Ed Gorman's Blog, page 61

Stephen King reviews Rick Bragg's biography of Jerry Lee Lewis

this article is from the new york times
read it all at


http://www.nytimes.com/2014/12/07/boo...


Despite the title of Jerry Lee Lewis’s 2006 album “Last Man Standing,” a few other survivors from rock’s early days still remain. Chuck Berry, an old nemesis, is still around. So are Little Richard, Fats Domino and Wanda Jackson, the let’s-have-a-party girl who briefly dated Elvis Presley and shouted her own version of the Lewis anthem “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On.” Still, Lewis is the summation of that early period, before cleaner-cut teen idols like Frankie Avalon and Fabian came on the scene. In Tolkien parlance, he’s the one ring that binds them, and as such, he deserves a rich and textured biography.There’s plenty of richness in Rick Bragg’s retelling of the Killer’s life, but the texture is problematic. The reader is advised to approach this prolix history with several grains of salt, because Bragg, clearly entranced by his willing and cooperative subject, provides little. As one of Lewis’s own songs proudly proclaims, it’s the Lewis boogie in the Lewis way, and few are left to contradict him. Some who might — Buddy Holly, Sam Phillips of Sun Records, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, Elvis himself — are long dead.Jerry Lee (so he refers to himself, as in “Jerry Lee Lewis has seen the Niag-uh Falls. Now let’s go home, boys”) was a hell-raiser from the start, a breech baby who came into the world feet first. The doctor showed up in time to do the delivery, but not exactly sober. Jerry Lee’s father, Elmo Lewis, gave him some corn whiskey, and Dr. Sebastian promptly passed out. Elmo delivered the baby himself as his wife, Mamie, deep in labor, exhorted him to be careful of the arms and head.In 1940, at the age of 4, Jerry Lee discovered the piano in his Aunt Stella’s house. “I saw it, and I just stopped, cold,” he tells Bragg. “I just had to get at it.” In 1943, Elmo Lewis mortgaged his farm to buy his talented son his own piano. By the age of 10, Jerry Lee was sneaking into a local blues emporium called Haney’s Big House (he urged his cousin, Jimmy Swaggart, to come with him, but Jimmy, fearing damnation, refused). He played his first professional gig at the local Ford dealership, blasting out Stick McGhee’s “Drinkin’ Wine Spo-dee-o-dee.” His aunt and his mother (whose favorite axiom was “Money makes the mare trot”) passed the hat, and Jerry Lee took home $14, one dollar for each year of his young life.

New Book Review YOU KNOW WHO KILLED ME by Loren Estleman

    Loren D. Estleman's You Know Who Killed Me is one of his finest. When a man is murdered in his basement, his wife pays for billboards reading "YOU KNOW WHO KILLED ME!" Leads flood in, many of them useless, making the work of the nearby (and corrupt) Sheriff's department even more difficult. And this problem is compounded when an anonymous ten thousand dollar reward is posted.        
   Who doesn't want ten grand?
   As for the victim...a quiet man who maintained the computer that operated the city's traffic light. Not the sort of vic whose job or life makes him eligible for the Most Likely Vic list.
   But then the Sheriff's  department hires Walker to look into all the tips (Walker is deputized for the task) and see if there are any leads to be found in the bubbling swamp of tips.
   The novel is pure page turner, a minefield of twists and a vaudeville act of Walker's take on modern life. Estleman's books are tough but they are also funny as hell.
   But maybe the biggest surprise of all is on the first page. Walker, it seems, is in rehab for his addiction to alcohol and pain meds. His physical and mental health problems enrich the novel and give Walker an even more trenchant take on the fools--including himself--he must deal with.
  Publisher's Weekly gave it a starred review. It was well deserved.  Will surely be a Shamus award contender.

