from under the lone palm

Running to Stand Still

2010-04-22T20:33:00.004-05:00

Sometimes you feel like a hamster in a wheel. Running to stand still. I'll let U2 sing it for me. It's time for a change. Time to break free from the wheel.

Counting or Dwelling?

2010-03-11T22:06:00.010-06:00

Never learned to count my blessings.

I choose instead to dwell in my disasters.

-Ray LaMontagne

Try Again

2010-03-05T20:54:00.000-06:00

Sometimes you just feel stranded. A ship stuck in the shale on the beach, slowly decaying. Your pilot house gets pilfered; your planking comes undone. You are no longer a ship at sea. You are no longer doing what you are meant to be doing. You have lost your way and you have washed up on some shore for someone to take a black and white photograph of. You feel ignoble. Ashamed, perhaps. Lost for sure. Lost. Lost and stuck. Lost and stranded. But someone comes along and picks you up and you try again. You try to regain your humble nobility. You try to regain what you are - what you've lost along the way. You try again to regain that something that kept you from running ashore all those times before. And maybe you will find it and maybe you won't.

But you try again.

Because what else is there to do?

Fly Fishing is a Lot Like Writing

2009-07-07T10:33:00.000-05:00

I've been doing a good amount of fly fishing this summer. It's a good way for me to get out of the house and think about things, both writing-wise and life-wise. This past year hasn't been a piece of cake so I'm doing more searching than I've done in the past. And that's not a bad thing, mind you. A little soul searching is good for a fella. But we won't get into that right now.

What I've found while wandering the stream is that fly fishing is a lot like writing. You have to be patient. You have to be still. You have to present the fly in a precise way. You have to read the water correctly to know where the prize might be hiding. And there are tight spots with overhead trees and snags in the river - danger lurks everywhere for a guy whipping 20 feet of line over his head. And if you do all that, you have to have a fish that is willing to come up and take your fly. You can do it all correctly. You can do it all just as Mike taught you. And the damn fish won't take the fly.

See what I mean? Fly fishing is a lot like writing.

The Best Thriller Writer You've Never Heard Of

2009-06-29T09:29:00.000-05:00

I don't normally plug other authors on the blog but I felt compelled after reading Gregg's latest, Trust No One. As the great reviewer David Montgomery said in his review, Gregg might be the best thriller writer you've never heard of. Let's see if we can change that - what do you say? Buy the book. Thank me later.

And Borders has a nice interview with Gregg and his mentor, Robert Crais. It gives you good insight into how Gregg works.

Agents are human too

2009-06-05T15:42:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I'm a sucker for a good poop story. And it's always good to remember, that agents (and writers) are human with all the faults and foibles (that's a writerly word) that come with being human. Barbara Poole is a hero in my book for giving us this reminder.

Live in the sunshine

2009-03-20T15:54:00.000-05:00

Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air....

Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's become a thing for me now. When a celebrity dies, I start to think about my own mortality - especially when that person is about my age. I'm also reading the obituaries in my local paper looking for guys that are my age. It's morbid and I hate myself for it - but I can't stop. I'm young by all standards. I have a long life ahead of me. Many adventures, many joys. And many heartaches. I will live a long and glorious life.

Natasha Richardson probably thought the same thing.

We hear it all the time. Life is short. Gather thee rosebuds while ye may, etc. But do any of us really do it? Do we drink the wild air at every opportunity? I don't. I try to, but I don't. I need to do that more. To live life. Because I too might be doing something so benign as skiing on a beginners slope and within two days I'm no more.

My thoughts and prayers go out to Ms. Richardson's family and friends. May you again live in the sunshine some day.

Here fishy, fishy

2009-03-19T17:01:00.000-05:00

It's finally warming up and I find myself thinking about hitting the streams. I went out the other day and scouting a couple favorite spots and the streams are looking pretty quick and muddy. Not the best conditions to fish in. But you can't catch a fish unless you wet your line so I think I'll dig around in the storage room and see if I can find that fly rod and try a little early season trout fishing. Fishing in muddy, quick water is kinda like living now days. You know that your luck needs to be pretty good to catch anything. The waters are murky and quick, but you can't catch a fish unless you wet your line. Soon here, the waters will recede, the waters will become more clear, and that trout will rise to your fly. So keep wetting those lines kiddies.

Take one Jack Johnson and call me in the morning.....

2009-01-08T20:23:00.000-06:00

It's an ongoing battle for me and maybe it is for you too.

Morale. Attitude. Outlook. Call it what you will, keeping those spirits up as a struggling writer - published or not - is a full time gig. Maybe because it's such a long process and the warm fuzzies don't come along frequently. Maybe it's because the winter sun is so impotent this time of year. Come on Mr. Sun. You can do better than that. Maybe it's because the news is full of bad news. It's so bad I won't even watch it anymore.

Or maybe it's that I'm a self-absorbed jerk.

Whatever the reason, everyone needs a little pick-me-up now and then. I've found that Jack Johnson is better than any pharmacological product known to man.

So here, try this. See if it doesn't work for you too.

How to you say Chutzpah in Serbian?

2008-12-10T10:46:00.000-06:00

This kind of stuff makes it very difficult for us fiction writers. The story is so outlandish to be almost unbelievable. But what I find fascinating is how far this guy got. I'm a pretty quiet guy - don't like to draw a lot of attention to myself. I'm not a power player. I'm not a guy that steps on people to get where I want to go. What makes another human think in their mind that what he is doing is okay? That, yeah, I'll sell a senate seat and I'll sleep just fine. The only answer I can come up with is that his brain is broken. That he has something organically wrong in that head of his. Wow. Just can't get my head around this as it's so foreign from the way I think.

I Dreamed I was a Cowboy

2008-12-04T16:01:00.000-06:00

Lyle Lovett is without question the best sounding concert I've ever had the pleasure to attend. And hey, the guy is damn good too. Here is one of my favorites. It just popped up on my iTunes as I was writing and I had to share....

Don't ask me why....

2008-12-02T16:05:00.000-06:00

There's a natural mystic blowing through the air

If you listen carefully now you will hear.

This could be the first trumpet, might as well be the last:

Many more will have to suffer,

Many more will have to die - don't ask me why.

Natural Mystic

Bob Marley

To Have and Have Not

2008-11-28T10:42:00.001-06:00

The Howard Hawks version of Hemingway's To Have and Have Not was on cable the other night. I searched my memory and discovered I'd never seen it. It was Lauren Bacall's screen debut when she was mere 18-years-old and come to find out William Faulkner helped on the screenplay. So I settled in for the quick hour and half or so movie and found it both entertaining and dull at the same time. And I wondered why I had that feeling. Why was I entertained but left wanting just the same? And I've now discovered why.

