Gregg Voss

Writer of Words

Gregg Voss

Writer of Words

Who I am

Writer of Words

To quote Led Zeppelin, I’m just a simple guy, living from day to day.

I read a lot, write a lot, and tell stories. Tip of the cap to Stephen King for counseling me on that through his book On Writing.

I work several day jobs, including as VP of Media Relations for hands down the best virtual marketing and PR agency in the country, TSN Communications. I’m also a high school sports stringer in my off time, for a couple of newspapers in the Chicago area, where I live with my wife and daughter.

The rest of the time, I write fiction. A lot of it.

To me, the whole point of life is to ask, What if …? That’s where the basis for my stories are born. I’m compelled to explore what’s possible, whether it’s fiction with a supernatural bent, or social justice issues.

It’s what I do.

Day Jobs

TSN Communications

I’m Vice President of Media Relations for TSN Communications, a virtual marketing and public relations agency based in Oak Hill, Va.

Daily Herald

I’m a freelance high school sports reporter for the Daily Herald, the Chicago suburbs’ premier daily newspaper. I primarily cover schools in DuPage County.

The Doings

I ‘m also a freelance prep sports reporter for Pioneer Press, which publishes The Doings of La Grange and The Doings of Hinsdale, among other community newspapers in Chicago’s southwest suburbs.


The One

According to the road sign Abigail John­son had just passed on her evening walk into town, the population of Egg Harbor, Wisconsin, was 201.

The Crash

The jetliner, a bone-white Airbus A320 with a fat, blue-brand logo, hobbled over the neighborhood, wings waggling under the lemon sun. There was smoke, a lot of it, coming from the right-wing engine, and the dark contrail was an evil pencil mark crossing the cloudless mountain sky. 

The Bunker

The explosion wasn’t like all the others that night. It was a bulbous rift in the atmosphere that at once made Anna’s mouth drop and reflexively cover her ears with her hands.


The trees. That’s what I remember most. The trees, sailing by under the languid, dripping light of the street lamps. I couldn’t see them well, but they were there nonetheless. I smelled their browning, crackling leaves just beginning their descent to the street, even in those frenzied moments.


Lauren had never once set foot in the church’s conference room, let alone sat in one of the black captain’s chairs that lined each side of the slender, bowed table. She recalled once, as a fourth grader, running past the room with Tommy and some other kids and being shooed away by a smiling, frowning Pastor Marty, who said he was “doing deals for the Lord, praise God,” before lightly closing the door on himself and the rest of the deacons.

Coming Soon

My first short story collection, The Valley of American Shadow. Watch this space for updates as this project comes together in 2019.

Contact me!

I’d love to hear from you! Send me a note about what’s on your mind and I will get back to.


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