top of page


My name is Scott Michael Anderson and I was born in 19... you know what? It doesn't really matter. I grew up in a small town in Eastern Oregon, about an hour west of Boise, Idaho. One stoplight small, rural in a way that both hurts and sinks hooks into you that never go away. This does matter. My entire childhood was a dream of the wider world. Books and writing were the bridge that took me there. Stephen King, Graham Greene, John le Carre, Frank Herbert, Tom Clancy, Tolkien, Azimov, Pushkin, it didn't matter what the genre was, or the setting. It didn't matter that I could never be Horatio Hornblower, or Paul Ma'Dib, I took another path out. I joined the CIA and spent the next twenty-seven years in the Clandestine Service and as a contractor supporting the intel community. I spoke other tongues, lived in foreign countries, and traveled to many others, over sixty I think. Some of them far, far too often. 

As time passed my love of books and writing never waned. Now,
I'm hoping both will get me back to a small town somewhere, maybe
a place west of the Continental Divide, or even smack dab on the line. I could even do with a couple of stoplights and satellite TV - I need to be able to watch the Cubs. For now, I live with my wonderful and very patient family in the teeming metropolis, and cultural bubble that is Northern Virginia, dealing with first world issues that don't matter,
along with seven million fantastic neighbors. 

At different times throughout my life, my writing has been a secret habit, an outlet, a safety valve for those around me, a refuge; what have you, the same reasons we all do what we do. Writing is a lot cheaper than peaty single malt and in the long run, healthier... probably (testing continues). I've got numerous stories that will never see the light of day, and readers everywhere can thank me for that. Recently though, after enough practice I think I've got something to share. 

bottom of page