Marc is a retired automotive professional who started writing later in life. The Sunshine Machine is his first novel and part of a trilogy with a prequel and sequel in the works. When Marc is not writing he enjoys playing acoustic guitar, hiking trails in the Adirondacks, reading and spending time with his family. Marc is a graduate of the school of Architecture and Environmental Design from the State University of New York at Buffalo. and resides in Buffalo with his wife, Kathi.

Growing up in the household of ABUELA GUADALUPE, a native American woman and a single parent mother, molds FRANCESCA into a young woman of conflicted thoughts about sexuality and self. Her mother, SORPRESA DA RIMINI, a flower child of the sixties, offers little support to her maturation and Abuela Guadalupe provides only mythical native tales of the “The First People” to school her in feminine sexuality and identity. From an early age she discerns that she is different, supported by the fact that she has a mysterious birthmark on her hand. Abuela Guadalupe insists that it is a sign of her wolf spirit, which affirms strength and vision. Others see the birthmark as a curse and bad luck.

Francesca’s halcyon teen years are interrupted by the untimely death of her mother, Sorpresa. At her mother’s funeral she meets the patriarch of the Da Rimini family; GUIDO DA RIMINI. She is surprised to learn he is her grandfather and requests that she return to the family; The Da Rimini family her mother was banished from years earlier, because of her illegitimate pregnancy. She accepts the patriarch’s proposal but later pays a heavy price, when she is raped by her cousin; ROBERTO “Robbie” DELGADO. Francesca's troubles are far from over . . .

The Sunshine Trilogy

Wilbur's Texaco was just east of the city, off highway 66 in the middle of nowhere. The identifying clues were a Texaco sign, partially hinged to a pole, that swung like a bush-league pennant, in search of a winning team. At the entrance was a red and white small-bed 1951 Ford pickup truck, parked like a cemetery marker. Written in block letters on the drivers door it read, Wilbur's towing and service. Written in cursive script along the length of the bed it read. 


Wilbur Will when nobody Will!! call 565-5656


I pulled the rented truck up to a gas pump and jumped out, looking for the illusive Wilbur. A surly large man in tan Carhart overalls and wife beater tee-shirt approached me, munching on a cigar and scratching his crotch.


"It's about time you punks showed. Youd in charge of this circle jerk?


Whod the fuck you think I was? Engelbart Humperdinck? 


"Well I guess, you must be Wilbur?" I replied.


Chapter 42: Wilbur will when nobody will