Archive for the ‘fiction’ Category

So, years and years ago, before the internet and Mario Kart, when I was first toying with the idea of writing, I sent Stephen King a short note asking if he could give me some sage advice about the craft. Of course, I had no delusions I would actually receive anything back from the man himself, but I did receive several photocopied articles from his envelope stuffer in which he spoke of writing in general. I was a little disappointed in the photocopies. I mean, I could have found the same thing at the library, made my own copies, and mailed them to myself, right?


Anyway, I tossed the whole of it in a desk drawer and it’s made the rounds with me from continent to continent for the last 25 years, a bit dog-eared but still legible. The other day I pulled it out and had the bright idea to go all Star Wars on it and Google the return address: King, 49 Florida Ave., Bangor, ME, 04401.

This is what I found.




In all of the hullabaloo of the past few weeks, I neglected to post a very important announcement on this blog. I’m currently featured on The Authors Show in an interview I did a few weeks ago to discuss my latest book, Cold Currents. Click here to hop on over to my website and have a listen. It’s your chance to shop a new mystery/thriller and explore the twisted mind that gave life to it…

Until we meet again, live long and prosper!

PS…If you’re intrigued, you can get your copy over at Amazon by clicking that blue link back there <–.

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Well, it’s done. The paperback of COLD CURRENTS is available for order on Amazon! If you like the feel of a book in your hand, you’ll love this one. All I ask? Please tell 10 people about it. Sharing your experience with friends and family goes a long way in making CURRENTS a success.  


Get a copy here.


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Well, it is done. My long awaited mystery/thriller series has been launched with the kindle release of COLD CURRENTS! Four years in the making (3 on submission), Bobby Taylor’s dark, thrilling tale of murder, mystery and redemption can finally be shared with the world. Everything I’ve had to say about this journey can be found in earlier posts, so I won’t yada-yada about it further. If you will, check it out here.

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I’m excited about this one, folks. Here’s a taste of what to expect in my upcoming release, COLD CURRENTS, the first book in the new Bobby Taylor mystery/thriller series.

“Thirty years after the shocking murder of Jenny Franklin, followed by the arrest and conviction of his brother Terry, Knoxville Detective Bobby Taylor returns to his North Carolina hometown of Clayton at his aging mother’s request. Reluctant to face his estranged father and make amends after blaming him for not doing more to save his brother, Bobby arrives to discover the head of another young girl has washed up on the banks of the wild Neuse River. Disgusted at the brutality and familiarity of the crime, he realizes the murderous, sadistic monster from his past has returned with a vengeance. His brother’s blood is now on the hands of those who failed to catch the real killer the first time around. Fueled by retribution, and eager to heal his past, Bobby’s determined to bring the true murderer to justice.

Armed with equal parts instinct and desperation, Bobby confronts his broken relationships while chasing a mysterious trail of death that spans thirty years and two continents. Obstacles, lies, and deception face him at every turn as he partners with a tough-as-nails female reporter and a reluctant Chief of Detectives to catch a resurrected killer and vindicate his family’s name. In the end, Bobby finds redemption in a way he could never imagine as the whispers of the river reveal the horrible secrets beneath her swift, cold currents.”

Meanwhile, you can find a quick trailer over on my website , and I’ll have a new cover reveal coming soon!

The Cows Came Home

Posted: November 18, 2015 in fiction, novel, Publishing, Writing

That’s right. After three years of meandering through the literary field of dreams, the cows came home. I did not want them to come home. I was hoping they would find a nice, big literary house and settle down. But they came home today, their heads appearing over the hill as I received word from my second, and beloved, literary agent that our well of acquisition options had run dry. She still loves the book, but what else could she do?

Nothing, that’s what.

That’s the nature of the business. Having an agent and a good manuscript will not guarantee a book deal. Just as having a book deal will not guarantee a runaway bestseller. Bottom line is, even if you’re lucky enough to find an agent, your book is still, and always will be, at the mercy of editorial and personal taste (let’s be honest here, okay?), with a touch of business-driven-literary-trend-thingy thrown in to send the scales one way or another.

That’s where “the buck stops.”

I’ve been riding this emotional rollercoaster, even through a good deal of personal tragedy and setbacks, for three years now. Tonight, my literary future takes yet another turn into the unknown. The book on the chopping block today was Cold Currents, a southern mystery/thriller. It’s a good book, at least according to a lot of people along the way that have read it in advance. And I think the second book I’m writing in the series, The Layers Beneath, will be equally as good, if not better.