I like the characters.

The story was silly.

So, being a bit of a Hemingway junkie, I went out and purchased the novel. Now I know Hemingway wasn't particularly fond of this unorthodoxly constructed novel, but I found it quite interesting. The way Hemingway episodically reveals Harry and his downward spiral. And that's what's missing in the movie. You don't get the arch of Harry's story in the movie - it centers around one aspect of the novel - and takes considerable liberties at that.

So even though we get to see the lovely Lauren Bacall give her famous "whistle" line, the movie doesn't capture the heart of the novel. It skates along the surface, not revealing the dark heart that resides within Harry. His anger at not being able to provide for his family while others laugh it up around him - oblivious to the pain in so many others. And it's that anger that makes Harry real, makes him interesting, makes us want to know him. Because we all, at one time or another, feel like a "have not."

Getting the Picture

2008-11-20T10:58:00.000-06:00

I'm on a roll with videos lately. And the last one I posted was kinda grim. I'm not a grim guy. I'm a guy that likes to have fun - but at 3:00am when I do most of my writing, it can get kinda grim. So, before turning off the monitor and heading to bed, I crank a little Buffett to cleanse the pallet. And here's a good one...

When I grow up, I want to be Jimmy Buffett....

My Empire of Dirt

2008-11-18T11:39:00.000-06:00

Here is another one from a current playlist. This one applies more to a work I've just started.

This song cuts me to the core...

Riding with Lady Luck

2008-11-17T03:26:00.000-06:00

Those of you that frequent this blog know how important music is to me. And as I finish Under the Skin, my current novel, I've found a certain playlist has organically formed. And at the heart of that playlist is one Tom Waits .

Tom Waits isn't for everyone but he sure is for me. This tune was covered by The Eagles some years ago - and to much more commercial success - but I still like the gravely original version from the guy that wrote it. So without further ado, I give you Tom Waits and 'Ol 55.

James Crumley, meet Paul Newman

2008-09-28T18:26:00.000-05:00

"When I finally caught up with Abraham Traherne, he was drinking beer with an alcoholic
bulldog named Fireball Roberts, in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine spring afternoon."

James Crumley
The Last Good Kiss

“Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.”
Cool Hand Luke

It was a tough week for me last week. Two of my favorite entertainers died. James Crumley died at the age of 68. Pretty young by today’s standards. And to bookend the terrible week, Paul Newman died Friday at the age of 83. That’s a more acceptable age I guess.

Everyone knew Paul Newman. Those blue eyes; the great work he did with his charitable food line. And the movies. Who could forget those. The Verdict is still one of my favorites of his and I still argue that he should have won the Oscar that year for best actor. The Sting. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Hombre. Color of Money. The Hustler. Slap Shot. The list is pretty long. Paul Newman deserves those accolades. He lived his life well – a life one could emulate and be quite happy – even if you weren’t a movie star.

But James Crumley, on the other hand, is a bit of an enigma. He never had a best seller. He never rose above the level of “cult writer” despite critical acclaim. Something just didn’t click for him like it did for Paul Newman. But I, like many crime writers, credit Crumley as one of my inspirations when I started writing. There was something earthy and real about his characters and his writing. They were deeply flawed people that did violent things in gritty locations. He was a very fine writer that deserved a wider audience. But then, maybe he didn’t care.

And that’s were these two men intersect. They lived their lives as they wanted – doing the things that gave them joy. They excelled at their crafts, and while one of them achieved worldwide stardom, the other lived quietly in Missoula, Montana. But they are equals in my eye.
And I suspect in that bar behind the pearly gates, the two men are sitting next to each other drinking the heart out of a fine spring day. Yeah, sometimes nothin’ can be a real cool hand.

Into the Wild

2008-09-02T11:56:00.001-05:00

This past weekend I rented the Sean Penn directed movie of the great Jon Krakauer book, Into the Wild. And it got me thinking.

What if I chucked everything and moved to the wilds of Alaska? Could I survive? Alone? With only a few favorite books, a puny 22 rifle and pair of galoshes?

Probably not.

Actually, no f’ing way.

Because, although I like my alone time mulling over my stories and thinking my thoughts, I have to be around folks. Not all the time mind you. Just occasionally. And it seems, right now, more occasionally than regularly. It’s a funk for sure – an adolescent phase that I go through multiple times a year. I can be grouchy, my wife tells me. And she’s known me for many moons – she would know.

So, as much as I like my alone time, I’ve got to have the human interaction on some level. We writers like to think of ourselves as an island sometimes – being alone with our thoughts and our words. But in the end, we write stories about people, and we need be around people in order to write about them.

But just occasionally, I’d like to shoot a couple folks with my .22……

A famous author gets on an airplane...

2008-08-05T10:04:00.000-05:00

I was flying home from a writer's conference a couple weeks back and I was feeling pretty good. Pretty good because I was on a panel with some truly famous authors and I held my own. Of course, that might have all been in my mind, but self-delusion is an underrated trait in my opinion. At any rate, it was a good conference overall. Got to reconnect with some folks I've met out on the circuit and met a couple new folks too. I generally feel pretty jazzed after one of these things but this one was particularly good it seemed. That is, until I got on the plane to fly home.

Now I'm real new to this whole writing gig deal so when asked, I don't normal fess up about being a writer. But this time I'm sitting in my luxurious exit row seat - no upgrade this leg - and across the aisle from me sits a rather sane looking gentlemen. That's not as common as you would expect these days. Fly as much as I do and you'll see what I mean.

Anyway, we do the usual chatter and he asks me what I do. In my ebullient mood I throw out that I'm a writer.

"Oh, what do you write?"

"I write thrillers."

"Oh, like Stephen King?"

"Well, yeah sorta. Less scary than Mr. King's stuff, but yeah, in that general vicinity."

"I hate Stephen King."

"Well, he's not for everyone."

"Anyone can write that crap. I don't see what the big deal is.'

Okay, it's turning sour real quick and I'm looking for the quick exit. "Writing a novel isn't as easy at it seems. But different strokes for different folks. Sure enough people that do like his work." In an attempt to convey that the conversation is over, I start futzing with my iPod which is something I don't have to fake.

"How many books you written?"

"Too many to count." I don't explain to him the difference between publishing a book and writing a book. That's seems way too advanced for this conversation.

"So you must be rich."

"Oh, far from it." I point up toward first class. "I'm not riding up there."

"I could write a book and be rich too."

"No, I'm not rich my friend. No, still just plugging away."

