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