Rick Ollerman's December Newsletter for Stark House

Hello, Everyone—Happy Holidays! As the season whips by and we all wish we could stop and slow down (What? It's just me?) and spend time with some good reading, we're going to do our best to help you out. A few years ago I read a quote by an older and well-known author who likes to sit down undisturbed with a book and read for up to six hours at a time: "Reading is serious business," he said. But it's also a wonderful way to spend your time. So, before I talk about the Return of the Black Cyber Monday through Friday and Even December Holiday Sale, I want to give a quick reminder that you can check out this newsletter--or any or our past ones--as web pages here.Also, the offer of a free signed, numbered chapbook containing two of the essays I've written for Stark House introductions still stands should anyone see fit to place a review of TURNAROUND/SHALLOW SECRETS in a non-top secret location. Just send a link and your address and I'll send you a book....Last bit of housekeeping, in last month's newsletter we gave you a look at the new Ed Gorman book we have coming out in just a few weeks. This features what many consider to be two of Ed's finest PI novels. I'm partial to the second one, THE NIGHT REMEMBERS, but it seems that plenty or people give the nod to THE AUTUMN DEAD. What a deal that you get both titles in the same book. Anyway, we're still working on the scheduling, but we are going to be putting out another edition of Ed's books, this one featuring two of his western titles, GRAVES' RETREAT and NIGHT OF SHADOWS. if you've never read Ed's westerns before, they're a wonderful blend of western genre characters wrapped up in modern noirish dramas. The setting may be western, but the themes are not your father's (or grandfather's) Zane Grey. If you "don't read westerns," give these a chance. What Ed does with the form will probably surprise you.We're also working on another Algernon Blackwood novel, one of our not-so-much crime reprints. These books don't go out to our Crime Club members but many of the titles are proving very popular. These books are another opportunity to dip into another literary area where you might not be so familiar. After Edgar Allan Poe there was H. P. Lovecraft. Both men died young, but at the same time as Lovecraft, the longer-lived Blackwood was writing some of the most haunting ghost and supernatural stories in England. More on the upcoming book next time, but if you want to check out our other Blackwood offerings, you can always look here.We're also planning on releasing Barry N. Malzberg's comic masterpiece, UNDERLAY, so again, stay tuned....And now that I've kept you waiting, here's the big news of the month, our Second Annual Holiday Season. We've offered a number of sales this year, mostly in an attempt to make it easier for new Stark House readers to backfill their shelves, so I don't know when the next sale will be, but for now and through the month of December, here it is:
DECEMBER 201450% HOLIDAY SALE Catherine Butzen: Thief of Midnight $15.95Robert W. Chambers: The Slayer of Souls / The Maker of Moons $19.95James Hadley Chase: Come Easy—Go Easy / In a Vain Shadow $19.95Jada M. Davis: Midnight Road $19.95Don Elliott/Robert Silverberg: Lust Queen / Lust Victim $19.95 Feldman & Gartenberg (ed): The Beat Generation & the Angry Young Men $19.95A. S. Fleischman: The Sun Worshippers / Yellowleg $19.95Arnold Hano: So I’m a Heel / Flint / The Big Out $23.95Elisabeth Sanxay Holding: The Unfinished Crime / The Girl Who Had to Die $19.95Russell James: Underground / Collected Stories $14.95 Stephen Marlowe: Violence is My Business / Turn Left for Murder $19.95E. Phillips Oppenheim: Ghosts & Gamblers: The Further Uncollected Stories $19.95Vin Packer: The Damnation of Adam Blessing / Alone at Night $19.95Richard Powell: A Shot in the Dark / Shell Game $14.95Bill Pronzini: Snowbound / Games $14.95 Peter Rabe: Kill the Boss Good-By / Mission for Vengeance $19.95Douglas Sanderson: The Deadly Dames / A Dum-Dum for the President $19.95Bill Shepard: California Cornerstone $14.95Charlie Stella: Rough Riders $15.95Cynthia Campbell Williams: This Fool’s Journey: Tarot Tales for Modern Minds $15.96 SALE PRICES:
$14.95: now $7.45$15.95/$15.96: now $7.95$19.95: now $9.95$23.95: now $11.95 Shipping: $3 for 1st book, 50c for each additional book (via media mail) Additional information on individual books available atwww.starkhousepress.comOrder via: griffinskye3@sbcglobal.net; payment accepted via paypal.Checks accepted via: Stark House Press, 1315 H St, Eureka, CA 95501All books are trade paperback
I'll talk more next time about upcoming books, including two by the queen of suspense herself, Elisabeth Sanxay Holding, but in the meantime, we've given you plenty of new books to take a look at already. Write a review of Turnaround / Shallow Secrets and get your limited edition chapbook. Read some vintage crime stories with Edgar Wallace. Help fill out your Stark House collection with the current crop of sale books. And by all means, stretch a little if you're a fan of beautiful and haunting writing and pick up Andrew Coburn's Spouses & Other Crimes.So, until next time, keep reading, and if you have any questions about the subscribing or unsubscribing to the newsletter, or orders for books, just drop us a line here.Cheers,

