About the Author 

I never planned to be the good-intentioned bad guy—my wife Bernadette just hated watching Knoxville’s old buildings turn into parking lots. So, we turned our tumbleweed town center into a buzzing Market Square, where folks could hang out and have fun. Headlines happened, and good times rolled. Sure we got creative with the financing to save a few old buildings—creative, as in eco-friendly, green, sustainable. Creative, also, as in multi-state marijuana conspiracy…

Next came the federal indictments, asset seizures, and a few years of separate “adventure sabbaticals.” Risk it all? Hell, we lost it all. Then we got out, dusted off, and, against the odds, did the damn thing again till we were able to buy back the same spots they raided and seized. 

Preservation Pub and Scruffy City Hall are still standing, still pouring, still packed with people. Smoke Rings is me turning that whole wild ride into fiction: family, friends, punk rock, high stakes, lowlifes, weed smuggling, and fighting the good fight to keep natural plants growing and historic gems from the wrecking ball. As a nod to my punk days, there’s a 29-song soundtrack stitched between chapters. Readers either love it or want to fight me—both valid. 

These days, Bernadette and I hold down our South Knoxville fort with twenty-five chickens, three dogs, two cats, two goats, and every possum, raccoon, skunk, and stray animal that wanders up. We’re still waving our freaky “Keep Knoxville Scruffy” flag—backing local art, loud music, weird small businesses, and history that doesn’t need a corporate sponsor. If you’re ever in Scruffy City, swing by and say, “High.”

~ R. Scott West