"Then you must not be any good."

That freezes me mid-headphone untangle. I turn to him, mouth slightly agape.

"You got a copy of your book you could give me?"

I reach in my wallet and quickly count the five's I have for the booze cart 'cause I'm going to need a couple. And I mutter to myself, next time I'm saying I sell insurance.

Well at least the cat understands me...

2008-06-09T20:19:00.000-05:00

Well, okay, technically it’s my wife’s cat but I sneak him treats (against doctor’s orders) on occasion because I’m just that kind of guy. No, not the kind that wants bad things to happen to my wife’s cat, but the kind of guy that doesn’t always play by the rules. And he (the cat that is) loves me for it. I’m the first up in the morning and he comes up to me and head butts me in the shin, damn near knocking me over (he’s a Maine Coon – kinda beefy) and he knows what’s in store. A little sliced turkey or roast beef or if I’m making tuna fish sandwiches, an orgasmic hunk of tuna. I can see it in his twinkling eyes. Nirvana time. I’m gonna get treats from the dorky guy that sits for hours at his computer as I watch him, thinking, what a dolt, why doesn’t he just take a nap in the sun?

Okay, the cat doesn’t get the whole writing gig. But he knows how to have fun. I’m usually the last to bed (being a writer means some odd hours) and I fear turning off the lights before retiring. Why? Because the darkness is his friend. He loves to hide behind the sofa and attack me as I walk down the hall to the bedroom. I’m half asleep and this furry missile comes out of the dark and hits me full on, staggering me. I curse softly at him (don’t want to wake my wife – the cat is bad enough) but I have to grin too. He’s a trickster. He’s loves to play. He even loves to play fetch like a puppy. He loves life. And I love him for it.

So there is a bond between the cat and me. I’m not a cat or dog guy per se – but I do like animals. And like I said, I do love this cat. He gets it. He gets that life should be fun. That no matter how many times you attack the dork as he trundles off to bed, it’s fun. Yep. Scaring the crap out of the half-asleep guy is fun. I can imagine him curling up at the foot of the bed thinking, I got him good tonight. And I get turkey in morning. Life is good.

Okay, maybe he doesn’t understand why I write instead of nap, but I think he gets me just as I get him. We are simpatico that way. We get life. Life should be fun. That treats are okay in moderation. That sneak attacks are fun – if no harm is done. That life is good. Yeah, at least the cat understands me.

Why Do We Have to Read This Crap Anyway?

2008-05-12T19:43:00.000-05:00

Okay, confession time. I was a closet geek in high school. Well, okay, maybe I wasn’t so much in the closet as I might think. Sure, I played baseball all through high school and I even played football for one year before I realized that football is the modern equivalent of the gladiatorial games – and I wasn’t the lion. So I had my cool clique to hang out with. I wasn’t the kind of nerd that did extra credit trigonometry problems nor was I on the chess team or the kid with the clichéd pocket protector. But I was a kid that loved to read.

Hey, I was 16 – it wasn’t cool to “read” anything that wasn’t glossy and had half clothed to mostly unclothed women in it. But I did. And I liked it. And I don’t think anyone at my high school but Mr. Macmillan knew how much I like it. He could tell. He could see the signs. All of us in the literature cult know the signs. I bet some of you in the audience know the signs.

And although I haven’t reread many of those novels we read back in Advanced Literature, I do remember them. I remember the feeling they gave me. The feeling of power. Of understanding human nature just a little bit better – at a time in life when all of human nature and motivation was a snake ball to me. I still haven’t figured out why Lisa Ackerman hated me. But I’ve gotten over it...

Anyway, the books were my friends – closet friends – but good friends nonetheless. They got me through some weird times and I’m thankful for their service – then and now. Because just as they taught me lessons back then, they teach me lessons today. Like I said, I haven’t reread most of the classics, but they’ve stuck with me as I pull together stories and ideas and themes and plots and all the other building materials that make up a novel.

So 20 some odd years later I say, “Here’s to you good and noble friends! Thank you for being there – then and now!”

Magnum PI and other Fantasies of Youth

2008-04-08T13:10:00.000-05:00

I was a teenager when the television show Magnum PI first aired. And like most adolescent boys I wanted to be just like him. To live rent free on an estate in Hawaii. Drive fast cars - that you didn't have to pay for. To hang out with your friends at an exclusive beach club and never have to pay your beer tab. Yeah, that's the life.

But it was a fantasy. A fantasy that seemed so far out of reach at 18 that when I got into my 20's, then 30's, now 40's I forgot how carefree and innocent it all seemed at the time. How, at 18, the world was full of possibilities and if you closed your eyes and thought deeply enough, you could put yourself on that estate or behind the wheel of that beautiful red Ferrari. How do I get that fantasy life back? Can I get that life back? Am I too old to dream the dreams of an 18-year-old?

As the great existential philosopher from Key West sings, "I'm growing older but not up." And it's a philosphy I'm adopting more and more lately. I'm trying to recapture those innocent days of youth while maintaining some dignity (I now only wear a coconut bra for special occasions) by tempering that spontaneity with the wisdom gleaned from my 40+ years on this planet. Life is for living right? And what good is living if you don't have any dreams? So, right now, as I type this, a very nice model of that red Ferrari sits on my desk reminding me that I should dare to dream. That the dreams of an 18-year-old boy can still be the dreams of a 40-year-old man - if I only shut my eyes and dream deeply enough.

Sleuthfest 2008

2008-03-03T10:23:00.001-06:00

Just got back from a great weekend in South Florida. Sleuthfest 2008 is in the books and I'm so very glad I went. Not only because it was 10 degrees back home - and 80 degrees poolside - but because of the warmth and camaraderie of all the attendees and conference volunteers. It takes a small army to put one of these things on and it went flawlessly. I especially want to thank Joanne Sinchuk at Murder on the Beach for supporting a not so local boy - but a boy that wishes he was local. And to Christine Kling - a fellow novelist living the life I've always dreamed - thank you for such a wonderful discussion and the grog was fantastic.

It's these conferences that keep you going. Tiring as they are, they energize you too. You meet the folks that read your books and you meet the writers that write the books that you love. Not a bad way to spend a weekend.

Is that a gun in your pocket?

2008-02-08T11:11:00.001-06:00

Wow. Right out of a spy novel eh? I just might have to use this one in a future book...

Police are searching for a man who tried to send a noteworthy package of books to Paris, according to the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. A UPS Store clerk "was preparing to ship the plastic-wrapped books on Jan. 31 when she noticed that one of the hardbacks rattled, according to police reports. The woman shook the book and spotted a gun part slipping through the pages."

