Just Released A New Novel

My novel, Once Upon A Time In Chicago, has just been
released.  The novel is available at Amazon digitally or in paperback. Give it a read. You will like it. 

A little more than four months ago, I was writing a novel. I didn’t have writer’s block but writer’s reality. The ideas for the novel were embedded in my mind. The direction of the novel was clear—reality set in. The novel I had worked so hard to develop was predictable. At least that is how it appeared to me.

At that time something kept turning over and over in my mind. It was a personal experience during the summer of 1964. I asked myself why the events of that summer repeatably rear its menacing head.  

When I was seventeen, my parents had me stay with a family in Chicago. It was 1964; innocent years by today’s standards. Once Upon A Time In Chicago is based on that week. 

The story has been told to a few friends. And again, why do I keep telling it? I don’t know. 

That became the seed for my next novel, Once Upon A Time In Chicago. It was easy to write. Bear in mind, much is fiction. Some events are exactly as remembered. 

Immediately, I feared the story would not be long enough for book-length. In my mind, that is around thirty thousand words. Things happen when you start writing. In my case, I remembered more. And I expanded on events; giving them more texture, purpose, and background. 

Now I can put that episode in my life to rest. It’s out of my mind and on the page. It’s for all the read.

Forever Rain

She knitted. I read.

Two leather Queen Ann chairs faced the window separated by an end table with two cups of coffee on it. Beyond the window, rain as far as the imagination could carry.

It was a fall rain. It sprinkled on the deck overlooking the small lake that lapped against its pilings. The gray sky did little to dull the brightness of the maples bordering the shores, red and yellow like a blazing fire. The rain fell steady as a heartbeat with little to no variation; small drops like the tears of God and angels endlessly splashing on the deck, lake, and roof. The sound was like an endless draw on a chorus of violins.

Behind us, the crackle of a low fire in a stone fireplace; just enough to chase away the chill and dampness.

“How long did the weatherman say it was going to rain?” she said.

“Forever,” I said.

“They are getting more accurate at weather forecasting these days,” she said.

“I hope so,” I said.