All that said, I’ll be publishing Cold Currents on Amazon soon. Hopefully, Layers will not be far behind. It will have good company in my debut novel, Rockapocalypse, and my short story, Anything But, both of which have garnered mostly four and five star reviews. I’d like to think the diverse (and comfortable, if you like series) nature of my books will do well over the coming months and years…

…but only the cows and time will tell.

The cows will head back out soon, in a much different direction, but with a slightly familiar goal. Again, I’ll be praying I never see them again, wishing a few people buy my books, hoping I can eventually make a good go of this literary business. Until then, I have a “gifted” police detective and an aging six-foot-seven Indian bounty hunter to ride shotgun with on a terrifying, white-knuckled chase across the Carolina landscape.

I hope you’ll join us.

There’s always room for one more reader on this crazy ride.

I am not dead.

Not physically, or creatively. But I’m older. And time waits for no one. That said, here’s where the rubber meets the road on this beautiful Spring day: I’m still on a 3-book-deal-seeking submission with my current agent, Stacey Donaghy of the Donaghy Literary Group, for COLD CURRENTS, I’ve parted ways with my second (and latest… and last) publisher for ROCKAPOCALYPSE, and I’ve planted my first garden in many, many years.

Time marches on, unrelenting, making me older and wiser.

Sometimes you have to shift your perspective… or it shifts for you. Mine shifted in a big way a few days ago as I perused my new garden for fresh shoots pushing courageously through the soil. Beginning May 1st I’ll be offering downloads, in various formats, of ROCKAPOCALYPSE and ANYTHING BUT for a small price on my author’s website. Over time, I hope the available selections will grow.

This will not be an easy venture. I’ll need the support of family, friends, associates, and anyone who genuinely loves a good tale. You won’t pay much and I won’t make much, after every part of the machine takes its slice, but that’s not what I wanted anyway. All I ever wanted was to entertain you with imaginary places and people whose lives mirror a bit of the happiness, sorrow and lessons of the heart that we all experience… and to make enough doing it to live a simple life doing what I love. Like the newly sprouted shoot that pushes skyward against great odds, I know I’ll have to be just as strong and tenacious to succeed.Bean seeds germinating shot

Please visit my website if you get a chance, even if it’s just to say “hi” in my guestbook. Your support means the world to me, and gives this old writer a tug on his creative heartstrings.

“…and with that, he was gone in a swoosh of wind and leaves and dust, leaving not so much an impression of being, as an impression of never was.”

Download my debut novel at and Barnes & Noble for only $0.99 starting tomorrow!




Posted: April 12, 2013 in fiction, imagination, style, voice, Writing

Deserted_Island_SE_by_nxxosI am a castaway. A dreamer. A believer. Alone. On an island. I am a writer.
I go through my day doing what I think is right and expected and necessary. Eating and sleeping and buying air filters at the hardware store and mowing grass and paying the bills and painting the gutters and watching children play on my street and waving hello to my neighbor. I watch the news and read a book and write a letter and turn on the oven to 350 degrees like the box directions tell me to. This is who I am to those that gaze back at me with passive face and hooded eye and indifference.
I am a castaway. A dreamer. A believer. Alone. On an island.
I am a writer. A person whose canvas is the written word. I do not work as a cog of the whole. Teamwork is a concept on the fringes of tomorrow, the agents and publishers and magazines with vested interest, beyond the lonely journey of painting a canvas of words.
I am a castaway. A dreamer. A believer. Alone.
On an island. A solitary place surrounded by water of blue and gray and green and salt and sand and micro-organisms and sunlight reflected like gems into the cloud-spotted blue above. A place where invisible breaths of sun travel downward to bake sand and crab and palm fronds and redden the pale, exposed skin of those who pace the demarcation of wet and dry, pace the edge of sanity, pace to and fro, leaving impressions of heel and toe and hopes and dreams and soul on the underbelly of human condition to be ravaged by persistent waves of hopelessness and madness and obscurity that rush in breathless from all sides.
I am a castaway. A dreamer. A believer.
Alone. Squat in the softness and heat and smoke from a flame borne of broken glass and refracted light and bleached driftwood and windblown debris and desperation as ships of opportunity and dreams and chance and acceptance pass silently on a forlorn horizon.
I am a castaway. A dreamer.
A believer. I write words and paint my canvas in the blood of my desires and wait patiently with retching heart for that ship of opportunity and dreams and chance and acceptance to rescue my soul.
I am a castaway.
A dreamer. With a life-force that beats deep with need and fills my veins with hunger and fuels my capricious muse and culls imaginings and things that could be and things that may never be, all from the fiber of my existence.
I am a castaway. A dreamer. A believer. Alone. On an island.
I am a writer.

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