An Ace and a Pair
Sometimes the reasons I accomplish less than I set out to slap me right upside my head. There exist any number of things I should be reading. More than a few of them currently occupy one of my disjoint literary spaces: books I’ve begun, books I’m actively reading, books I’ve placed in some sort of geeky limbo.
Often enough I’ve been led astray by the siren song of Continue reading →
Robert B. Parker
Often I find myself wondering about the economics of publishing. I’ve had book clubs and book retailers as clients, so I know something about the retail end of the business. What I haven’t a clue about is the author end.
How is it, for example, that a veteran journalist can pen a bestseller and suddenly find themself a millionaire, asked to Continue reading →
The Black Box
My newly identified problem with crime fiction may start right here.
Even as I wrote that sentence I realized it wasn’t fair. There’s another candidate in the running, but I’m nowhere near feeling certain about it. In this case, though, I know my exasperation led me to set the book aside for Continue reading →
I don’t always interact with the popular culture on a timely basis. This year, though, I find myself hiding in best-selling books. I seem to do that every winter but this year, with the extra time I’ve gained from a career interruption, it seems the only thing I’m capable of.
Off to the library I went, intent on stocking up on the light stuff. Among my haul was a new, for me, writer. That makes me clueless since Amazon says he’s the #17 author based Continue reading →
Here’s my crime fiction trifecta: Los Angeles, murder and an Irish Catholic writer. There’s something about the City of Angels and writers raised in such self-identified ethnic homes that makes for an entertaining read.
At least for me and at least when the writer is James M. Cain.
Or Michael Connelly. Continue reading →