their books

Still working on this. Check back when you can.

Latest Blog Posts

In mythos holt: a venture to the interior

At the loom of history: the sley The worst and most imminent danger of artificial intelligence is not that it will outstrip the mind of man, any more than we fear a steam locomotive for being more powerful, but that it will be used as a tool by some men to gain...

spell check vs author

How your automatic spelling checker is like a tyrant—an arrogator and a dictator, a control freak, a stickler, a monocrat, a fusspot, a pedant, a faux-purist, an anti-perfectionist, a saboteur, an autarch, a czar, a usurper, a disciplinarian, a despot, a vandal and...

Knox Books and Moby Dick

at play with words [A bit of flotsam from the novel in progress, A Republic of Books, more of which may be salvaged from elsewhere on this ethereal site.] So, about ten years ago, for lack of a more useful or rewarding project, I attempted to write a play set in a...

Washington defeats the British at the Battle of Bear Mountain

a little known victory retold [a shrift from the novel in progress, A Republic of Books, more of which can be found elsewhere in this ethereal site] Given my lack of success, I have been asked more than once why I wanted to write in the first place, much less continue...

All My Children are Apples!

but if the tree is on a hill, an apple can roll pretty far [another bite of the novel in progress, A Republic of Books, more of which may be found elsewhere on this ethereal site] Of all the many failures for which I hold myself responsible, my children are the most...

Skinny dipping in the Glenmacnass

and the sins of our fathers [a lagniappe of the work in progress, A Republic of Books, more of which may be found elsewhere on this ethereal site] Peter Duggin was behind the bar. Doreen was on a break. It was a quiet Wednesday night. “What’s the latest screw,...

A veritable husband of imperfections

with a virtual wifeful of corrections [A riff from the novel in progress, A Republic of Books, more of which can be read elsewhere on this ethereal site.] I wrote this a few years ago: ‘He was a virtual husband of cute imperfections and she a veritable wife of helpful...

Scalloped again!

Wherein my education continues. [another trifle from my alms-basket of words, A Republic of Books, the novel in progress to be found elsewhere on this ethereal site] The door opens abruptly, only seconds after I’ve unlocked it. The customer is in a hurry and makes...

Mr. Popper’s Paradox

is killing ourselves to death [A mote from the novel in progress, A Republic of Books, more of which may be found elsewhere on this ethereal site.] ‘I remember ye olde bookshoppe.’ This will undoubtedly be the subject of countless internet articles in the coming years...

What Sven Forkbeard means to me

and the consequences of lying [ being the latest driblet from the novel in progress, A Republic of Books] Writing is, fundamentally, a conversation with yourself. That’s it, in the nutshell. (The nut shell of your own head, of course.) Remember to listen to yourself...

At the postmodern multi-perplex

More screens but still nothing worth knowing (from the novel in progress A Republic of Books, more of which can be found elsewhere on this ethereal site) Reel life may be directed to a sharp technical edge in the age of CGI, but what real life we are allowed by the...

to a little cave in Abington

  where the grapes of wrath are stored [Another visit to the novel in progress. A Republic of Books My play about Benjamin Lay begins with a monologue, as he picks the grapes at the arbor just outside his door—well, not exactly. It is a dialogue, but between...

Novels & Novellas Available for Purchase

I Am William McGuire

I Am William McGuire

It’s a bloody Cro-Magnon world.
What’s a Neanderthal to do?

 

A Slepyng Hound to Wake

A Slepyng Hound to Wake

Leaving well enough alone is not good enough at all—not if the reason for a death is to be found in the life that was lost.
Hound

Hound

Henry Sullivan has made a simpler life for himself, finding and selling books. There is little room in it for either love or murder.

 

About

I have been informed by trusted authority that the short quip which I have placed here for the last year or so, by way of biography, lacks gravitas. “Over-paid by others for hyphenated jobs such as lawn-work, snow-shoveling, house-painting, office-boy, dish-washer, warehouse-grunt, table-waiter and hotel night-clerk–I’ve since chosen to be a writer, editor, publisher, and for most of my life, a bookseller, and even managed to occasionally pay myself. Hound is my first published novel.” And so it does. It is hard to be serious about so unserious a subject as oneself. But herewith, and keeping the ‘nasty bits’ (Brit expressions are so brilliant) to myself, I offer then, this ongoing post begun as posts at Small Beer Press. If anyone is interested, from time to time I will add something at the end to bring the epic closer to the present moment.

read more...