The novel, now in Kindle format, is available on Amazon as of 9/26, God willing and the creek don’t rise. It’s $4.99.
I am grateful beyond measure to several people who were particularly supportive, especially Mark Pemburn, who formatted the text for Kindle and helped me navigate the technical aspects of e-publishing. Karen Klinedinst started the whole process by helping me create this cool website, and Betsy Boyd profiled my e-pub process in Baltimore Fishbowl. Chris Stewart’s masterful pitch-writing seminar was terrific and helped me define what the story was really about. Louis Maistros applied the styptic pencil and got me back in the ring countless times, giving me excellent counsel and designing one hell of a cover. Leslie Miller took the nice author picture that also appears on this site.
I’m especially grateful to everyone who’s read The Blurred Girl and to those who are about to. Of these good folks I’ll just make one more request: If you like it, please tell your friends.
My mother always wanted me to tell her that she’d done right by me, that she was a good mom and did a good job. When I was old enough to really understand what she was asking of me—to reduce the most complicated relationship of my life to a true/false question—I told her yesofcourse, even though there was no way I could answer. Continue reading →
In the 1970s you would most likely drive through Coolidge on your way to somewhere else. You might be headed for Warwick, a proper city with a large university, a dance company, a minor league baseball team, and plenty to do. With so many little rills of new development coalescing into one big river between more major towns and cities, you’d think that Coolidge had been forgotten, and you’d be almost right. Even now, something about Coolidge remains unmoved, the center of a diminishing ring of old forest. Continue reading →
When I was three years old I saw a burned man standing in the back yard. It was summer; the windows were open and I had been put to bed before dark. I was wearing cotton plisse pajamas, and the air smelled of honeysuckle and crushed grass. I could hear the television muttering to itself in the living room, and the air was cool and blue. Continue reading →