"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)
It's dripping rain in the Poconos. It's iffy at Baltusrol. It's hot as fire here, but it's supposed to rain tomorrow. If the afternoon arrives and the race is delayed, I'm not going to watch NASCAR drivers pet their puppies (um, woe be unto thy dirty minds) in the motorcoach lot. I may mow the …
Continue reading Them Steadily Depressing, Lowdown, Mind-Messing Social Media Blues
I have a clue where the next novel is headed. I can see the general direction. Out on the horizon lies a lovely sunset. I've just got to figure out how to get there. As the cowboy in the old Texas tune "I'm a Ro-Deo-Deo-Deo Cowboy (Bordering on the Insane)" expresses: Gimme a beer or …
The Boston Red Sox were off Monday night. They're playing the San Francisco Giants at Fenway Park tonight. Although there were a couple movies in which I had some interest, I idly watched the Republican National Convention out of perverse fascination. It was similar to the reason why, a week earlier, I inexplicably watched an …
First of all, the title is perfect. Wild Whistling Blackbirds. The title of my upcoming western, Cowboys Came Home, came quickly, but, usually, a title doesn't come to me until I'm well into the first draft. Here, it's as if author Allen Kent came up with this splendid title, rooted in poetry, and built the …
At the moment, I'm watching many people younger than I oversimplifying the life of Muhammad Ali. TV is often awash in glaring generalities. I'm also having a devil of a time with this blog. Lately I'm stuck in a blogging rut. I use blogs as warm-ups for more challenging activities, oh, like, maybe the conclusion …
Tuesday was another walking contradiction, particularly since I didn't do much walking. I'd been paying attention to really important matters on Monday -- a rained-out stock car race about which the Bleacher Report pays me to write, college baseball regionals, general early-week angst -- and the grass needed cutting, and I'd spent Tuesday morning writing about …
Continue reading She Said, ‘Mama, Got a Note Here from the Harper Valley PTA’
Friends, I didn't always write these novels. For the better part of thirty-five years, I was known for eighteen-inch stories in newspapers, and for the final twenty, they generally consisted of tales of race cars running wide-ass open around and around. I still rely on such tales for spending money. If journalism still ran on …
This morning I'm feeling paralyzed. I need to write about cowboys in 1946, and my mind is stuck in the present. I've tried sticking planks under the tires. I've jammed the gears. Nothing. So I decided to ruminate here. I'm thinking. I'm thinking. Here's the transition I've been making, and it may be unduly influenced …
In the first place, I'm no Trekkie, but, if you're going to quibble about technical discrepancies between my short story and the wealth of data available on the Star Trek franchise, it won't bother me. The point I'm trying to make is unrelated to outer space. Besides, frontiers are common. Captain's Log, …
I remember when I first heard of Don McLean and "American Pie." It was a little over forty-four years ago. I was in the library of Bell Street Middle School, reading Time magazine. At about the same time, maybe even the same day, I read an article about James Taylor. I still tell people …
Nightrider's Lament 