"Why do they [write] for their money? Why do they [work] for short pay? They ain't getting nowhere and they're losing their share. They must have gone crazy back there." — Michael Burton (paraphrased)
Clinton, South Carolina, Saturday, March 18, 2017, 10:25 a.m. It’s been a lovely cruise, this week. Other than a couple cold nights at athletic fields, it was mainly noteworthy for what I am doing now, which is typing in various directions. This wasn’t nose-to-the-grindstone typing, in part because I own no grindstones, but also because …
With about thirty minutes to spare before the Tampa Bay-Boston baseball game commenced, and an hour ahead of my weekly radio appearance on South Carolina SportsTalk, I put a fourth novel to bed. It's an appropriate term: "to bed." It's not like I buried it, but it's a little like sending a kid off …
No, I’m still not through with the first draft of Forgive Us Our Trespasses. This morning I completed the forty-fourth chapter. It’s getting there. Two or three chapters more, and a postscript. I would write “you can’t force these things,” but maybe you can. I can’t. As I bring this crime story to a close, …
How does one write? It’s sort of like asking a baseball fan, how does one keep score? Why, there’s only one way to keep score. The way it works for you. Or, uh, one. Awkward or not. It’s a matter of person. If one starts in third, one stays there. No gear shifting. It’s got …
Nightrider's Lament 