Tag: Writing

  • “Strange News” in-person events

    “Strange News” in-person events

    I have three in-person events scheduled for this summer, related to my new novel Strange News. I may add more later, but for now this is the schedule. Come out and say hello!

    • Saturday, June 14, 6:00 pm, Ozark Folkways, 22733 N Hwy 71, Winslow, AR – Reading, book signing, informal Q&A, snacks. Books for sale.
    • Thursday, June 19, 6:30 pm, Pearl’s Books, 28 E Center St, Fayetteville, AR – Reading, book signing, informal Q&A. Books for sale.
    • Wednesday, July 9, 2:00 pm, West Fork Public Library, 198 W Main St, West Fork, AR – Reading, book signing, informal Q&A, snacks. Books for sale.

  • Strange News!

    As everyone is no doubt aware, I have another novel coming out on May 3, called Strange News. The book is starting to appear at various online retailers for pre-orders now. It is available in hardcover, paperback, and e-book; if you don’t see it in your format yet, check back later. It’ll get there.

    About the book: I should tell you that Strange News is a fantasy, which is a genre that I haven’t attempted before (except in short stories).

    This is not what the publishers call “high” fantasy. Nobody waves a sword, or rides a horse to work. They don’t communicate via crystal balls or bowls of sparkly magic water. People in my book have cellphones and they take the bus. They have jobs, they have pets, they live in houses and apartments, not Hobbit-holes or castles. There are no elves, no orcs, no wizards with long beards and posh British accents. There’s just an ordinary guy with bad knees and a weakness for sweets who stumbles into something wild.

    Something that changes his world forever.

    Click here to see a list of available retailers, and a schedule of in-person events!

  • “The Woman At Front Two”

    “The Woman At Front Two”

    Image of burned-out matches.

    The woman at table Front Two does not look happy.

    This seems wildly unfair, given that she is drop-dead gorgeous and reeks of money. I am at a stage in my life where I’m sure having a hot body and a little extra cash would solve all my problems, with some self-esteem left over to share with friends and acquaintances. The woman in the caramel-colored suit and white silk blouse should be lighting up that end of the room; instead, she’s generating her own gravity, pulling the light down into herself and smothering it.

    Maybe she just needs a nice slice of cheesecake.

    “More coffee?”

    “Please.”

    I top up her cup and stand back. “Anything else I can do for you?”

    She takes a sip. I admire her bracelet, a chunky thing made of grayish-blue stones the color of a fresh bruise. She looks up at me, and I see that her eyes are the same color.

    “I think that’s highly unlikely, don’t you?” she says.

    (more…)

  • “Pirates”

    The visitor wore cargo shorts two sizes too big, a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, grimy canvas deck shoes, and a blond ponytail.

    “No, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t have a library card. I’m a pirate.”

    Kellie Lovell didn’t bat an eyelash. Situations like this came with her job.

    “In that case, you won’t be able to take any materials out of the building.”

    The man smiled. He was missing a tooth on the left side, lower jaw.

    “Yes, ma’am. I understand. Where I’m staying, I don’t have much room for books.”

    The librarian nodded. She assumed that the visitor was living in one of two nearby facilities, a homeless shelter and an assisted-living center, which together provided a number of unusual library visitors every week.

    “Tell me again the name of the ship?”

    “It’s the Bountiful Bess,” the visitor said. “She was the Battling Bess, but me and my friends, we changed the name. We didn’t want to give the wrong impression.”

    (more…)

  • “Volcano”

    In the westernmost part of the African nation of Cameroon lies Lake Nyos.

    As lakes go, Nyos is not all that large, a bit less than four hundred acres. It is an expanse of still water surrounded by fertile green hills, occupying a crater on the side of an inactive—mostly inactive—volcano, the water held in place by a natural dam of old lava. To all appearances, this is a peaceful, green place.

    Far beneath Nyos, however, lies another lake, this one of molten rock, a survivor of the days when volcanoes reared fiery heads, and the region was racked by earthquakes and eruptions. Gases rising from that crucible gradually work their way up through fifty miles of solid rock to the surface, where they escape one prison only to be trapped again, this time by the weight of the lake on top of them. The carbon dioxide escaping from the magma below has accumulated for eons, with hundreds of thousands of tons of gas slowly becoming trapped in the cold waters of the deep lake bottom.

    (more…)

  • “The Late Blonde”

    The dead blonde in the babydoll nightie was fast becoming a nuisance.

    Danny Zickell struggled to keep his mind on his playing, watching the apparition sashay among the tables. She was mouthing the lyrics to “I Surrender Dear,” her eyes half closed in what she undoubtedly believed was an expression of soulful concentration, while the ostrich-feather trim of her outfit swayed gently in counterpoint to the music.

    Under any other circumstances, Danny would have been happy to look at Emily DuCaine all night long: she was five-five, curvy and blonde, with the kind of big, blue eyes that made you feel like you were the only man in the world. Silky Maloney had undoubtedly thought he was the only man in Emily’s world right up until he caught her sharing a sweet little love nest with a trombone player on the fourth floor of the Olympia Hotel.

    (more…)

  • “Rimbaud”

    During the years I’ve lived in this city, the hotel at the corner of Centennial and Eleventh Avenue has been a Hyatt, a Marriott, and before both of those, something called the University Suites. Tonight, it is a Hilton. By Christmas, it will be a Best Western.

    Someday, they’ll throw in the towel and tear the place down, but not until long after I’ve moved on. The old girl still has a couple of dances left in her; La Quinta and Holiday Inn have yet to take her out onto the floor.

    It’s not a bad hotel, and its location is supremely visible, on one of the busiest intersections at that end of town, within walking distance of two hospitals. That said, it’s noisy, and the parking deck is impossible to get in and out of during rush hour.

    (more…)

  • Nothing if not critical …

    • “The Art Critic”, by Normal Rockwell

    The death of writer and television personality Robert Hughes in 2012 was an event that did not exactly shake western civilization to its roots. His television shows “The Shock of the New” (1980) and “American Visions” (1997) had brought him some fame in the rarefied air of the BBC/PBS universe, but despite a long and wide-ranging career – he penned an  overview of the early European colonization of his native Australia, he contributed to an array of newspapers and magazines, and he even hosted (for one week, before being replaced by Hugh Downs) the ABC television news magazine “20/20” – to most people outside the art world he was almost unknown at the time of his death.

    With or without fame, in his views on art Robert Hughes was passionate, pompous, often obnoxious, but he was also unfailingly erudite and articulate, and he left us more aware and better-informed than he found us.

    (more…)