I could probably title every post I ever write with a quote from O Brother, Where Art Thou?
When Pete says the above to Everett, his reply is one of the foundations of art: “It’s a fool who looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart.”
During the final proofreading of A Long, Hard Look James discovered a logical anomaly. Since that’s part of his job, he done good. Next book he proofs, I expect no less.
I’m leaving it the way it is. Here’s why: … more … “That Don’t Make NO Sense”
I’m working on a light mystery novella. (It’s either a big novella or a short novel. Seems I keep hitting the word count just between established norms. Surprise.)
Been posting a 1,000-word chapter every weekday at my personal blog; 17 so far. Start reading Chapter 1 now. Unless you have an important appointment in the next hour. Think potato chips.
What Readers Say:
I love it so far!! – Rebeccah
I love the way you continue raising questions to be answered throughout the chapters instead of just having the murder itself as the puzzle. That made for a great hook. – Elizabeth
A guitarist I once knew said he had a friend who wanted a band to play at his anniversary party.
I said “Take the gig, and we’ll put a band together.”
He blinked a couple times and said “I find your level of confidence disturbing.”
Since I grew up (at the age of 43) I’ve often leapt from airplanes with a silkworm instead of a parachute. It lends immediacy to the task.
I chickened out just a little and didn’t tell you about this until I was 11,000 words in, but I’m writing another light mystery, a 1,000-word chapter at a time, over on my personal blog. It’s called A Long Hard Look.
I have an idea where the story will go, just as when you leap from an airplane you’re fairly certain of your destination.
Getting there in one piece, though, is not a foregone conclusion.
It was good to be back in Ireland. My annual trips to Sligo had not only helped my understanding of the ancient language of the land, but given me an almost native comprehension of the modern as well.
It was a warm morning for Sligo; the sea breeze was usually cooler this time of year. Doesn’t matter; I’ll just lay here a bit longer; eyes closed, pondering the first cup of tea like you can’t get anywhere else in the world. Milk, not cream; no sugar, please.
The pain in my temple made me shoot upright in bed, which not only made the pain worse, but confused me immensely—there was no reason I should be in Sligo right now; the first glimpse of the room confirmed that, indeed, I was not.
I should, in fact, have been on the floor of the shed outside this house, not lying in my underwear in a feather bed in an upstairs bedroom.
Memory; that’s it, I’ve been having trouble with my memory.
An excerpt from my book, “Through the Fog: An Irish Advenure”. It is available at Amazon.
Just as Rex Stout became a writer late in life, I became a fan of his writing late in life. Though I was already a teenager by the time A Family Affair was published as Stout’s last Nero Wolfe novel, I didn’t discover the books until I was in my fifties.
I have no interest in writing the definitive treatise on Stout or Wolfe. You can find ten times as many words as Stout ever wrote written about his writings with even a superficial search.
What fascinates me, what draws me to Stout, is my belief that he would have recognized some of himself in me. … more … “Archie and Saul and Fritz and Fred and even Orrie: Nero Wolfe’s Family”