Rick Ollerman
Associate Editor,
Stark House Press

We all know some pretty ego maniacal writers but whoa baby

Ayelet Waldman Throws Twitter Fit Over New York Times Most Notable SnubThe Huffington Post  | By Claire Fallon            Email
           
Bestselling author Ayelet Waldman treated Twitter to a public snit after her most recent novel, Love and Treasure, was not included in The New York Times' influential Most Notable Books list for 2014. Waldman, incensed at the exclusion of her book, tweeted at length about her disappointment and anger about the book not being deemed worthy of inclusion:I am really not dealing well with having failed to make the @nytimesnotable book list. Love & Treasure is a fucking great novel IISSM.— Ayelet Waldman (@ayeletw) December 2, 2014

It's just so fucking demoralizing. You pour your heart into your work, you get awesome reviews, and then someone decides it's not "notable."— Ayelet Waldman (@ayeletw) December 2, 2014

Waldman pointed out that her book had received a more favorable review in The New York Times than other (unnamed) books included in the list of notables, and went on to openly wonder why she should bother publishing a novel instead of simply keeping a journal, given such a lack of recognition.Though Waldman eventually tweeted that there were "real problems in the world" and that she planned to "do something good for someone else" instead of complain, her following tweets entreated followers to pre-order her book's upcoming paperback edition. She pledged to make a donation -- of $1 -- for each pre-order. Waldman tweeted that her donation would go to "scholarmatch.com," presumably referring to ScholarMatch.org, a college scholarship assistance nonprofit founded by Dave Eggers.Many in the literary community responded with some measure of derision or measured criticism to Waldman's rant. Some suggested these disappointments are typically best expressed in private, while others gleefully riffed on the perceived self-absorption and entitlement in her tweets: [image error] Patrick Ness ‪@Patrick_Ness Follow Ayelet Waldman incensed that all ‪#tbt photographs aren't of her book. "No back has been thrown even CLOSE to the quality of mine."9:22 AM - 4 Dec 20144RETWEETS 8 FAVORITES            Reply            Retweet            Favorite [image error] Gabriel Roth ‪@gabrielroth Follow Every writer has an Ayelet Waldman inside him/her, most of us just keep it under wraps http://www.dailydot.com/entertainment/ayelet-waldman-throws-fit-over-year-end-list/
…9:16 AM - 4 Dec 2014Bestselling author throws fit after snub in meaningless New York Ti...Ayelet Waldman, author of several successful novels and a bestselling book about how hard it is to be a mom, has never come across well online. Whether she’s stoking rage with a con... [image error] The Daily Dot ‪@dailydot 7RETWEETS 14 FAVORITES            Reply            Retweet            FavoriteWaldman did not retreat in the face of mockery, tweeting that her rant was "honest" and that her pledge to donate was only positive: [image error] Ayelet Waldman ‪@ayeletw Follow What do (some of) you do? Spend your lives on twitter being snarky and cruel? When's the last time you did something for someone else?9:53 AM - 4 Dec 20144FAVORITES            Reply            Retweet            Favorite [image error] Ayelet Waldman ‪@ayeletw Follow You know the difference between me and you? I express the hurt, and then channel it into something useful, like scholarship donations.9:52 AM - 4 Dec 20141RETWEET 5 FAVORITES            Reply            Retweet            FavoriteAnyone expecting embarrassment or regret from Waldman would have to be unfamiliar with her history of stoking public controversy. Waldman, who is married to acclaimed author Michael Chabon, sparked a national firestorm with a 2005 Modern Love column in The New York Times in which she claimed she loved her husband more than their children. She did not back down after the ensuing backlash, and 10 years later she reiteratedthat she had no regrets about the essay.ALSO ON HUFFPOST:
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Forgotten Books: How Like An Angel Margaret Millar

Forgotten Books: How Like An Angel Margaret MillarHow Like an Angel by Margaret Millar

I've always held the opinion that some writers are just too good for the mass market. This is a true of a number of literary writers but it's also true of at least one writer of crime fiction, the late Margret Millar. For all her many deserved awards, she never became the enormous commercial success she deserved to be.

For me she's the single most elegant stylist who ever shaped a mystery story. You revel in her sentences. She used wit and black humor in the direst of novels long before it was fashionable in the genre. And she was a better (and much fairer) bamboozler than Agatha Christie.

