Today was a sad day for us, and one that I knew had been coming for two years.
When a friend asked why I often write about my love of solitude out here, I told her it was for the small percentage of readers who had trouble with boundaries.
Let me start by saying that I don’t think I am anyone special, and I am no better than anyone reading this. However, I protect my privacy at all costs.
When Following Atticus and Will’s Red Coat were published, we had some hardcore stalkers. I had to call the police on a few, and their skulking around forced us to change where and when we walked.
The two most notable stalkers gave me the creeps.
When a woman flew to New Hampshire and drove to Jackson to find us, our chief of police at the time, Carl, had a talk with her.
“I’m not stalking Tom Ryan; he’s stalking me!” she screamed.
I’m told Carl was cool when he asked, “Where do you live?”
“California.”
“And where are you now?”
“Jackson.”
“And where do Tom and Atticus live?”
“Here,” she said.
“Has he ever reach…
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