
into
the
home
turf
-
and
found
it
every
bit
as
weird
as
any
other
place
I've
been.
All
the
creatures
and
plants
we
disregard
on
a
daily
basis
proved
to
be
utterly
absorbing,
once
I
observed
the
details
of
their
behavior.
(And
make
no
mistake,
plants
behave.
They
also
misbehave.)
It
was
a
great
year,
and
the
friendships
I
made
continue
on.
At
the
urging
of
my
squirrels
and
birds,
I've
allowed
native
sunflowers
to
take
over
a
flower
garden
-
the
squirrels
express
their
gratitude
by
decapitating
the
plants,
leaving
ugly
green
stalks.
The
latest
batch
of
young
crows
are
so
verbal
that
I'm
trying
to
teach
one
to
talk
a
bit.
This
takes
patience.
Him:
"Tuck-tuck,
brrrrrrrrrrrrr."
Me:
"Crow-crow!
Crow-crow!"
Him:
"Graaaaaaack,
puttt."
Me:
"No,
crow-crow!
Crow-crow!"
Him:
"Cr,
cr,
cr,
cr,
caw!"
