Life at a Safe Distance

Clinton, South Carolina, Friday, July 3, 2020, 11:19 a.m.

Monte Dutton

This morning brought a bit of a break from the desolation of the Self-Quarantine Age. I had breakfast at the cafe on the square, and it didn’t seem like I was risking life and limb. I try to keep my trusty bandana handy, along with a supply of masks. In a world of relentless sameness, I take comfort in certain aspects of reliability.

For instance, my breakfast of choice is $10.88, and I generally add a tip of $3.12 because I value the reliable service and it makes balancing my online checking account easier. I usually eat breakfast at home, but a week without going to Steamers at least once is like a day without sunshine.

This morning a colleague walked in, and we carried on a conversation from across the room, which was safe and not too obtrusive because Steamers was sparsely populated after the morning rush, which isn’t quite as much a rush in this desperate time. The good folks are getting by, just like the rest of us.

I feel like I’m somewhere between the Snappy Cafe of The Andy Griffith Show and the coffee shop of Seinfeld. Steamers is the Snappy with internet access. I love it.

John Clayton works at The Laurens County Advertiser, and he is an important part of our sparse county media. We used to bump into each other quite often before the world became sequestered. This was the second time since the world shut three quarters down. There’s a new member of the civilian information corps. He broke the story that he’d seen her once.

Pixabay

Thus was there news, not any to print (or, in my case, post), but it was something to discuss other than other things “they say.”

The Fourth is tomorrow. I expect it’s going to be a lot like every other weekend, which is barely a weekend at all, only with late-night fireworks. I expect the barrage will commence tonight, just to soften up the dwindling defenses. Crossing the railroad tracks seems like a trip to the beach.

 

Take a look at my new website, Laurens County Sports. It’s undoubtedly going to be better when Laurens County has actual sports again.

If you enjoy my insights about racing and other subjects, make a small pledge of support. Rewards are in place for pledges of $5 or more. If 1/10 of my followers and Facebook friends pledge $1 a month, I’ll be set. Read all about it here.

If you yearn for my writing in larger doses, I’ve written quite a few books. Most are available here.

(Cover design by Steven Novak)

Lightning in a Bottle, the first of my two motorsports novels, is now available in audio (Audible, Amazon, iTunes) with the extraordinary narration of Jay Harper.

My eighth novel, a political crime thriller, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s right up to date with the current political landscape in the country.

My writing on other topics that strike my fancy is posted here.

You Just Can’t Beat Technology

Pixabay

Clinton, South Carolina, Thursday, June 25, 2020, 1:14 p.m.

Monte Dutton

Technology. Can’t live with it. Can’t live without it.

It is supposed to be our friend. In many cases, it isn’t.

In the newspaper business, nearly 30 years ago I worked for a large metropolitan newspaper. When I was there, toiling on the desk, that paper had four editions with deadlines ranging from 10:15 p.m. to 1:30 a.m. Nowadays, nothing gets in it that ends after 10.

Technology.

When I started out as a journalist, writers typed their stories and sent them in via telecopiers, which sent copies back to the home office at a rate of four to six minutes per page, then had to be typed in back at the office. Then the writers advanced to large, bulky machines that had to be lugged to the press box. Then the means became little Tandy TRS80s with memory so small that we’d have to clear out the memory at the end of night, then laptops with more and more memory. This one now has every story I’ve written and every photo I’ve taken and video I’ve shot dating back through several ever-advancing versions of the devices.

As technology advanced, the customers suffered. All the advances benefited distribution in one form or another.

It’s not just journalism.

Technology. The word used is “advance.” How so?

Life is now an unremitting hassle. Every move that requires billing, every glitch that requires a remedy, involves recordings, choices that don’t much help, and long periods of being on hold, often interspersed by being disconnected and starting over. One suspects the chief goal is to make the consumer just give up.

This week is an extreme example, but I may have spent more time on hold than any other activity or lack thereof.

This blog requires a book, but I don’t have time for that. I’m too “busy” on hold.

Excuse me, but I’ve got to drop by the office of a new “provider” and get what was messed up yesterday fixed. I can only imagine what the promised arrival of new equipment requires.

Take a look at my new website, Laurens County Sports. It’s undoubtedly going to be better when Laurens County has actual sports again.

