Good Guess Or Not Part 1
Back in the early 80’s, my good friend and agent, the late Ray Peekner, advised me to join the Western Writers of America (WWA). I had already written three books that Doubleday published as westerns; therefore, I was qualified to join that fine organization. However, I had no desire to be Zane Grey or Louis L’Amour. I didn’t want to write westerns for the rest of my life.
After a dry spell of not being published for four years, I wrote another book for Doubleday, THE COWBOY CONSPIRACY, which I considered to be a mystery. (Read my previous post to learn about that title which is now PROSPECTING FOR MURDER.) Of course, Doubleday published it as a western.
Ray pushed me all the harder to join WWA after that. So I agreed to do it, mostly because Ray was dying of cancer and I wanted to do it for him.
Peg and I loaded our son Torry and my son Paul from a previous marriage into the car and off we went to the WWA convention in Sheridan, Wyoming.
That last week of June 1987 changed my life. I met some of the most fascinating and wonderful people there. I made some friends who are still very near and dear to me. And I found another agent, which is a story by itself.
One friend I made is my present agent Cherry Weiner. She is something and someone very special, and I mean that in the best of terms. I love people who talk to you straight from the shoulder. Not a lot of people really appreciate folks like that, but I do. Cherry is about as direct and forthright as a person can be, especially with her authors. She might be very much on the diminutive side, but she’s a giant in my heart.
Another dear friend I was super fortunate to make at that convention is Frank Roderus. Yes, the Frank Roderus. The Spur Award-winning Frank Roderus. The author who has had over 300 books published and sold at least 20 million copies during his career. Maybe closer to 30 million. I don’t think he knows for certain how many have been sold because he’s that modest about his talent and his success.
But the man I met in Sheridan who had a real impact on my career and who is still my good friend is Tom Colgan, a senior editor at Berkley. Tom was 25 or 26 that year. Not sure exactly which. I can still recall the first time I saw him. He was walking outside the hotel wearing jeans and a denim jacket with his hands tucked in his back pockets as he meandered around the grounds looking lonely and lost. I heard him speak to someone and recognized a New York City accent. My first thought was he was some writer’s kid because he looked so young, like he was still in his teens. Since he appeared to be so out of place, I thought I’d talk to him and meet his “parent” through him. Our first conversation went something like this:
“New York, right?”
“Yes?”
“Mets or Yankees?”
“Mets.”
“Damn! I thought I was gonna like you.”
Tom laughed. “Why? Are you a Yankee fan?”
“Cubs.”
He laughed again. “There are worse things to be than a Cub fan.”
We hit it off and talked baseball for a while.
For the next couple days, Tom and I chatted each time we met in the course of the day, and not once did we talk about anything connected to our purpose for being there in Wyoming. Why? Because I had no idea he was the western editor for Berkley at the time. As previously stated, I thought he was some writer’s kid and was dragged along to this convention like Peg and I had dragged our boys along.
Not until Wednesday, after having met on Sunday, did I learn Tom’s true identity. The aforementioned Frank Roderus, who had since befriended me out of pity, asked, “How come you’re so chummy with Colgan?”
“Who?”
“Tom Colgan.”
“I don’t know. He’s a nice kid.”
Frank laughed at me. “Don’t you know who he is?”
I shrugged. Then Frank told me about Tom, and I felt quite the fool. Wasn’t the first time in my life I’d been so naïve. Wasn’t the last either. Babe in the woods, that was me. And like most lost children, I caught a break and was found, but you don’t get to read about that until the next post. Whenever I get a round tuit.
After a dry spell of not being published for four years, I wrote another book for Doubleday, THE COWBOY CONSPIRACY, which I considered to be a mystery. (Read my previous post to learn about that title which is now PROSPECTING FOR MURDER.) Of course, Doubleday published it as a western.
Ray pushed me all the harder to join WWA after that. So I agreed to do it, mostly because Ray was dying of cancer and I wanted to do it for him.
Peg and I loaded our son Torry and my son Paul from a previous marriage into the car and off we went to the WWA convention in Sheridan, Wyoming.
That last week of June 1987 changed my life. I met some of the most fascinating and wonderful people there. I made some friends who are still very near and dear to me. And I found another agent, which is a story by itself.
One friend I made is my present agent Cherry Weiner. She is something and someone very special, and I mean that in the best of terms. I love people who talk to you straight from the shoulder. Not a lot of people really appreciate folks like that, but I do. Cherry is about as direct and forthright as a person can be, especially with her authors. She might be very much on the diminutive side, but she’s a giant in my heart.
Another dear friend I was super fortunate to make at that convention is Frank Roderus. Yes, the Frank Roderus. The Spur Award-winning Frank Roderus. The author who has had over 300 books published and sold at least 20 million copies during his career. Maybe closer to 30 million. I don’t think he knows for certain how many have been sold because he’s that modest about his talent and his success.
But the man I met in Sheridan who had a real impact on my career and who is still my good friend is Tom Colgan, a senior editor at Berkley. Tom was 25 or 26 that year. Not sure exactly which. I can still recall the first time I saw him. He was walking outside the hotel wearing jeans and a denim jacket with his hands tucked in his back pockets as he meandered around the grounds looking lonely and lost. I heard him speak to someone and recognized a New York City accent. My first thought was he was some writer’s kid because he looked so young, like he was still in his teens. Since he appeared to be so out of place, I thought I’d talk to him and meet his “parent” through him. Our first conversation went something like this:
“New York, right?”
“Yes?”
“Mets or Yankees?”
“Mets.”
“Damn! I thought I was gonna like you.”
Tom laughed. “Why? Are you a Yankee fan?”
“Cubs.”
He laughed again. “There are worse things to be than a Cub fan.”
We hit it off and talked baseball for a while.
For the next couple days, Tom and I chatted each time we met in the course of the day, and not once did we talk about anything connected to our purpose for being there in Wyoming. Why? Because I had no idea he was the western editor for Berkley at the time. As previously stated, I thought he was some writer’s kid and was dragged along to this convention like Peg and I had dragged our boys along.
Not until Wednesday, after having met on Sunday, did I learn Tom’s true identity. The aforementioned Frank Roderus, who had since befriended me out of pity, asked, “How come you’re so chummy with Colgan?”
“Who?”
“Tom Colgan.”
“I don’t know. He’s a nice kid.”
Frank laughed at me. “Don’t you know who he is?”
I shrugged. Then Frank told me about Tom, and I felt quite the fool. Wasn’t the first time in my life I’d been so naïve. Wasn’t the last either. Babe in the woods, that was me. And like most lost children, I caught a break and was found, but you don’t get to read about that until the next post. Whenever I get a round tuit.
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