Ian wilson

"Ian Wilson?" The waitress at the breakfast diner thought for a moment. "Isn't he the guy I see at the park in Washago--fishing, flying kites, playing baseball?"

"That's him," a teenaged girl said. "He likes to watch trains too."

"Okay, I know the guy you mean." The codger who ran the garage cleared his throat. "He's written a pile of books about trains. My old man worked for the railway and he's got all of them."

"Hear that he's writing novels now?" A boy with a fishing rod spoke up.


"Yeah," the boy continued. "The first one's called The Secret of the Old Swing Bridge. It's like a Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew mystery series, with a boy and a girl. Nowadays, Angus and Amanda are more grownup. They're traipsing around in King's Highways & Steam Trains."

A young professional woman stirred her coffee. "So is that all he does for a living, write books?"

"That's all he's been doing since I've known him." A leather-clad biker looked the menu over. "He's got an engineering degree, but he never uses that anymore."

"I see him hiking in the woods," a university student said.

"With those Nordic walking poles," his girlfriend added. "He says it helps him think, or keep his sanity."

"One or the other." An oldtimer laughed. "He goes looking for those huge pileated woodpeckers."

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