If you enjoy my insights about racing and other subjects, make a small pledge of support. Rewards are in place for pledges of $5 or more. If 1/10 of my followers and Facebook friends pledge $1 a month, I’ll be set. Read all about it here.

If you yearn for my writing in larger doses, I’ve written quite a few books. Most are available here.

(Cover design by Steven Novak)

Lightning in a Bottle, the first of my two motorsports novels, is now available in audio (Audible, Amazon, iTunes) with the extraordinary narration of Jay Harper.

My eighth novel, a political crime thriller, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s right up to date with the current political landscape in the country.

My writing on other topics that strike my fancy is posted here.

Forever Lulled

(Monte Dutton photo)

Clinton, South Carolina, Saturday, June 13, 2020, 9:53 a.m.

Monte Dutton

What have I learned from the great vacant year of 2020?

I’ve got plenty of time to ponder this absence of normality. It’s only half over as the calendar flies.

The pandemic is a house fire that continues to flare up every time it looks like it might be out. The sense of security seems forever false and I am forever lulled.

Sports, the creative center of my life, is a shadow of its formerly burgeoning self. NASCAR is running races without crowds. Football teams are practicing without footballs.

The novel coronavirus, COVID-19, is merely the stage of the tragic play. The actors are marching, holding up placards, staggering through clouds of tear gas, and sometimes running wild in the streets.

Sadness etches life. The specter of racism hangs over me because I mistakenly thought progress was made in the disorder of youth. I was a child of integration. I thought my generation came to grips with bigotry. I didn’t expect mine and those that followed to regress.

But enough of my problems. It’s a time of many having problems, to one extent or another.

I’m not sure whether things are getting back to normal or whether the times are establishing a new normal.

So now I’m watching the Bowery Boys. I used to think those films were stupid.

 

Take a look at my new website, Laurens County Sports. It’s undoubtedly going to be better when Laurens County has actual sports again.

If you enjoy my insights about racing and other subjects, make a small pledge of support. Rewards are in place for pledges of $5 or more. If 1/10 of my followers and Facebook friends pledge $1 a month, I’ll be set. Read all about it here.

If you yearn for my writing in larger doses, I’ve written quite a few books. Most are available here.

(Cover design by Steven Novak)

Lightning in a Bottle, the first of my two motorsports novels, is now available in audio (Audible, Amazon, iTunes) with the extraordinary narration of Jay Harper.

My eighth novel, a political crime thriller, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s right up to date with the current political landscape in the country.

My writing on other topics that strike my fancy is posted here.

Fifteen Yards for Piling On

Humphrey Bogart (Pixabay)

Clinton, South Carolina, Thursday, June 4, 2020, 8:54 a.m.

Monte Dutton

This morning I’ve been thinking about significant things I learned from obscure sources.

For instance, my highly detailed views on various shades of color derive from very large boxes of Crayolas.

“Well, it’s like navy blue, but I think it’s really closer to midnight.”

Also, I have a lifelong interest in the Sargasso Sea, based on the inaugural episode of Jonny Quest, long before I knew that one day Race Bannon would become vice president.

So what is this? This is dwelling on little things because of the need for distraction from little things.

Never mind that the streets of the country are full of demonstrators, fire, tear-gas canisters and rubber bullets. Never mind the injustices that created this unruly scene.

Never mind that nearly 2 million Americans are infected with a highly communicable virus that has killed well over 100,000.

Until two days ago, I had been walking around (not very much) for six weeks with several splinters buried in my heel. I am now getting better.

Why was I so negligent? Well, my mother was dying at the time.

Now she’s gone and so are the splinters, but I will probably forget about the splinters.

Life is a nightmare. Surely it will get better. How could it get worse?

Oh, wait. I’ve thought that several times already.

Night has stopped being a time to relax. Watching the news is withering. I try to find alternative programming. The night before last, I watched a movie called Black Legion, where factory worker Humphrey Bogart joined a secret society to get rid of immigrants and others who just happened to be, oh, decent.

This somehow qualified as uplifting. Bogey and his fellow conspirators did get theirs in the end. I’m not sure about real life.

Take a look at my new website, Laurens County Sports. It’s undoubtedly going to be better when Laurens County has actual sports again.

If you enjoy my insights about racing and other subjects, make a small pledge of support. Rewards are in place for pledges of $5 or more. If 1/10 of my followers and Facebook friends pledge $1 a month, I’ll be set. Read all about it here.