A subsequent police search revealed that the books contained "a disassembled Beretta handgun, three loaded magazines and two boxes of 9mm ammunition hidden in hollowed copies of Richard Tarnas' Cosmos andPsyche, Isaac Asimov's Chronology of the World and a communications text."

Coming Up for Air

2008-01-22T20:17:00.000-06:00

Whew. I’m finished. Okay, maybe not finished, finished, but pretty damn close to finished. I’ve finished the second book in the Phil Riley series.

It’s a pretty good feeling actually. Being able to settle back in the chair, nod the head at the computer screen and say to yourself, yeah, that will work. Okay, some touches here and there. Oh yeah, gotta change her hair color to keep it consistent, but yeah, this will work.

So there you go.

Finished.

But the smile fades as you slowly come to the realization you aren’t finished.

Not by a long shot.

Remember that idea that’s been pin balling around in your head? Yeah that one. Better get started on it while the idea still seems good. Okay, okay. I’ll start next week. Give my self a little vacation from the writing gig. But right now, I’ll create a new folder to store the chapters for that new novel. Oh, I’ve got a couple more minutes before I really should go to bed. I’ll put in the headers and footers. Well hell, while I’m at it….

It’s grinding cycle. I’m like that Hawksbill turtle that occasionally needs to surface for air but also must live underwater to survive. I know my time at the surface is limited. My time for a breather is limited. My time away from writing is limited.

So I take a quick peek at the clouds, maybe roll my face toward the warming sun, Then, like that turtle, I take a big gulp of air and head back down to the reef.

It’s what writers do.

In the middle of the road

2007-12-20T20:00:00.000-06:00

There are certain times in life that you find yourself reflecting on what has been and what might be. Certainly the closing of another year is one of those for me. I think back on what I’ve done this year. And what remains to be done. You can make all the lists, tick off all the tasks, but it seems that the road never ends. That the next step forward only brings more steps forward. That when you look behind you, the road twists off into the distance and you realize you’ve come a long way. But then you turn around, and the road twists off into the distance before you as well. So you find yourself standing in the middle of the road, hoping to hell that Mack truck doesn’t turn you into pâté. And you wonder, should I go back? Should I go forward? I’m in the middle of it – both directions look daunting.

I don’t want to go back. I, like Joe Pike with his red arrows on his shoulders, will always drive forward. Daunted for sure. But at the end of this year and the start of the new one, I recommit myself to driving forward.

The Great Lemonade Stand Robbery

2007-11-23T17:01:00.000-06:00

Jez, this is a tough world when a kid can't even run a lemonade stand without fear of getting stuck up. And this shit Tony punched the poor kid! I don't think 10 days is long enough. But something tells me that the criminal justice system hasn't seen the last of one Anthony Hans.

Teen who robbed child’s lemonade stand gets jail, scolding
Wheeler News Service
Published Friday, November 16, 2007

A judge in Oshkosh scolded an 18-year-old man, saying he shocked the community when he robbed an 11-year-old boy’s lemonade stand.

Anthony Hans was sentenced to 10 days in jail Thursday.

Circuit Judge Karen Seifert also put him on two years’ probation, and ordered 50 hours of community service. The judge said the robbery upset people in Oshkosh and they wondered who would an attack an 11-year-old boy. Hans pleaded no contest to reduced charges misdemeanor theft and disorderly conduct.

He had been charged with battery for punching Austin Cundy, pushing him off his chair and stealing a plastic jar of money from his lemonade stand. It happened July 25.

Austin said he was raising the money to go camping with his grandparents and to buy his mom a birthday present. Instead, prosecutors said Hans used the $20 to buy cigarettes.

Austin received lost of support and donations once the story made national news. He ended up giving $620 in gifts and lemonade money to the Oshkosh Humane Society.

Who knew murder and mayhem could be so fun?

2007-11-14T14:11:00.000-06:00

Just got back from a book event in the "Genuine American City" known as Milwaukee and had a hell of a time. It was the third annual Murder and Mayhem in Muskego at the Muskego Public Library.

The weekend kicked off with an author gathering at the Mystery One Bookstore on Friday night. Mystery One is one of those classic independent bookstores run by two fellows, Richard Katz and Dave Biemann, that really know their stuff and are willing to share their knowledge with anyone willing to ask. We all jammed into the cozy confines taking our turns signing books and chatting with readers that came from as far away as California. When we weren't signing, we all gathered in a nice little bar right next door that worked as a very nice bullpen. I think Richard and Dave picked the store locale just for that reason!

Then Saturday we all gathered at the library and Penny Halle's steady hand steered us through a wonderful day of chatting about books and characters and all things mystery. Robert Crais, Laura Lippman, and Greg Rucka were all interviewed and as a newbie author, it's always nice to listen at the feet of these pros. They've fought the fights and have the scars to prove it and I learned a lot from their talks.

It was also good to catch up with a couple other chums, Sean Chercover and Tom Schreck. They write very different types of books both should be on your to-be-read pile. And of course, I'll be adding several new authors to my list as well: Sean Doolittle, Gregg Hurwitz, Carl Brookins - to name just few. I always seem to find new authors to read whenever I go to one of these things.

I also got a chance to meet Jon Jordan and his lovely wife Ruth. Jon and Ruth publish Crimespree Magazine, one of the best magazines out there devoted to mysteries and thrillers. It was fun to chat with Jon about, as Jimmy Buffett sees as the 8th deadly sin, pizza. Ask him about his month long experiment with pizza. I don't know how he can eat another slice....

Thank you Penny, Richard, Dave, Jon, Ruth - hell everyone that attended Murder and Mayhem and making this new author feel so welcome. I'll be seeing you next year!

Wonder why we ever go home....

2007-10-22T20:08:00.000-05:00

Photo Credit Don Reiland

River gets deeper not shallow,
the further you move down the stream.
Wonderin'if I can keep her as I
race to keep up with my dreams.
How they shine and glitter and gleam.
-Jimmy Buffett

I'm off to do a little research. Yeah, that's what I call it and everyone just smiles and gives me a wink. I guess I would too if I was on the other side the conversation. See, I write about a guy that lives in the Caribbean so I need, on occasion, to travel to the Caribbean to do "research." Me and and a couple of friends are going sailing in the British Virgin Islands.

Photo Credit Don Reiland

Should be plenty of opportunity to do some research on how the sun feels, how the water glistens, how the rum tastes. The Caribbean is why I write. To say the Caribbean is my muse is a bit pretentious, but there, I've said it. I write about the Caribbean because it's in my soul and it gives me life. And as I move down this stream of life, chasing those glittering dreams, I need a
little time with my girl. So if you need me next week, give a call to the Foxy's and leave a message. I'll get back to ya....

