Merry Helm

Fargo, ND 58103

I grew up in two worlds about 20 miles apart. One was our modern home in town, where we lived during the school year. The other was on the land my grandparents settled when they escaped from Russia to central North Dakota. The farm had no running water, television or telephone, and my parents spoke to their neighbors in German.

Being a loner, I spent thousands of hours roaming dirt roads and pastures, because every farm had a junk pile from which I could glean remarkable objects, like a real baby buggy, blue glass bottles, bits of dishes and furniture.

My companions were horses and cattle, both of which liked my singing. I also had Snooky, who became demented if we stumbled upon a fresh gopher or badger hole.

I often had a notion someone was filming us and took care to walk near the best sites and sets, striking poses as needed. Inevitably, I became an artist and musician. It wasn't until much later that I discovered my vocation as a screenwriter.

Books by Merry Helm