If you yearn for my writing in larger doses, I’ve written quite a few books. Most are available here.

(Cover design by Steven Novak)

Lightning in a Bottle, the first of my two motorsports novels, is now available in audio (Audible, Amazon, iTunes) with the extraordinary narration of Jay Harper.

My eighth novel, a political crime thriller, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s right up to date with the current political landscape in the country.

My writing on other topics that strike my fancy is posted here.

At Least The World Is Turning Laps Again

John H. Nemechek, driver of the No. 38 SCAG Ford, wrecks during the NASCAR Cup Series Toyota 500 at Darlington Raceway on May 20, 2020 in Darlington, South Carolina. (Photo by Jared C. Tilton/Getty Images)

Clinton, South Carolina, Thursday, May 21, 2020, 10:42 a.m.

Monte Dutton

Mainly I have been writing about stock car racing.

Mainly stock car racing is what is going on, whether at the dirt track in Laurens or the paved superspeedway in Darlington.

The gates aren’t open, but the cars are going around and around. I’m sure there’s a metaphor on our times going around and around, too.

Racing is most of what I can watch without knowing who’s going to win.

Sure, I could develop a keen interest in the professional cornhole circuit. I don’t know whether that’s live or not. I don’t know who’s going to win. Unfortunately, I don’t care.

I hope it’s like one of those old Disney nature movies when it rains in desert, and then the desert comes back to life. Time-lapse film shows flowers blooming, eggs cracking and little roadrunners or something emerging. Wonderful World of Color used to show those, often narrated by Rex Allen.

That, I hope, is the metaphor about sports, which is the metaphor about life.

Maybe we can be careful enough that slowly we can rebuild the former ways of life, and I can go out again chatting with coaches and athletes, snapping photos, breathing the fresh, often humid, air of athletic drama’s human competition, which quite often includes the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.

 

Take a look at my new website, Laurens County Sports. It’s undoubtedly going to be better when Laurens County has actual sports again.

If you enjoy my insights about racing and other subjects, make a small pledge of support. Rewards are in place for pledges of $5 or more. If 1/10 of my followers and Facebook friends pledge $1 a month, I’ll be set. Read all about it here.

If you yearn for my writing in larger doses, I’ve written quite a few books. Most are available here.

(Cover design by Steven Novak)

Lightning in a Bottle, the first of my two motorsports novels, is now available in audio (Audible, Amazon, iTunes) with the extraordinary narration of Jay Harper.

My eighth novel, a political crime thriller, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s right up to date with the current political landscape in the country.

My writing on other topics that strike my fancy is posted here.

Works for Me

Clinton, South Carolina, Saturday, May 2, 2020, 11:28 a.m.

Monte Dutton

The times demand resourcefulness. Me? I invented a cocktail.

I’m not a big drinker these days, but occasionally it helps me sleep soundly and without dreams. Occasionally I put some bourbon in a mug of coffee, but the weather is getting warmer, and the java and booze are counterproductive at night.

About a month ago, I had dental surgery, and the dentist gave me a pain prescription and a can of ginger ale to wash one down after I stopped by the nearby pharmacy. I had a leftover Diet Coke in the truck, so I saved the ginger ale and used it as a mixer a few nights later. I made a mental note to buy some ginger ale, but when it finally occurred to me in the grocery store a week or so later, there was none available. I put some thought into the matter and finally bought a 6-pack of flavored tonic water.

Pixabay

I don’t much care for tonic except with gin, and even that doesn’t appeal to me without lime juice

The flavoring was almost undetectable. When I tried bourbon, it was terrible.

Last night I put some Sweet ’n’ Low in the glass, then added a few ice cubes, the tonic, and the bourbon.

Voila. I like it. Maybe nobody else does. I don’t care. Contrary to popular belief, different folks have different strokes, not to mention palates.

 

Take a look at my new website, Laurens County Sports. It’s undoubtedly going to be better when Laurens County has actual sports again.

If you enjoy my insights about racing and other subjects, make a small pledge of support. Rewards are in place for pledges of $5 or more. If 1/10 of my followers and Facebook friends pledge $1 a month, I’ll be set. Read all about it here.

If you yearn for my writing in larger doses, I’ve written quite a few books. Most are available here.