I recently reread her How Like and Angel and its richness, its darkness, its perverse wit make me repeat what I've said many times before--if this isn't the perfect mystery novel, it comes damned close.

Private eye Joe Quinn, having gambled away all his money, begins hitchhiking from Reno to Caifornia. Along the way he sees the Tower, the symbol of a religious cult that eventually offers him not only shelter but a chance to put his skills to use. Sister Blessing asks him to find a man named Patrick O'Gorman. The man is dead. Which makes Quinn suspicious of why she wants him located.

Among its many pleasures is the way this novel, published in the early sixties, anticipates some of the fringe cults that would grow out of the flower power days. There's more than a touch of ole Charlie Manson in the Tower. Millar does world building here--not unlike a science fiction writer at work--giving us a look at a group of varied individuals who have been driven here because they could not cope with the world and its cruelty and deceits. Some are insane, some are sweet and pathetic and a few are diabolical. There is great strangeness here and Millar presents it with poetic force and humor.

The mystery itself is truly baffling. In following it down Quinn goes into a nearby town reconstruct the curious history of O`Gorman. Who was he really? The daylight town scenes contrast with the shadowy ones at the Tower but it is in the daylight that the true darkness of Quinn’s journey is exposed. It always puts me in mind of the end of Whatever Happened To Baby Jane—when Jane escapes the gloom of their house to reach the beach—the searing sunlight crueler to her than anything her sister did. Night suddenly seems a blessing.

Just about everybody who’s ever read Margaret Millar has wondered why she isn’t known at least half as well as her husband Ken Millar/Ross Macdonald. In her own way she was certainly his equal.

From Brash Books YOU’VE GOT TO OPEN WITH A GRABBER by Craig Faustus Buck

12.03.14 YOU’VE GOT TO OPEN WITH A GRABBER…Written byCraig Faustus BuckShare on facebookShare on twitterShare on emailShare on pinterest_share










Bang out of the gate.  Or else.Are you one of those readers who scan the first paragraph of a book and puts it down if it doesn’t grab you?  I am.  If I’m feeling ornery, I’ll give the author only one line to snag me.  So, as a writer, I make a point of trying to write openings that pop in order to avoid losing those readers who are as quick to judge as I. The first line has to be a grabber.A lot of writers like to set the scene before diving into a story, but most readers aren’t interested in what a character feels or how a setting looks unless they’re already invested in that character or wonder about that setting.  As Elmore Leonard famously advised, “Never open a book with weather.”I write noir.  Perhaps cozy, romance or “literature” readers have more patience than my readers, but hardboiled fans want to be grabbed by the throat and hurled into a story.  One way to do this is with a twist.A twisted open implies right up front, that more surprises are in store.  I like that in a story. Sue Grafton used the device to launch an empire.  Here’s how she opened  A is for Alibi : “My name is Kinsey Milhone.  I’m a private investigator, licensed by the state of California.  I’m thirty-two years old, twice divorced, no kids.  The day before yesterday I killed someone and the fact weighs heavily on my mind.”She lulls you with a straightforward description of a single-divorced detective, then smacks you awake with the unexpected.Another opening tactic is the suggestive hook.  In the first paragraph of my first novel,  Go Down Hard  I use an image: “I look through the spyhole.  Gloria has a bottle of gin in her hand and a pair of cuffs hanging from her belt loop.  A deadly combination.”It’s a soft open for a noir thriller, but doesn’t Gloria pique your interest?Michael Connelly opened The Poet with a suggestive concept: “Death is my beat.  I make my living from it.”How can you put that book down before you’ve satisfied your curiosity about the narrator?  Make readers wonder and you buy time to hook them on your story.These are just two of a multitude of possible opening tactics.  Bottom line: hit ‘em fast and hard and where they least expect it._______________________________________________________Craig Faustus Buck is an L.A.-based journalist, nonfiction book author, TV writer-producer, screenwriter, short-story writer and novelist.   His first noir mystery novel, Go Down Hard, will be published May 2015 by Brash Books.  His indie feature, Smuggling for Gandhi, is currently in preproduction.  His novella, Psycho Logic was published May 1 by Stark Raving Group and his short story, Dead End, the novella’s prequel, was an Anthony Award nominee.  
Tags: A is for Alibi, cozy, Elmore Leonard, Go Down Hard, grabber, Michael COnnelly, Mystery Writing, noir, Sue Grafton, The Poet,writing