Criminally good time

2007-10-04T10:04:00.000-05:00

The Valley Bookseller had me out for their October installment of the monthly

Totally Criminal Cocktail Hour at the Dock Cafe. I have to say, I haven't had as good a time talking about books in quite a while. We had a couple drinks, some appetizers and I read a little bit and answer a bunch of very insightful questions. I love book lovers! They ask the best questions!

Thank you one and all for coming out on a glorious fall day and supporting a local boy and a local bookseller. And a special thank you to Karren and Joci at the Valley Booksellers for extending me the invitation. I'll come back anytime!

Thank you

2007-10-01T20:11:00.000-05:00

As many Americans have, I've been fascinated by Ken Burns' and Lynn Novick's The War documentary that's been showing on PBS. I wish I had something more profound to say, but all I can think of is thank you. And I promise not to waste the opportunity you gave me.

Changes

2007-09-16T22:37:00.000-05:00

It's become a cliché hasn't it? Everytime fall rolls around you find yourself looking, with the fondest of memories, back on the summer that was. Well...yeah, I do it too. There is a reason it's a cliché after all.

Much brighter men and women have said more about this than I'll ever be able to. So I'll just be happy to live in the present and cherish the past and know that with these changes come new adventures and new excitement and new experiences. That with this change in season comes a change in my life as I progress down the shallow and rocky stream that is being a published author. Still learning to read that stream. Still trying to find where the trout hide. Still trying to find some words that will last so I cast my fly, hoping to get that lunker to rise.

Yeah, change is good.

You talkin' to me?

2007-08-27T10:25:00.000-05:00

Last night I found myself writing a particularly violent scene in book #2 of the Phil Riley Novels and I confess, it made me a bit queasy. Geez, I'm kinda getting into this, I found myself thinking. Method acting for actors is a commonly accepted approach to "getting into a character's head" - why shouldn't it be the same for writers? I don' recall Robert DiNero donning a Mohawk and gunning down pimps. I think that would have made the papers. So clearly, playing Travis Bickle hasn't had a lasting impact on his psyche. Maybe I'll be okay then, huh? Maybe I won't become a psychopathic killer like the characters in my novels, huh? But what does it mean if I don't mind writing violent scenes?

You talkin' to me?

Rain, rain, go away...

2007-08-23T13:42:00.001-05:00

It's been raining a fair amount lately. Nothing like what's been hitting Middle America or my friends down on the Yucatan and the Caribbean, but a nice steady rain with an occasional downpour. For me, this kind of rain is a meditative thing. It makes me drowsy to the point where I only have the energy to take a nap. Tough to get out of bed in the morning when the skies are gray.

But there is something magical about being on the water in a rain shower. It seems to quiet everything - it's a hush thrown over the proceedings. Sure, if you are clipping along, the rain can be like pin pricks to the face, but overall, there is a solemnity to the whole thing. You feel like you are part of something larger than yourself. You feel contected to the rhythms of the world as only a boat on big water can. You slip and slide with the water. You are embraced by water. You have become one with the water.

These are the things I think about while I lay in bed trying to find the will to get up on a rainy day. But then my wife turns off the shower and that's my cue to throw away the covers and take the helm of a new day.

Books and Pie....

2007-08-14T09:53:00.001-05:00

....two of my favorite things....

Had a signing at my local bookstore Back to Books this last weekend. Had a great time! Ate some KeyLime Pie from one of my favorite local restaurants (they play Buffett tunes!), munched a few cookies, signed a couple books and chatted with folks I haven't seen in some time - or have never met. Always good to come out from behind the computer and chat with the readers of the work you've toiled over.

The folks as BtB do a great job and their creaky floored store is a treasure to browse. Diane and Miah and the rest of the crew have a keen eye for talented authors (thus my appearance of course) and have a hellava regional section. You should be able to find something that interests you. And if you are picky, they can order anything you want - if it's still in print that is.

Thanks to everyone that came out - and a special thank you to the crew at Back to Books!

Adventures on Route 66

2007-07-24T10:47:00.000-05:00

At Thrillerfest I had the pleasure of attending a presentation by David Morrell regarding his passion for Route 66 - the television show. I found it fascinating to learn from David's inspirations on how he came to writing and telling stories. Maybe I found it fascinating because they parallel mine. As a story teller, TV and movies have inspired me as well.

And last week I found myself in the great Southwest cruising along the old Route 66 thinking of David and the way it used to be. I stopped in Santa Rosa New Mexico for lunch at Joseph's Bar and Grill - and stepped back in time. But in a good way. I saw the way the "old" west was. Quiet, sun-baked, friendly people of blended races - Indian, Mexican, Anglo - all living under the wide open skies. I felt free there somehow. In small towns I often feel confined - trapped in a small cage, pacing. But not in Santa Rosa. Not on Route 66. I felt the wide open skies and the wide open spaces. I walked past the crumbling adobe buildings and felt the dry heat bake my skin. I looked into dark brown eyes and saw contentment and peace. Santa Rosa. Freedom. Peace. Tranquilty. Now I realize more than ever why David Morrell loved that television show so much.

NYC, it's an adult portion....

2007-07-17T14:40:00.000-05:00

As Chris Everheart reminded me, Levon Helm of The Band once said about NYC: "NYC, it's an adult portion."

Damn straight.

Just got back from Thrillerfest where I and fellow Midwesterners Kelly Keady and Chris Everheart took in the "sights and sounds" of the Big Apple. What a weekend - I'm not even sure where to begin. How about the beginning?

The organization honored 22 of us new authors with a breakfast where I got a minute to speak about myself and my book. At first I thought a minute wasn't very long - until I saw the sea of faces looking back at me. One minute can be very long indeed. But judging by the photo above, I didn't project that nervousness, although I think I stared at my book the entire time.

Then it was off to panels and discussions and networking and trying not to look or act too much like an asshole. Do no harm is the first rule at these things. Moderately successful on that front I think. Met some terrific people and I know I'll forget most of their names the next time we meet so I apologize now for that.

I did a couple signings for the book and here I am next to another debut author Sean Chercover. Picked up his book for the flight home - I'm a big James Crumley fan and I now have someone to fill that void 'cause Crumley doesn't write much anymore. Sean's Big City, Bad Blood is PI fiction at its best. And that's the lovely Jennifer from the equally lovely island of Barbados - and yes, Sean is stealing my women fans as fast as I make them....