(Cover design by Steven Novak)

Lightning in a Bottle, the first of my two motorsports novels, is now available in audio (Audible, Amazon, iTunes) with the extraordinary narration of Jay Harper.

My eighth novel, a political crime thriller, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s right up to date with the current political landscape in the country.

My writing on other topics that strike my fancy is posted here.

Dreeeaaaam, Dream, Dream, Dreeeaaaam …

Pixabay

Clinton, South Carolina, Tuesday, April 28, 2020, 8:48 a.m.

She was a level-headed dancer / On the road to alcohol / And I was just a soldier / On my way to Montreal …

By Monte Dutton

That I think a lot about John Prine songs is in part because he recently died, but it’s also because I have a feeling lots of them began in dreams. I have that feeling because I’ve been having a lot of them myself lately. And also because the name of the song above is “Spanish Pipedream.”

I guess it’s the loneliness of the pandemic. A trip to the grocery store is an adventure, comparatively. Minor matters become major. What do you mean there’s a two-dozen limit on eggs? Eggs are everywhere in this joint. How come there’s no limit on toilet paper? Oh, yeah. There isn’t any.

I didn’t say what’s listed just above. That’s why they’re italicized. In truth, I’m excessively good-humored. I’m overcompensating for the bandanna. I’m offsetting the look of a robber. I try to make the lady in the drive-through window laugh. While in line, I notice a beautiful tree rising above the building, and I want to take a photo of it.

The dreams must be subconscious attempts to rise above the drudgery. I had realistic dreams in grade school. I imagined a secret library with a shimmering chandelier, hidden away through a door in the old elementary school, where only I was allowed to go.

Pixabay

Last night I went to a city in the Midwest, where I enjoyed pleasant adventures in the company of a longtime friend, and then we traveled across the state to a similar city, where we went to an amusement park, and I bumped into a beautiful woman I once loved, and we laughed and rode the roller coaster together. Then, on the plane home, I was sitting across the aisle from another old friend, and I started to tell him that I’d bumped into the beautiful woman, and then I stopped because I realized he’d never believe it. Then I rolled over and saw that it was 5 a.m. and that I needed to go to sleep again. I finally got up at about 8 and sat on the edge of the bed trying to recall the dream and convince myself that it probably wasn’t true because it was unlikely that an airplane had a messy bedroom in it.

Now a fellow in a black tee is noting that these are difficult times, and the commercial ends and a guy immediately says these are “days of stress and catastrophe,” and the amusement park and the beautiful woman with her shiny brown hair tossing in the wind don’t seem bad at all.

Sleep has provided me with a key to escape reality.

 

Take a look at my new website, Laurens County Sports. It’s undoubtedly going to be better when Laurens County has actual sports again.

If you enjoy my insights about racing and other subjects, make a small pledge of support. Rewards are in place for pledges of $5 or more. If 1/10 of my followers and Facebook friends pledge $1 a month, I’ll be set. Read all about it here.

If you yearn for my writing in larger doses, I’ve written quite a few books. Most are available here.

(Cover design by Steven Novak)

Lightning in a Bottle, the first of my two motorsports novels, is now available in audio (Audible, Amazon, iTunes) with the extraordinary narration of Jay Harper.

My eighth novel, a political crime thriller, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s right up to date with the current political landscape in the country.

My writing on other topics that strike my fancy is posted here.

Satire at Sunset

(Monte Dutton photos)

Clinton, South Carolina, Saturday, April 18, 2020, 8:37 a.m.

Monte Dutton

Back when I traveled most of the country, writing about race cars that went ’round and ’round and the mostly white men who drove them, my favorite device was not a shock absorber but its literary equivalent, satire.

Once — it was in Dover, Delaware, I think — I was angry at NASCAR for something and stormed back into the track’s media center and announced, “I’m never going to take these people seriously again. From now on, it’s satire, satire, satire!” Each time I said the word, I chopped an open palm with the other hand. For years afterward, one of my colleagues told others of this scene, drawing gales of laughter.

It was the same day that I walked to the opposite end of the mile track to where the racing trucks were lodged, looking desperately for something to write that would make me feel good about the sport again. It was where I encountered a mostly unknown Missouri driver named Carl Edwards for the first time.

