Truman Capote likened the finishing of a novel to taking your child into the back yard and shooting it. As a parent, I’m intrigued by the mind that could have created that sentence. Still, I take his point. I was all but undone by the completion of my previous novel, cried for days, became physically…
I have a story in this called “His Name is Love,” based on the Stephen King story, “The Man Who Loved Flowers.” Here is an excerpt. I’ve been asked to dinner a lot. I reek of dead flowers. I like men, even after everything that’s happened. I mean I like women more, but I don’t…
I’m plugging this for a friend, long time after I said I would, but you should check it out. Thin Walls Press. Some cool little stories. Always room for more word places.
I write this in bed. I am reviewing books, having a look at courses I’ve been invited to teach, waiting on a call-back, and on a submitted story. And did I mention that I’m in bed? I mean, specifically, bed at 1 pm, surrounded by cords and open laptops and phones and legal pads and…
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