Why Critics Can’t Be Trusted With Sequels by Max Allan Collins

Why Critics Can’t Be Trusted With SequelsDecember 2nd, 2014 by Max Allan Collins     www.maxallancollins.com
The kneejerk reaction of most film critics to a sequel is to trash it. They walk in hating the movie they are being forced to see (usually for free, I might add). There have been exceptions – the second GODFATHER, for instance – but in recent years, when sequels have proliferated, the critical response to them has been so automatically negative as to make their comments worthless.
Case in point: two recent films that are sequels to very successful comedies have received almost interchangeably bad reviews: DUMB AND DUMBER TO and HORRIBLE BOSSES 2.
In the first instance, the critics have a point – this many-years-later sequel to that beloved celebration of idiocy is something many of us looked forward to. Who, with the ability to laugh, would not want to catch up with Lloyd and Harry? For the first two-thirds or so of the film, the movie is funny, and Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels deliver throughout. Then there is a bad and unfortunate stumble in the third act, where plot concerns kick in and laughs fall out. And the co-directing/scripting Farrelly Brothers seem out of step, their gross-out ‘90s sensibility turning cruel, not darkly funny. An easy line to cross, particularly when you’re struggling to catch lightning in a bottle twice. You’re more likely to get hit by it.
So DUMB AND DUMBER TO probably deserves some bad reviews – though not to the severe degree it suffered. But, yes, it’s a disappointment.
Then comes HORRIBLE BOSSES 2. The reviews read almost exactly the same as those for DUMB AND DUMBER TO. But the film is easily funnier than its predecessor, if having less integrity (this is a fate most sequels meet). BOSSES 2 builds on the first movie, turning its trio of former would-be murderers into would-be kidnappers (Jason Bateman, Charlie Day, Jason Sudekis), who are in high bumbling, fast-talking form. Bateman may be the funniest straight-man of all time, and that’s coming from somebody who reveres Bud Abbott and Dean Martin.
Jaimie Fox, Jennifer Aniston and Kevin Spacey reappear in top form (the latter a glorified cameo that still almost steals the film) while Chris Pine turns out to be very funny, at times seeming to channel William Shatner more overtly than in the reboot STAR TREK films. Then there’s the most horrible boss of all – Christoph Waltz – who is, as usual, a master of civility-coated villainy.
This is one of those richly comic films that will require several viewings to catch every funny line. At the same time, it manages to present a new story for the central characters that has enough echoes of the previous one to serve the “same but different” requirement. Because we are familiar with the characters, they don’t build – they reappear full-throttle and yet ascend from there.
A typical critical complaint: the three leads do not have horrible bosses this time. And that’s true – they are the horrible bosses, although in a much different way than the trio they hoped to murder last time around.
The lesson here is simple: don’t trust film critics (except me, of course). Most of them didn’t like either DUMB OR DUMBER or HORRIBLE BOSSES, either – so their reviews tend to be bad sequels to a previous bad review.

New Book excerpt McKenna's House by Robert J. Randisi

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A different kind of private detective novel
Available from Crossroads Press e books


