I was born precisely 9 months after Raymond Chandler died.
Perhaps there was only room for one of us at a time.
Perhaps that’s a stretch.
His books are what made me want to write. It took me ages to get a bunch of business books under my belt and develop the courage to try mysteries.
I am particularly proud of my latest effort, A Long, Hard Look. It has been compared to Chandler, though once again, modesty (fear?) forces me to wonder if it’s a stretch.
I call what I write “Chandleresque cozies.” … more … “Who’s Your Mentor?”
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.