Well, my pen name is actually my real name, and the SSG part is 'Staff Sergeant', as in Army-type rank, though I'm retired these days. I'm a father of five (four daughters and a son, ranging between eight and 21 years old), and was a military policeman for almost 20 years before retiring medically in 2009. I've been writing in one form or another since I was 15 (29 years now!), and I keep doing it mostly just for the hell of it. I tend towards science fiction and fantasy, but I'm not averse to dabbling in just about any genre. I don't know how much time I'll have for writing in the near future; I developed some rather nasty health problems over the last few years (bit of a benign brain tumor, under control now with some inconvenient after-effects) but I still have plenty of ideas in my head that need somewhere to go. Retirement isn't nearly as blissful as I thought it would be, though, so writing has kind of fallen to the bottom of the cue.

I borrowed the following little poem about child abuse from http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1540832/whipped-and_proud

My name is Sarah
I am but three,
My eyes are swollen
I cannot see,

I must be stupid
I must be bad,
What else could have made
My daddy so mad?

I wish I were better
I wish I weren't ugly,
Then maybe my mommy
Would still want to hug me.

I can't speak at all
I can't do a wrong
Or else I'm locked up
All the day long.

When I awake
I'm all alone
The house is dark
My folks aren't home

When my mommy does come
I'll try and be nice,
So maybe I'll get just
One whipping tonight.

Don't make a sound!
I just heard a car
My daddy is back
From Charlie's Bar.

I hear him curse
My name he calls
I press myself
Against the wall

I try and hide
From his evil eyes
I'm so afraid now
I'm starting to cry

He finds me weeping
He shouts ugly words,
He says its my fault
That he suffers at work.

He slaps me and hits me
And yells at me more,
I finally get free
And I run for the door.

He's already locked it
And I start to bawl,
He takes me and throws me
Against the hard wall.

I fall to the floor
With my bones nearly broken,
And my daddy continues
With more bad words spoken.

"I'm sorry!", I scream
But its now much too late
His face has been twisted
Into unimaginable hate

The hurt and the pain
Again and again
Oh please God, have mercy!
Oh please let it end!

And he finally stops
And heads for the door,
While I lay there motionless
Sprawled on the floor

My name is Sarah
And I am but three,
Tonight my daddy
Murdered me.

I just found that one browsing around the site on someone's profile. If you want to take a look, just cut and paste the url into your browser. If you do decide to look at this, prepare to have your stomach twisted into knots; one of the sites that googling the first two lines of that poem leads to has a VERY comprehensive list of kids who've died of abuse over the last couple of decades.