Welcome to my writing portfolio. I offer writing, co-writing, and editing services for all types of writing, including fiction, non-fiction, memoirs, articles, blogs, websites, and screenplays.


(Work in progress. © 2018 by Giorge Leedy)

"Right there," I said. "Pull over."

He pulls over as my heart sinks. "Where?" he asked.
"HERE." I direct his view to the empty grass lot on our right. Completely heartbroken and emotionally suspended between what was and what is, I can still see the old house in my mind- all original 1880s with a wraparound gingerbread porch, skeleton key antique doors, high ceilings, fireplace, and antique cupboards.
"But there's nothing here. Are you sure this is the right address?"
"Positive. They tore it down." I direct his attention to a pile of sandstone foundation blocks setting next to the neighbor's house. "That's all that's left."
"Wow. Guess not too many people are interested in buying and fixing up old places."
"Yeah. I love old houses. Especially when they're all original."
"Me, too. It would of looked really nice if you'd finished fixing it up."
"Yeah. I guess I was it's last hope."

He suggests that I get a piece of sandstone as a keepsake, but I have seen enough and wish to forget what I've seen. "No. Let's just go."

As we continue on, I try to shrug off the new aching void I feel in my heart. But I can't. There is nothing left here for me. This may be my hometown and still home to my family, relatives, and friends, but for me, this is now just a ride down memory lane.

I enjoy the creative freedom of writing alone, as well as the magic that is created when co-writing with others.

After completing a rough draft, I conduct whatever interviews and research is required to make the work complete, professional, and accurate. While the entire writing process is important to me, the real magic happens when I take a rough draft and develop it into a compelling and emotionally charged human interest story.

Over the last couple of years, I have worked extensively co-writing blogs and movie scripts with award-winning filmmaker and disability activist Jason DaSilva.



It is Sunday morning and I am riding the East River Ferry from Long Island City down to my office in DUMBO, Brooklyn. This is not what I want most to be doing this morning. I would much rather be spending the day with my son. (read more)


It is Saturday night here in Ottawa. I am lying down on my hotel bed reflecting upon my body, as snow flies outside my window. What I want to talk about today is sex and disability, how my physical body has been for the past five years or so, and how this is affecting me. (read more)

It’s been a year and a half since my last stem cell treatment. I am really grateful that my doctor has done this procedure for me four times over the past three years. (read more)



(Work in progress. © 2018 by Giorge Leedy)

My father was a handsome man, fanatic sports fan, and die-hard fundamentalist. He was well-liked by those who did not know him well and disliked by those who did. He failed miserably as my father, but he was a great provider. He hated his job, working at the U.S. Postal Service delivering mail, but it paid well, so he stuck it out until he retired.

I have three older brothers and one younger sister. We grew up in a moderately-priced, modern, three-bedroom, orange-brick ranch-style home between Mansfield and Ashland, Ohio. My brothers and I slept in bunk beds; all four of us in one bedroom. My sister had her own bedroom and my parents had theirs.

We moved from an old, dilapidated house in the the city to an old dilapidated farmhouse in the country, and eventually to this suburban house, sitting alone amongst somewhat distant neighbors on five sprawling acres. Behind our house sat a hill full of evergreen pine trees, as this is where the previous owners had planted their live christmas trees year after year when they lived here.

From as far back as I can remember, I hated living in the country. More than anything, I wanted to live in the city. While I found plenty to do as a child, like playing with ants, catching tadpoles in the creek, and taking long hikes, I wanted to live in the city and do city things.

I was considered extremely shy and awkward as a child. The truth is I was emotionally crippled. The cause of my earliest antisocial behavior was due to having an abusive and emotionally distant, if not totally disconnected and psychotic father.

When I was a child I had no way of knowing if I was being abused or punished, because the abuse always came as punishment. However, there were times when my father did seem intent on hitting me for minor infractions, such as whenever I forgot to do something. As an adult, I now see that my father hit me for any reason whatsoever. My brothers got hit too, especially the eldest. My sister was never hit, as my mother stood up for her at an early age, telling my father that if he hit her, she would grow up to have babies that were disfigured.

The abuse I got the most was being yelled at. When my father yelled, you could hear him a quarter-of-a-mile away. The worse abuse was that of not being loved. My dad was unwilling or incapable of physically and verbally expressing his love to me. I do remember as a toddler however, him rubbing my back every now and then. That felt like love and it was the only love I remember him ever expressing. When I grew older and the backrubs ended, that was it.

My father’s emotional disconnect did not only affect his parenting, but also his friendships. He rarely had close friendships and those that he did have were short-lived. His parental craziness was something he tried to put into words later in life. He said, "When I was a child, my best friend perished in a house fire along with his entire family. I feel guilty because my friend had invited me to spend the night with him that night and I didn't go. If I had, I could have saved their lives." My father wondered if his abusive behavior might have stemmed from having survivor’s guilt. I am no psychologist, but I imagine that any trauma not properly treated and healed has the potential to lead to all sorts of psychological problems.

I do not remember how old I was when my mother started teaching me survival techniques. One of the best ones she taught me was “out of sight out of mind.” This meant that I needed to stay out of sight so that my father would not get angry and abuse me. This was the best survival tip ever, because my dad rarely came looking for me. Later, I learned to completely avoid him by running out the backdoor whenever I heard him coming home from work. Many years later, I learned that whenever he was angry and about to hit me, all I had to do was run away. This worked well because he would eventually calm down and forget whatever it was he was angry about. Running away did not always work, but it worked a lot more often than it failed.

You have probably already guessed... I hated my father. While I feel really bad saying that, I realize that due to being abused by him and my fear of him being immense, hatred naturally prevailed. My fear was so huge that it adversely affected how I related to other men. When I was growing up, I avoided men, and much more easily made friends with women. It took me a long time to overcome that.

I quickly moved back home to care for my father when he became terminally ill. He apologized for how he treated me and I accepted his apology. I am glad that I returned when I did, for both of us.

Thanks for checking out my writing portfolio. I hope you like what you see and that I hear from you soon.