I just blew my own mind. I’ve been writing professionally for 33 years. That’s just crazy, considering I’m only 26 years old (times 2). I started out writing about bizarre dorm life in my college newspaper in Southern Oregon in the 1970s. Even out west, I was a Southerner. I wrote my first book in 1985 after a six month binge through Europe. The book title was, of course, The Party Guide to Europe. After that I worked as a magazine editor for 15 years which didn’t give me enough time to pick my nose properly much less write another book.

I escaped the magazine biz in 1999 and wrote my first novel. It was a thriller, called The Cure. It didn’t sell a lot of copies but folks who bought it liked it. So it’s basically ten year later and my second novel, A Good Day to Live, has just been published and it’s getting rave reviews. In its first month, it has sold more copies than Party Guide and The Cure combined. That was no great feat but I’m still proud.

I can feel a ground swell building about this book. Folks relate to it. They smile a lot, laugh out loud often, and remember the good times of old. Maybe I’m onto something. I hope so because I’m writing a sequel. If not, there’s always The Party Guide to LA (that’s Lower Alabama) to consider.