These past weeks, I've been in a holding pattern. The Toll Collectors and A Simple Kindness are both out the door, looking for a home. The second draft of my novel is coming along, albeit slowly. And so, on this Valentine's Day edition of my bi-weekly guilt-fueled posts, I've little to report. This, folks, is the insight you just won't get from a Neil Gaiman or a Tess Gerritsen. The waiting. The utter lack of news. The fast-paced world of the not-yet-published. Yup, this is the stuff.
What I can say is that lately I've had phenomenal luck in the stuff I've been reading, thanks in part to the fine folks at Hard Case Crime, though most of the credit goes to my lovely wife Katrina. Her unerring taste has left me with a pile of great books from Christmas, my birthday, and now Valentine's Day. I mean come on, what says Valentine's Day like Ed McBain's The Gutter and the Grave?
So, to those who want to give the gift of murder and mayhem, let me say this: Lawrence Block is one badass mofo. Donald Westlake is great fun. Domenic Stansberry's The Confession is utterly incredible. Seriously. The dude scared me a little.
And why didn't anybody tell me that Alan Moore's Watchmen was this damn good? (Okay, to be fair, like a billion people told me, but it took a while for me to listen.) If you haven't read it, go now and buy it. If you don't like it, e-mail me and I'll send you a check for the cost. Of course, if you don't like it, the chances you're smart enough to successfully operate a computer are slim, so I think I'm off the hook.
That's it for now. With luck, some real news to follow. Stay tuned.