I was about fourteen when, on a hot sunny day, three silver disks silently flew through the cloudless sky directly over my head. They were low enough for me to realize they were not planes — they were round and made of some kind of shiny metal. I watched in awe as the sun sparkled off them as they disappeared, moving from west to east. It was from this experience that I became interested in aliens, the unknown, and life in space. Many years later, my first book, The Invisible Visitors, was created, shortly afterward came Reptilian Revenge, and finally, Echoes of Our Dying World.
In that same year, a strange orb hung in the air above our lake harbour. It remained there for about a week, and many people went to see it — as did I. It was large, hovering roughly five hundred feet from the ground, with a red light on top and a green light at the bottom. By the time I arrived, it had been there about five days and was tilting slowly from side to side, the lights moving with it. After about an hour, the orb began to tilt faster and slowly move sideways, the lights flashing more rapidly. I was transfixed — though my brother-in-law was bored and wanted to leave. Then, just as we turned to go, the orb blossomed into a brilliant cream colour, the lights went dark, and it rapidly ascended into the sky and disappeared.
Over the years, I searched for answers — whether anyone else remembered this strange visit, or whether old newspapers held any record of it. I found nothing.
And that is why I write about aliens and other inhabited planets. I believe there is something out there beyond us. Who are they? What are they? Are they living among us, or have they been travelling for centuries, drifting through miles of empty space in search of a new home? Are they friendly — or will they devour us? We don't know. So I write about what they might be like, to close the void left by my youthful memories, and to make peace with life here on earth.