I was on a panel with the great David Morrell and we chatted about heroes that aren't your typical hero. My guy being a dive shop operator qualified. Bright guy, and a huge fan of the old TV show Route 66. He gave a little presentation one night and I found it fascinating - and an intimate look into David's life and influences. It's those moments that I find fascinating - getting behind the green curtain and seeing the complete man.

More to come I'm sure, but my brain is still thick with all that's happened the past couple days. Time to hit the hammock and decompress. Margarita please....

Be good and you will be lonesome

2007-07-02T21:22:00.001-05:00

Be good and you will be lonesome
Be lonesome and you will be free
Live a lie and you will live to regret it
That's what living is to me
-Jimmy Buffett

The 4th of July. Independence Day. Choosing our own destiny.

As the years of my life wind on, choosing my own destiny becomes increasingly important to me. It's one of the reasons I write. Hell, it might be the main reason. I know that. I write because I can control the story. I can control the life of my characters in a way that I find difficult in my own. I can choose their destiny. I can give them their independence.

And in so doing, I give myself some independence too. I live a life a little less lonesome; a life with a little less regret. Everyday I write I give myself a new independence day. Everyday I write I live less of a lie. And that's what living is to me.

In a nutshell

2007-06-27T10:24:00.000-05:00

I'm off to Thrillerfest in a couple weeks and they will be honoring me and some other first time authors with a little breakfast get-together to chat about ourselves and our books. But they've only given me 60 seconds to do it. Gee, 60 seconds isn't very long. I've lived a 40+ year life; I've written a 300+ page novel. Not sure how I'm going to squeeze all that living into 60 seconds. I guess I'll have to give them the "nutshell" version of my life and writing.

I was born. I grew up. I loved. I got married. I loved some more. I died. Yeah, pretty much in that order....

No way to go....

2007-06-19T16:01:00.000-05:00

I read the article below in my local paper a few days back. It seemed funny at first - bizarre for sure. But then I got to thinking - I don't want to go out that way. I want to go out with a little dignity; a little class. I don't want my obit to read I was chasing a cell phone down a sewer drain. Seems a bit symbolic eh?

Sheboygan man drowns in sewer
SHEBOYGAN, Wis., June 7 (UPI)

A 41-year-old man drowned in Sheboygan, Wis., while trying to retrieve his cell phone from a storm sewer. Lt. Tim Eirich of the Sheboygan Police Department said the man, who weighed more than 300 pounds, was wedged in the storm drain with his head and shoulders under water, said the Sheboygan Press Thursday.

He was unconscious when he was pulled out of the drain and was pronounced dead upon arrival at the Aurora Sheboygan Memorial Medical Center.

Police said the deceased man's name is being withheld until his relatives are notified.

Neighbor Chris Van Erem and a local child were the first people on the scene to try and rescue the man, but his weight proved too much for them and they called 911.

"I could see his head and his shoulders were completely under the water," van Erem said. "His legs weren't moving. He was completely unresponsive."

Sheboygan County Coroner David Leffin has ruled the man's death an accident.

Fishing the Serengeti

2007-06-12T20:53:00.000-05:00

Some of you might be surprised to learn that the original title for "Running Wrecked" was "Fishing the Serengeti." Yeah, kinda out there as far as titles go. That's why, in their infinite wisdom, my publisher changed the title. But the concept behind the first title is still there in the book, of course. That being, that Phil is a fish out of water in the situation he finds himself in. He is a figurative fish swimming in a place he shouldn't be.

I re-took up fly fishing last year after a long hiatus from it and I'm finding I'm a bit of a fish out of water with the whole fishing thing. I think it's that I don't do it enough to get good at the casting and reading the river and "matching the hatch" but I do the best I can. I dutifully ask my local shop "what's biting" and Mike just looks at me and sets me up with about 700 different flies to try knowing that I'll lose most of them in the trees or to my not so "improved" clinch knot.

But I'm trying and I'm learning and like Phil I'm learning that learning is all part of the game. That you have to do in order to improve. That the game of life is one long, never ending homework assignment. But at least I get to do this homework standing in a stream.

breathe in, breathe out....

2007-06-05T07:48:00.000-05:00

“There are only two things in life,
and I forget what they are.”
-John Hiatt

I was at a baseball game the other night with a friend, sitting between her and her son – a young, virile, handsome 17-year-old boy. We settle in and he strikes up a conversion with this young lady in the row in front of us. They get to chatting about things. She knows him because she’s seen him around town or some lame thing and then she asks, “Is that your Dad?” and points to me. I immediately flagged down the beer man and ordered two…for myself.

Look, I’m not a vain guy, really. No really, I’m not. I am what I am, moving along the path of life at a clip I consider reasonable. I’m happy with the accomplishments I’ve reached and I certainly don’t have a dearth of shiny and sparkling dreams to chase. There is a lot of life ahead of me and I’m looking forward to running it all down.

Although I do have this “slight” memory “problem” creeping up on me. Oh, don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. It’s not like I can’t hide my own Easter eggs - yet. But on occasion, I do have to stop and think about where I put the car keys. I attribute this memory “issue” to having too much going on in my life. Overload or something like that. The damn CPU that is my life is running at 100% most of the time. That little green line is flat-lined at the top of the graph.

So I’ve been taking more time for myself lately. Taking my retirement a little bit at a time (extra credit for those that know where that line comes from) and letting my mind rest a bit. Occasionally, you need to stop, fire up a nice Montecristo cigar, have a wee dram of Clynelish and enjoy the sweet, sweet summertime. Sit on the deck and listen to the neighborhood kids scream and hoot. Smile a self-satisfied smile that the rabbit you are watching is eating your neighbor’s flowers and not yours. Yeah, these days are certainly growing shorter and not longer, and I don’t want to forget to take time to enjoy them.

Blowing Bubbles....

2007-05-29T14:30:00.000-05:00

Photo Courtesy of Superior Trips

I don't do as much cold water diving as I used to. I guess I've gotten a bit lazy as I've grown older - it's a lot easier rolling off a boat into 80 degree water than it is 39 degree water and I'm sure that has something to do with it. But I'm in the middle of writing the follow-up to "Wrecked" and there is, of course, some diving going on in this one too. And this time, some of the diving is done in the Great Lakes.

I've made many a dive in Lake Superior and I'm looking back on those dives as inspiration for these scenes. Some of the best diving I've ever done was around Isle Royale out in middle of Lake Superior. And one of my favorite dives is on the wreck of the Emperor. It's a spooky feeling dropping through that green haze and having that big ship open up before your eyes. She's a bit banged up now, but there is still a significant amount to see on her - especially if you poke around in the engine room.