PROLOGUE“What the fuck are you doin’ here?”My father’s words didn’t surprise me. I wondered what the fuck I was doing there, too ...The call had come early in the morning, never a good sign. “Hello? Mac?” a woman said, when I grunted into the phone. I cleared my throat and said, “Who’s this?” “Mac, it’s Isobel,” she said. “Your—your father’s neighbor?” My father’s neighbor and my neighbor as I grew up in Omaha, Nebraska. “Isobel, I don’t—um, what’s going on?” “It’s your dad, Mac,” Isobel said. “He’s very ill.” I dug the forefinger and thumb of my right hand into my eyes. “What’s wrong?” “It’s bad, Mac,” she said. “It’s very bad.” “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” “I knew you’d come,” she said, and hung up.Omaha was a straight run on I-80 from Chicago. It was a 7 hour drive under the best of circumstances. I made it in 6.I could smell the sickness in the air as I entered. I’d smelled it before, when my mother had died of cancer eight years earlier.Isobel gave me a quick hug as I set down my suitcase. Always a thickset girl when we were growing up, she’d grown even heavier in the hips in middle-age.“You made good time,” she said. “Where is he?” “In his room,” she said. “We have a nurse, and ... well, you should prepareyourself.” “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for the call, Isobel.” I knew it wasn’t a call my father wouldever have made on his own. “I’ll take your suitcase to your room. Go and see him.” I nodded. She grabbed my things and rushed off, her eyes filling up.When I was a kid my parent’s room was off limits. That made it a place I wanted to see, but getting caught in there meant a meeting with my father’s leather belt. Those were the days when a kid expected to get hit and parents didn’t get arrested for it.When I got to the door all those memories came flooding back and I stopped, as if a force field had suddenly appeared. From the hall I could see my father in his bed, couldsee tubes and wires, hear the beeps and moans of the machines which were either monitoring him, keeping him alive, or both.A solidly built woman in white pants, sweater and shoes—moved about the room, but stopped short when she saw me standing there. She came toward me, a questioning look on her plain face.“I’m his—uh, I’m the son,” I said.“Come,” she said, waving me in. “He’s awake.” We passed in the doorway and she put her hand on my arm. “I’m Nurse Chapman. I’ll be right outside.”“Thank you.”I approached the bed with no trepidation whatsoever, because I pretty much knew what his reaction to me was going to be. As I reached him he turned his head to look at me. And that’s when he said, “What the fuck are you doing here?”It was no coincidence that the nurse wasn’t present to hear that. This was nothing new. My father had said the most outlandish things to me during my formative years, things I could only assume were designed to scar me for my whole life. But no one else ever heard him speak that way. My teachers, my friends, they all thought my dad was a great guy. He spent his life in construction and attacked all aspects of his life with macho fervor—including being a father. That meant challenging—or ridiculing—me at every turn, which was his way of toughening me up.So what else would he have said to me? “Hello, Dad,” I said. “You look like shit.” “So do you,” he said. “You drive all the way?” “I did.” “Isobel called you, didn’t she?” “Yes, she did.” “Busybody bitch,” he said, although he’d never say it so that she could hear. One thing surprised. My father had always been a robust man, tall and barrel-chested. When my mother—a statuesque beauty her whole life--contracted cancer she shrank down to almost nothing by the time she died. I’d expected the same from my father, but there he was, as large as ever, even while lying in his bed with tubes going in and out. I have to say, though, his pallor was almost grey and his eyes were bloodshot.“You coulda killed yourself, drivin’ here that fast,” he complained. “Are you in that much of a hurry to see me die?”“Dad—”“Relax, relax,” he said, cutting me off. “I’m just foolin’ with you. You always were too damned sensitive. Lord knows I tried to toughen you up.”I was in my late 40’s, living and working in Chicago—a pretty tough town—and he still managed to make me feel like a ten year old who was disappointing to him. I found myself wishing there was somebody else in the room so I could ask, “Are you hearing this?”“So whataya gonna do now that you’ve seen me?” my father asked. “Head home?” “No,” I said, “I thought I’d hang around for a while.” “What the fuck for?” the old man said. “I’ve got that useless nurse and busybodyneighbor around all the time. Too many goddamned people in my house, if you ask me.”“Would you like us all to leave and just let you die in peace, Dad?”My father hesitated before answering then said, “You know, I’ve heard worse suggestions, lately.”He fell asleep after that and Nurse Chapman came in and suggested—strongly— that it was time for me to leave.I went to my room, which hadn’t changed much since I‘d left for college. My mother kept it that way, because in her mind I was forever her little boy who was comfortable in that room. Why my father kept it that way, I never knew.Isobel had put my suitcase on the single bed, which was going to be as uncomfortable as hell, but I was as uncomfortable as hell being back in my father’s house.Ever since my mother died I started thinking of it as my father’s house. I hadn’t thought of it as my home for many years.“Mac?” I turned quickly, stared at Isobel, who was standing in the doorway. “I—I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” “It’s okay,” I said. “I was just thinking.” “You must be hungry,” she said. “Would you like some dinner?” “I’d love some. I’ll unpack later. Lead me to the food.” “The kitchen,” she said. I followed her there. She’d already set the table. There was a bowl of salad on it. “Can you toss the salad?” “I can,” I said, “and I will.” While I was doing that she finished bringing the food to the table, then poured twoglasses of red wine. I would rather have had beer, but I didn’t say so. We sat down across from each other.“I remembered you like meat loaf,” she said. “Yes, I do.” Used to, actually, but I didn’t say that, either. “Isobel,” I said, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. I still liked those. “Yes, Mac?” “Why are you here?” “I told you,” she said, poking at her food, “I figured you’d be hungry.” “No,” I said, “why have you been looking after my father?”“Actually,” she said, “the nurse is—”“Don’t make this like pulling teeth, Isobel,” I said, cutting her off. I almost said “fucking teeth,” but I didn’t want to sound like the old man.“All right,” she said, putting down her fork. “I know you never had a good relationship with your father, Mac. I know that. But damn it, I miss mine. So I decided to ... borrow yours.”“How did he feel about that?”“Your father has always been nice to me, Mac,” she said. “He still is, even though he’s in pain.”I wondered what she’d say if I told her he called her a “busybody neighbor?” “My God, you’re not paying for the nurse, are you? And all that equipment?” ”No, of course not,” she answered. “I couldn’t afford that. It’s all your Dad’sMedicare and Insurance.” The smell of Isobel’s meat loaf had chased the cancer stench from the kitchen but,God help me, it was still in my nose. “Okay,” I said, “okay.” “What are you going to do, Mac?” she asked. “Go back to Chicago?” “I don’t know.” I looked across the table at the woman who had borrowed myfather. “Mac, if you’re not here when he dies, you’re going to regret it.” I wasn’t there when my mother died. I had gone back to Chicago, back to work, andI did regret it. Was I being given a second chance with the old man? Did I want to stay around and leave myself open to more of his abuse? And how would I actually feel when he did die? Grateful that the abuse had finally stopped?“He’s going to die, Mac,” she said. “There’s nothing they can do—nothing any of us can do—but try to keep him comfortable.”If he died, and I felt relief, what would that make me?