Satire has largely fallen into disfavor today. At one time, satire was commonly used to poke fun of bigotry, ignorance and poverty. Nowadays, it’s hazardous to a writer’s health for him (or her) to use ridicule that strays from literal meanings.

Several items bequeathed me these thoughts when I most recently awakened. One was the Kyle Larson catastrophe, which I don’t think had anything to do with satire. His use of a term of racial derision has, at least in the short run, cost him most everything in terms of his racing career. Another was a song by David Allan Coe that played while I was sleeping lightly. Coe is a country singer who once thrived on satire and, in one song that never played on the radio but was widely cited for its satire even as it dabbled in racism, used the aforementioned word that begins with “n.” A third was the famed Mel Brooks movie Blazing Saddles, which ridiculed racism and many other topics through satire.

(Melanie Ryon cover design)

Last night I phoned my best friend in high school. We played football together. He was vastly better than I. In the 1970s, both of us were occasionally victims of the “n-word.” He was called one. By being his friend, I was occasionally called a commonly used caucasian term of derision, the “n-word” lover. Our football team had few problems where racism was concerned. The problem was in the community around us. Those of us who played successfully in that era believe we shaped that community’s enlightenment by doing so well that it rallied behind us.

I based my second novel, The Intangibles, on those years. A lot of it is true. A lot of it was made up, which is why it was fiction.

He and I laugh today, usually by phone because he doesn’t get back here often, about an incident when we were camping in the barn on our farm and started hearing noises. Both of us thought the Klan had tracked us down, even though the noises were apparently creations of our minds. Lying on bales of hay, we whispered about plans in case some sinister figure showed up at the top of the ladder in the barn’s loft. The Larson incident got us talking about those times last night.

Because of growing up on that farm, where two black families lived, I have always, at every stage of my life, counted black people among my best and most admired friends. We chose sides and played makeshift baseball games on concocted diamonds in which the bases were on a hill and the outfield was behind a barbed-wire fence. A childhood mentor who worked at my dad’s restaurant was a star lineman at the segregated high school, where sometimes my father would take me to watch him play while parked under trees behind one end zone. He went off to Vietnam to die two weeks after he got there. A part of my heart has been broken ever since.

In that generation, with war, rioting and assassinations occurring out on the outskirts of our souls, satire was a powerful defense mechanism. Without a sense of humor, all our hearts would have been wounded even more.

One of my favorite albums was 1974’s Good Old Boys by Randy Newman, which was a wildly satirical depiction of the South. He used the “n-word” throughout the song “Rednecks,” and it was a means of condemning those who used it.

We’re rednecks / We’re rednecks / Can’t tell our ass from a hole in the ground / We’re rednecks / We’re rednecks / Keepin the [you know the word] down.

I could see how times were changing 30 years later when I wrote my own satirical song, “There You Are.” One night I was performing the song in a little bar in Asheville, North Carolina. The first verse was:

I know a guy who’s a first-rate prude / Puts a lotta effort into really being rude / Probably like to catch me doin’ something crude / But he really don’t mean no harm / Another guy I know don’t like black folks / One won’t drink nothin’ but Diet Coke / One’s been known to make up quotes / But he can write like a sonuvabitch.

Puckett Farm Equipment, 2010

To my shock, when I took a break, a couple who was sitting in a booth past the other side of the bar, came up and got in my face, accusing me of being a racist. I defended myself by saying I was ridiculing racism. I expect they hadn’t really been paying attention, but that one line popped into their heads when I sang it. A couple others rose to my defense, and nothing more came of it except that shortly thereafter I changed the line from “don’t like black folks” to “is always broke.”

My status as a white southern liberal whose views were burnished in the fires of riot, war, death, scandal and the great traitor of my lifetime, Nixon, satire became my bullpen ace to be brought in when life’s bases were loaded.

Satire, and humor in general, seem in shorter supply. Hypocrisy is on the march. The world seems full of people who cheerfully pass along clear lies while at the same time railing against “fake news” without even acknowledging the irony.

The antisocial media bear much of the blame.

 

If you enjoy my insights about racing and other subjects, make a small pledge of support. Rewards are in place for pledges of $5 or more. If 1/10 of my followers and Facebook friends pledge $1 a month, I’ll be set. Read all about it here.

If you yearn for my writing in larger doses, I’ve written quite a few books. Most are available here.

