John sandford author biography worksheet
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Author Lucas Virgil Other Books Journalism
Chapter One
The storm blew up late in the afternoon, tight, gray clouds hustling over the lake like dirty, balled-up sweat socks spilling from a basket. A chilly wind knocked leaves from the elms, oaks, and maples at the water's edge. The white phlox and black-eyed Susans bowed their heads before it.
The end of summer; too soon.
John Mail walked down the floating dock at Irv's Boat Works, through the scents of premix gasoline, dead, drying minnows and moss, the old man trailing behind with his hands in the pockets of his worn gabardines. John Mail didn't know about old-style machinerychokes, priming bulbs, carburetors, all that. He knew diodes and resistors, the strengths of one chip and the weaknesses of another. But in Minnesota, boat lore is considered part of the genetic pattern: he had no trouble renting a fourteen-foot Lund with a 9.9 Johnson outboard. A driver's li
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John Sandford
John Sandford (February 23, 1944-) grew up in Iowa and attended the University of Iowa, first earning and bachelor’s degree in American Studies and then a master’s degree in journalism. Between earning his degrees, Sandford served in Korea with the United States Army. He began his career as a journalist in the army and later wrote for The Miami Herald and the St. Paul Pioneer Press. In addition to journalism and novel writing, Sandford is interested in art, photography, and archaeology, funding the Beth-Shean Valley Archaeological planerat arbete in the Jordan River Valley.
A publisher asked Sandford, whose real name is John Roswell Camp, to choose a pseudonym for one of his first novels, Rules of Prey, for marknadsföring reasons since Sandford was publishing a second book with a different publisher around the same time. Sandford has written over forty novels, including the popular Prey series, featuring Lucas Davenport, a Minneapolis detective. Many of his novels
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Author Lucas Virgil Other Books Journalism
Chapter One
The chairman of the board pulled the door shut behind him, stacked his rifle against the log-sided cabin, and walked down to the end of the porch. The light from the kitchen window punched out into the early morning darkness and the utter silence of the woods. Two weeks of nightly frost had killed the insects and had driven the amphibians into hibernation: for a few seconds, he was alone.
Then the chairman yawned and unzipped his bib overalls, unbuttoned his pants, shuffled his feet, the porch boards creaking under his insulated hunting boots. Nothing like a good leak to start the day, he thought. As he leaned over the low porch rail, he heard the door opening behind him. He paid no attention.
Three men and a woman filed out of the house, pretended not to notice him.
"Need some snow," the woman said, peering into the dark. Susan O'Dell was a slender forty, wi