DISCOVER CROSSROAD PRESSVisit us online Check out our blog and Subscribe to our Newsletter for the latest Crossroad Press News Find and follow us on Facebook Join our group at GoodreadsWe hope you enjoy this eBook and will seek out other books published by Crossroad Press. We strive to make our eBooks as free of errors as possible, but on occasion some make it into the final product. If you spot any problems, please contact us at publisher@crossroadpress.com and notify us of what you found. We’ll make the necessary corrections and republish the book. We’ll also ensure you get the updated version of the eBook.If you’d like to be notified of new Crossroad Press titles when they are published, please send an email to publisher@crossroadpress.com and ask to be added to our mailing list.If you have a moment, the author would appreciate you taking the time to leave a review for this book at whatever retailer’s site you purchased it from.Thank you for your assistance and your support of the authors published by Crossroad Press.

"Holiday Book Bundles for Mystery Lovers" Libby Fischer Hellmann

Dear Ed --

The season is upon us. Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Deals. Steals. Discounts. And more. This year I’m doing my part -- by offering you a quick and easy way to give a lasting keepsake that yields hours of thrills and chills (if I do say so myself).

In honor of the holidays, I invite you to my "Holiday Book Bundles for Mystery Lovers" store. You'll find my twelve crime thriller books bundled into packages with discounted prices (shipping included). Real books. In print. You remember "real" books -- you can flip back and forth, skim any chapter, read the end first (if you’re that kind of reader), admire the cover, and use one of the many bookmarks you’ve probably collected over the years.
But what makes these packages special is that I'll be autographing each book.

Which means In addition to hours of entertainment... your "giftee" will have a signed-by-the-author gift that speaks to your thoughtfulness.

So if someone on your list is an avid mystery or crime reader, hop on over to my Holiday Book Bundle page. I'm sure you'll see a bundle they will like.

Happy Holiday Reading! ​P.S. Only limited quantities of these volumes are available. Warmly,
LibbyPlease add my email address to your safe sender list so my emails don't get trapped in the netherworld of your spam box.Latest Articles from my blogMy Latest Novel - Nobody's Child Connect with me and let's get social.

Ken Levine LOL

One of those great Hollywood stories I was a Story Editor on MASH and was invited to speak to a sitcom writing class at UCLA along with my friend Larry, who at the time was a Story Editor on RHODA. We talked about how to break into the business – the importance of writing great spec scripts. Do’s and don’ts. 

We stressed the need for hard work, really studying the shows, setting high standards for yourself. That was the path to a script assignment for one of our shows.

A friend of mine was in the class and overheard the following:

Two coeds talking. Near the end of our discussion one turned to the other.

COED #1: So what do you think, Ken or Larry?

COED #2 (after some consideration): I’ll fuck Larry. I’d rather get a RHODA.

Postscript: Neither of us got lucky that night. And she never got a RHODA. But it was nice to know the students really were taking our career advice seriously.