A Cry for Help, or, at Least, Reading

I’m just about to dive into the 21st chapter of my next – and sixth – novel, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, which is a few paragraphs shy of 50,000 words in its first draft. Italics will be added when it’s published. But first! A warm-up. La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-lah! Get the old digits cranking like pistons! My urgency …

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Them Steadily Depressing, Lowdown, Mind-Messing Social Media Blues

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 …

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