Local sports are dying down, or at least the willingness of others to hire me to write about them, for now. The football teams have entered and exited the playoffs. Rain has returned to the Desert Southeast, and smoke from the mountains is at last on the wane.

All I know to do is keep on writing. It’s all I’ve got. As Elvis sang in one of those awful movies he made, “Gotta follow that dream wherever that dream may lee-eee-eeead …”

So far this year, I’ve cranked out two novels and a volume of short stories. Five of them, dating back to 2011 (The Audacity of Dope), 2013 (The Intangibles), and 2015 (Crazy of Natural Causes). This year Forgive Us Our Trespasses hit the worldwide web in the spring and Cowboys Come Home in the fall. Even though I sprang forward, I’m not falling back. The sixth novel is to be entitled Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, though it has absolutely nothing to do with gays in the military. It’ll get its italics when it exists. Longer Songs is a collection of 11 short stories, all of which evolved out of songs I’ve written.

I’m seldom happier than when writing fiction. The rough draft of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is rolling right along, now through almost 60,000 words, 23 chapters, and 210 double-spaced, word-processed pages. It’s a slightly farcical, complicated story of a conspiracy that would explain a lot of strange happenings. It’s closest to Crazy of Natural Causes in uniqueness of content, The Intangibles in size of cast, Forgive Us Our Trespasses in criminal involvement, and The Audacity of Dope in adventurous spirit. Crazy of Natural Causes has a main character who begins the story as a football coach. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell has a character who winds up being one unexpectedly.

This I know so far.

The latest, Cowboys Come Home, is notably different from the other four in that it is a western, albeit set in the 20^th century. It’s the one I’d recommend for teens, meaning, of course, that it’s probably the least likely in which they would show interest. They’d love the ones their parents might not want them to read.

This is the time of year when books are most likely to be purchased. If you’ve read any, perhaps you’d like to try another. If you enjoyed any, perhaps you’d buy it as a gift for a friend with similar taste in literature. If you just happen to follow me on Twitter, Facebook, or other social media, perhaps you’d share or retweet this column. Or the blurbs for each book that show up on my feeds on a regular basis.

“Like” lets me know you like it, and I appreciate the sentiment. “Retweet” or “share” lets me know you want to help, and I appreciate the support.

Short customer reviews are also gratefully acknowledged.

I’m swimming against the current, trying to make it to a distant shore. More and more people write. Less and less people read. What many read comes in frighteningly small snippets.

Throw me a line, how ‘bout it?

I’ve written five novels and a collection of short stories. I’ve also written a number of books about sports, mostly about NASCAR. You can find most of them here.

The Kindle versions of my books, where available, can be found above. Links below are to print editions.

My new novel is a western, Cowboys Come Home.

I’ve written a crime novel about the corrosive effects of patronage and the rise and fall of a powerful politician and his dysfunctional family, Forgive Us Our Trespasses.

I’ve written about what happens to a football coach when he loses everything, Crazy of Natural Causes.

I’ve written a tale of the Sixties in the South, centered on school integration and a high school football team, The Intangibles.

I’ve written a rollicking yarn about the feds trying to track down and manipulate a national hero who just happens to be a pot-smoking songwriter, The Audacity of Dope.

I’ve written a collection of 11 short stories, all derived from songs I wrote, Longer Songs.

 

Follow me on Twitter @montedutton, @hmdutton (about writing), and/or @wastedpilgrim (more opinionated and irreverent). I’m on Facebook (Monte.Dutton), Instagram (TUG50), and Google-Plus (MonteDuttonWriter).