Daniel K Johnson is a descendent of the Scots-Irish immigrants who peopled the mountains of western North Carolina.  As a boy in the 1960s, he was allowed to wander alone and explore the wooded hills and rhododendron bordered streams in the shadow of the Blue Ridge, near the town of Old Fort.  Because there is no place superior on earth, he continues to live and ‘make do’ in North Carolina.  Daniel has always dabbled with putting words together and wonders at the nuclear forces bound in a single word and the infinite potential strewn between the covers of a dictionary.  At home, in Kings Mountain with wife, Robin, and family nearby, he still dabbles.

Daniel wishes smart devices and the Internet were only passing phases and that people would soon return to reading case bound books from intimate bookstores, and writing heartfelt letters in flowing cursive on cotton-fiber paper. 

He believes the only truly interesting, are those who have lived long enough, somewhere beyond their allotted three score and ten, to have reached a fullness of old age, to embody a beautiful wisdom, born of a spectrum of physical and emotional experiences, that cannot be replicated unless that road has been traveled.  He tries to write life into such characters as these.