All this reminiscing has got me wondering where my dry suit is and whether Ken's got an empty spot on a spring charter.....

This is war

2007-05-22T20:49:00.000-05:00

I live in a neighborhood where everyone takes pretty good care of their lawn - and I like to think they think the same of my yard. Yeah, we've got a couple guys with the fancy auto sprinklers and their yards are neon green all summer long. Not me. I'm a bit old fashioned when it comes to watering in particular and lawn care in general. I'm not one of those wacky reel mower guys - I like a nice internal combustion engine - but I kinda like hauling the hoses around the yard. It's therapeutic watching that pulsing sprinkler do its magic dance that I choreographed by adjusting those little silver pins.

But I think I'm up against it this year. I've been invaded by pests! I've got these unsightly yellow spots scattered across the yard - and in particular the front yard for all to see. This simply won't do. The shame of it makes me leave the house before dawn so I don't have to face my neighbors derisive laughs. So, through rigourous investigation - and a quick question to one of the auto sprinkler guys - I've determined that I've got "lawn pests." Off to the lawn and garden store I go and buy a big ass bag of insecticide. I've only got a modest "city lot" so I think I purchased enough to do the whole block. But in this case I figure more is better. One must have reinforcements when one goes into battle, yes? I've got the 101st Airborne in reserve - figurativley speaking. I will win this battle and I will win this war and I will have the respect of my neighbors once again. Just don't let you kids play in my yard for a few months.....

Dreams of sailboats dance in my head....

2007-05-16T15:51:00.000-05:00

Yup. I know it's springtime when I start to dream about getting a sailboat. My current love is the J80 by J Boats. I've been lucky enough to sail a couple and they are fast, maneuverable and stable. A truly fine sailboat. But I've got a basement (oh sorry, "lower level") to finish and furnish so this dream may have to stay a dream for the time being. I hate it when reality gets in the way of my dreams....

So Cruel....

2007-05-07T19:52:00.000-05:00

As I've mentioned before, music plays a significant role in my life and my writing. And because my tastes in music run the spectrum from crooners like Tony Bennett to fun loving troubadors like Jimmy Buffett I have a lot of music to draw from for various moods that I might be in - or be writing about.

I'm currently writing the follow-up to my first novel Running Wrecked and I'm finding myself exploring the darker side of human nature. So for musical inspiration, I wandered over to the CD rack and started from the bottom looking for those albums that I haven't listened to in some time. The ones that slowly got rotated to the bottom as the new stuff came in. And there, on the bottom, I came across an all-time favorite that I hadn't listened to in some time - Achtung Baby by the Irish group U2. And on this album is a tune called "So Cruel." The first stanza goes:

We crossed the line

Who pushed who over?

It doesn't matter to you

It matters to me

The song is about a personal relationship gone bad - but it means more to me. It speaks to the cruelty we can inflict on each other without realizing the consequences of our actions. We cross the line everyday - and do we realize it? Who pushed who? Does it matter? It matters to me.

The first print review....

2007-05-03T22:03:00.000-05:00

The other day my publicist showed me my first review of "Wrecked." I was a little nervous when he said he had a review for me - you never know how people are going to react to your work. I've had several people read my writing before - and they've never been shy with their comments - but this was different. Having someone outside your circle commenting on your writing is completely different than the people you know and hand pick to read your work. This is putting it out there.

But this is why writers write. To see the reactions of others when they read the words you put on the page. It's actually a great honor - having someone take their valuable time to read something that you cooked up. You hope you've done a decent enough job not to have completely wasted their time. Because in the end, I'm a story teller. And if I've bored you - if I've not entertained you - then I've done you a great disservice. I have failed you.

So in the end, reviews aren't really about me. They are about the reader. Because as a storyteller, it's the reader I serve.

What face today?

2007-04-25T20:51:00.000-05:00

I'm writing the follow-up to "Wrecked" and I always start with a theme when I begin a project. For "Wrecked" the theme was seeing what you wanted to see based some event in your life. That and the animal nature of man and his ability to inflict cruelty upon others. I guess I haven't said enough on the latter because that's what Book 2 is all about. The duality of man's personality - his ability for kindness and his ability to be cruel. You see it everyday. Hell, I do it everyday. I open a door for an elderly lady and I yell at a guy that is moving too slow on the interstate. I guess we all wear different faces at different times of the day - and at different times of our lives. I wonder what face I wear the most? I wonder what others think about my many faces? I wonder if I'll ever be enlightened enough to only wear the gentle face?

Home is the sailor, home from the sea

2007-04-08T21:23:00.000-05:00

One of the joys of my job is that I get to travel the world a bit. I'm off to the United Kingdom next week and I'm planning on spending a few days up in Scotland. And while there, I hope to get to the coastline. No matter where I seem to be, I can't help but be drawn to the sea. It pushes and pulls me, the sea. Like the moon pushes and pulls the tide, we are inseparable the sea and I.

Scotland is also the birthplace of one of my favorite childhood authors, Robert Louis Stevenson.

Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea.
And the hunter home from the hill.

This is the inscription from Stevenson's gravestone. Kinda sums it up for me.

On the wrong bus...

2007-04-06T09:41:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is a pity posting. Just feeling a little out of sorts these days. Like I got on the wrong bus and they won't let me off. But I'm off to Jolly Old England next week and to one of my favorite cities on the planet, London, so that should cheer me up- I think. I just hope I don't get on the wrong bus over there.....

I think it might be the weather. Last week it was 80 degrees and now it's 17. I'm too old for that kind of roller coaster ride. But the sun is warm and the taxes are paid so it's all down hill from here.

Back to the islands...

2007-03-31T16:34:00.000-05:00

Been thinking of the islands again...they never seem to be far from my mind. A couple buddies and I are planning a sailing trip to the British Virgin Islands this fall and we've started kicking around possible "sail plans." As we figure, the only good sail plan is the plan that includes plenty of bars. One not to miss is the Willie T - as it is affectionately called. There is always a significant amount of "silliness" that goes on at the Willie T - but that's what the place is for. To cut loose and leave your worries behind 'mon. I guess we all could use a little bit of that now and then.

Write of Spring

2007-03-24T17:25:00.000-05:00

I popped into Write of Spring over at the fantastic Once Upon a Crime bookstore here in the Mini-Apple. They do this open house thing every year to allow their customers to meet and get books signed by MN authors - all on one day. Pat took pity on me and let me crash the party as I'm a WI boy. It's a great event and clearly demonstrates how a smart independent bookstore can distinguish themselves from a chain. Don't get me wrong, I love all bookstores as long as they sell my book - but there is something truly special about an independent mystery bookstore. No Borders or B&N could pull something like this off.

