Fifty-seven years ago I killed a boy. Tonight, Euart Monroe walked into my room with a Mossberg 510 and a stained hobo mattress and fired a shot into my belly. It should have killed me right off, but he didn’t want that. He wanted me to know who pulled the trigger.
I’m excited to announce that Ordinary Handsome is now available in paperback. It’s an oversize 6.69″ x 9.61″ book with a matte cover and cream pages. Pardon the indulgence, but it really is quite handsome. Weighing in at a whopping 187 pages, it’s got a spanky new cover and even a tiny author photo on the back for your mustache-drawing indulgence. Please check it out and let me know what you think. As always, thank you for reading. — Steve
I got all these feelings bundled up in a snarl, all the should-have’s and supposed-to’s and unfair verdicts of past mistakes. There are all these bricks of grief and regret and wondering if I could have changed just one moment. Just one. And when I try to build something out of them bricks, they crack and shift into different shapes, and then they fall into a heap worse off than when I started. I know Gram was thinking about Daniel. We’d been stepping in and out of his shadow since I first showed up here, neither of us wanting to conjure him up for real. Thinking about Daniel made me tired and sad, cracked at the spine, broke in the heart.
Excerpt from Maggie, now available from Amazon. Many thanks to D. Wallace Peach for her remarkable editing skills. I was under a particularly tight deadline to complete this story, and Diana’s suggestions and thoroughness gave Maggie a little more shine. And I won’t mention all those damned commas. Thank you, my friend.
I could lay it down at a lot of people’s feet, but I lay it down mostly on myself for being foolish and lonely. But like Gram says, it ain’t a sin to be lonely.
I thought I was finished with the cover for A Very Tall Summer, but I’m easily bored, and so changed it. It’s has a simpler and cleaner look, and I like it.
One more read-through, and the book should be finished, insomuch as they’re ever finished. Sometimes it’s hard to let go.
In the dry summer of 1957, Charlotte and Jeremiah Windover took a short drive to a neighbor’s old homestead to investigate a fire. Only one of them came back.
… I stand up every morning, make myself a cup of coffee, eat a few scraps of bread, and step outside to face the dust. And the foolish part of me thinks it will get better. Or easier. But it hasn’t yet. I don’t expect a shiny man in a shiny car to come along and pay me for this land, or pay me for my work. I don’t expect any man to come along and rescue me, or a preacher to come along and save me. I know what I did, and I know this is my punishment, and I will abide by it because I don’t know how to do anything else.
First draft almost complete – check.
Cover art finished- check.
Revisions and editing – Lord help me.
I’m rarely one to brag about my work, but I’m excited by the cover art for A Very Tall Summer. It’s taken me almost as long to work on as the writing. Creating covers is not only a hobby, it’s one aspect of my job that I completely enjoy. And so I worked on this, when I probably should have been writing. It’s a gratifying creative outlet, especially when I’m the finicky client and I can tell myself to back off, buster, I know what I’m doing. (People who pay part of your wage never like to hear that. I know, right?)
Hopefully, the first draft will be completed this weekend… or next. The job has been more demanding than usual and family responsibilities come first. But maybe….
Take a deep breath – check.
I think it’s time to take a little break. I’ve been posting every day for over six months now, and it’s time to recharge the creative batteries.
I’ve got some writing projects in various stages of development that I want to work on. The self-promotional stuff is hard work, but if the books aren’t selling it’s time to move on. I’m a realist at heart. Onto the next thing(s).
So a couple of weeks off to get my writing back to where I want it.
But I’ll be around.
And the books are still available anytime.:)
It don’t rain but a lick ‘less it decides to. I ‘member in Virginia drivin’ in my Daddy’s pickup how the sun would be shinin’ one minute and the next, well sir, the sky’d hang o’er the Appalachians like a gray and purple quilt and the rain would fall like it wuttin’ never gonna stop. An’ five minutes later the sky would get all soft like cotton balls and the sun would poke out fer half a minute or two. Continue reading “Virginia sky”
“This is a wild ride, both extremely nostalgic and timeless in tone. The author’s use of color, both figurative and literal, is expressive, vivid, unique. This book is like having a dream that swims between the technicolor Oz and pure, screaming terror. Another amazing read by a breakout author. 5 stars” – Felicity Johns
I dreamed that everyone in the world was named Nick.
There were Big Nicks and Little Nicks and Saint Nicks and Bulldog Nick Mocha the prize fighter, and Nick “Three Finger” Capelli who ran numbers out of a San Diego warehouse, and Nick Osgood who sold stamps behind the counter in a New Jersey post office, and I dreamed that my name was Nick Douchette, which is French for Duke, so I took that name for myself when I woke up. Sometimes dreams are a sign of things, like Jesus had dreams before he fed everyone loaves and fishes. Continue reading “A World of Nicks”