(Cover design by Steven Novak)

Lightning in a Bottle, the first of my two motorsports novels, is now available in audio (Audible, Amazon, iTunes) with the extraordinary narration of Jay Harper.

My eighth novel, a political crime thriller, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s right up to date with the current political landscape in the country.

My writing on other topics that strike my fancy is posted here.

What Comes to Mind Today

HorsesClinton, South Carolina, Thursday, April 9, 2020, 11:28 a.m.

Monte Dutton

If the country is pulling together, you can’t prove it by Facebook.

I’ll stop blaming President Twitter when he stops blaming everyone else.

The best reason to watch replays of old sporting events is that at least it’s sports. The worst thing is that everyone knows how it’s going to end. Thus do they lack “the human drama of athletic competition.” I remember the opening of ABC’s Wide World of Sports the same way I remember poems I had to recite in high school.

The design of a website and filling it (“populating” is the common cliché in the website biz) with stories has been marvelously beneficial. Now I’m antsy to get Laurens County Sports launched because I want to unveil all this work. It’s given me something to do besides worry and mourn.

I’m scheduled to have a root canal on Monday morning, and that is the perfect procedure for this time.

IMG_0927My best friend is my guitar.

Quit crying about coronavirus taking away your rights. In every crisis, the citizens are required to make sacrifices. They’re not a means of taking away your freedoms. They’re a means of preserving them in the future. The remaining children of the depression and World War II are laughing at your selfishness.

Make the best of what you have. Do what you do, do well, man. It’s all right to feel sorry, but not for yourself. Times are tough all over.

Try to appreciate the other fellow’s point of view. Most of the people who are truly ignorant are those who think anyone who disagrees with them is.

Stop blaming the politicians and the media. The system never fails. You get exactly what you vote for and what you read or watch. The man in the mirror keeps getting nearer. (I got that from an old Dan Fogelberg song.) If you don’t vote, don’t rationalize it. You had your chance. If you don’t have a choice, it’s because you don’t make one.

 

If you enjoy my insights about racing and other subjects, make a small pledge of support. Rewards are in place for pledges of $5 or more. If 1/10 of my followers and Facebook friends pledge $1 a month, I’ll be set. Read all about it here.

If you yearn for my writing in larger doses, I’ve written quite a few books. Most are available here.

(Cover design by Steven Novak)

Lightning in a Bottle, the first of my two motorsports novels, is now available in audio (Audible, Amazon, iTunes) with the extraordinary narration of Jay Harper.

My eighth novel, a political crime thriller, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s right up to date with the current political landscape in the country.

My writing on other topics that strike my fancy is posted here.

Mastodons Run Amok

QuichotteClinton, South Carolina, Monday, March 30, 2020, 7:45 p.m.

Monte Dutton

When I read Don Quixote, I found it astonishing to learn that the art of comedy had not notably advanced in over four centuries.

Salman Rushdie’s Quichotte takes Miguel de Cervantes forward and adds levels that would not have been structurally feasible in 1616, when the final part of his masterpiece was publishly shortly after its author’s death.

Rushdie’s weighty tome is a modern retelling of the classic tale, enhanced by heaping helpings of politics, science fiction, fantasy, and tales within the tale. Quichotte bursts out of Don Quixote as Blazing Saddles cinematically bursts out of the Old West.

What seems convoluted at first becomes wildly humorous as it seems to stabilize, then careens off into subplots that cross all imaginable bounds, some of which are difficult to anticipate and others impossible.

All of it is a commentary on the dysfunctions of today. It’s hilarious right up to the point where the reader starts to weep at how delightfully awful the world has become.

It all works in spite of a series of outlandish surprises that don’t end until the final page.

 

If you enjoy my insights about racing and other subjects, make a small pledge of support. Rewards are in place for pledges of $5 or more. If 1/10 of my followers and Facebook friends pledge $1 a month, I’ll be set. Read all about it here.

If you yearn for my writing in larger doses, I’ve written quite a few books. Most are available here.

(Cover design by Steven Novak)

Lightning in a Bottle, the first of my two motorsports novels, is now available in audio (Audible, Amazon, iTunes) with the extraordinary narration of Jay Harper.

My eighth novel, a political crime thriller, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s right up to date with the current political landscape in the country.

My writing on other topics that strike my fancy is posted here.