As I mentioned above, I really was a party crasher there as my book doesn't come out for a couple more months so I didn't have anything to contribute to the sales process. But I got some yummy lemonade and cookies and got to chat with some authors and rub elbows with some knowledgeable readers. A guy could spend a worse couple hours on a warm spring day. And it does the soul good to see that in these days of big boxes and loss-leader fantasy novels that a smart bookstore can thrive - and have fun doing it.

Don't let the hat fool ya....

2007-03-21T23:07:00.000-05:00

Inkspot is off and running and I couldn't be prouder of the bunch of writers I'm associated with. Okay, maybe not all of them...

Midnight Ink has compiled a truly eclectic mix of mysteries and suspense novels - if you can't find someone that suits your taste, you aren't looking hard enough.

And damnit we like to have some fun! I wrote about Bill Cameron a few blogs back and his book "Lost Dog" just hit the shelves. You owe yourself a copy....

Electricity is magic

2007-03-17T20:45:00.000-05:00

I'm in the final stages - well okay maybe not the final stages but gettin' there - of finishing off my basement. I've been told I need to call it a "lower level" now that it has sheetrock and paint and I'm trying, but it's been a basement for so long it's hard to stop.

But this wiring thing, quite frankly, scares me to death. And I know why. It's magic. You can't see it. You can't touch it - or at least you shouldn't. You can't smell it - and if you can you've done something terribly wrong. And I'm not the only one. A fellow Wisconsin writer thinks the same thing too. Read his wonderful book and you'll know my plight because we are kindred spirits when it comes to this sorcery called electricity.

But I sail 7 ton sailboats. I dive to shipwrecks that are 120 feet down in Lake Superior. I should be able to handle a couple switches and outlets shouldn't I? Oh yeah you betcha...

As you can see by the photo above, I'm all about taking precautions. I don't know what is "hot" so I cover everything! And furthermore, I shut the power off to the entire house when I change a lightbulb. Momma didn't raise no fool....

On the nightstand...

2007-03-09T10:01:00.000-06:00

I've been on a pretty good streak lately of finding new authors to fall in love with. There are so many fine writers out there - it's pretty damn hard to keep up.

Bermuda Schwartz

Bob Morris

I don't normally read "comedic Florida" mysteries but I'm really taken with Zack - the ex-football player turned reluctant PI. I read this while lounging on the beach in Mexico and it was perfect - you hear people talk about a "beach read" - this is it. Fast paced, funny and has a "twist" at the end that will make this series move in very interesting directions.

Blue Edge of Midnight

Jonathon King

King hardly needs my endorsement - he won an Edgar for this book. It's fantastic. Relatively simple plot - no one is trying to blow up the Astro Dome or anything - but the deftly drawn characters and the beautifully rendered setting really draw you in. This is a human drama - not a "high concept" plot driven book. And that's what I like - I think you will too.

Stealing the Dragon

Tim Maleeny

Tim's cover might win the sexiest cover of the year award - and the cover clues you into the real hook of the book. The story is centered around a PI by the name of Cape Weathers but it's Sally that stole the show for me and the cover ostensibley tells us that. I'm looking forward to more Sally and Cape adventures.

Lost Dog

Bill Cameron

Another cool cover - and this image doesn't do it justice. It's got a metallic sheen to it that makes you want to pick it up. And you won't be disappointed you did. Peter McKrall isn't your typical hero - but then neither is Phil Riley of Running Wrecked fame.... But I have a soft spot for unconventional protagonists as I've long been a fan of Kem Nunn and his surfer books. Lost Dog reminded me of Nunn in the best ways - confident writing, keen attention to setting, and a protagonist that you'd walk by on the street and never think he'd have a story to tell.

It's all in the details....

2007-03-02T10:16:00.000-06:00

I hated Dickens when I read him back in High School. Too much description - get to the action please.... I like authors that sprinkle those odd and occasional details that allow you to build an image of a place or person, without having to know their cholesterol count. I read because I want to put myself within that novel and live along side the characters. I do that best when I'm given a telling detail - a kernal of information that I can build off of. I like to "fill in the blanks" with my own thoughts.

I was recently back on one of my favorite islands - Cozumel - at one of my favorite bars - Mescalitos - having one of their deadly hand grenade size margaritas and I found this "shrine."

I took the above photograph there as the image evoked a story for me - this sad little shrine of lost children's shoes and miscellanous debris. And if you've read the first chapter of my book, you will know why I had to take this photo. Note the "telling detail" on the stick in the upper left quarter of the photo. It's images like this that you - as the reader - can build a story around.

Grammar sucks...

2007-02-16T11:15:00.000-06:00

I've been going through my "author proofs" on the homestretch to getting the book printed and my editor is very busy saving me from myself. I was an English major in college, but I must have slept through all the grammar stuff because the Chicago Manual of Style might as well be written in Russian because it's that foreign to me. I'm not really sure why tenses have to match anyway. And it's okay that I call a character by one name and then change their name later in the story. The reader can figure that out right?

Now I know why NO ONE should ever be self-published. You need a professional to save you from yourself. And Karl, you are my hero!

What do you do?

2007-02-12T20:23:00.000-06:00

I still have to think about that answer when asked. Sure, I've been paid for my writing but I'd hardly say I'm making a living at it. So can I honestly say I'm a writer? I'm not one to quibble about such things usually, but I am a guy that likes a bit of honesty in a conversation. I certainly don't want to mislead anyone. But it's not like I'm telling them I play for the Minnesota Twins - although I caught an orange as it rolled off the counter - I could still play in the show....

Shit, I'm telling people I'm a writer. I wrote a freaking novel for pity's sake! And I'm writing another one too so there! But it still feels kinda weird saying it out loud....

First Blog....

2007-02-07T20:31:00.000-06:00

I’m a writer, but music plays a huge role in my life. And because I write about the Caribbean, it stands to reason that I would be a fan of Jimmy Buffett. And those of you of like mind will certainly get the not so subtle reference to one of the man's songs in the title of my blog. But I get the impression he’s not the suing type so we’ll let it ride for now….

I wonder if other writers work the same way. That is, turn on iTunes and listen while they write. The image of the solitary writer at his desk with the ticking grandfather clock the only sound in the room is not how this writer writes. I don’t like chaos – but silence is deafening to me. Odd as it might sound, I can’t hear anything else but the silence. So how do you write? Are you the ticking grandfather clock type? Or perhaps you too like a little Caribbean soul.