We made it across the finish line. The conclusion of Tales from Stool 17 is done and available at Amazon.com. The final book of this three-part series, Dark Days of Judgment, was overdue. It’s been over a year since book two, Trouble in Tate’s Hell, was released, and, for a while, I wondered if book three would leave the gate.
I didn’t plan on such a late release. There were several factors that kept pushing the project down the road. Each one factor started as an excuse and ultimately circled back to point to the real culprit: Me.
I made mistakes. Not miscalculations, mishaps, or missteps, they were mistakes. Those other softer descriptions attempt to shift responsibility. Not me. I made mistakes, and I own them. While I would prefer to avoid screwing up, I appreciate them. Mistakes are our greatest teachers. Continue reading
The fat, heartless, callous veterinarian asked, “So, who is going to pay for this?”
The lady and her girlfriend turned to look at each other, each face splattered with a look of disbelief. The lady turned back and said, “I don’t know. We just found her this way. She needs help. Help her.”
It was late winter, March 04, 2004. The lady and her girlfriend were driving down a busy road when they came across a dog in the middle of the street. They pulled over to help. The dog hadn’t been hit or run-over, but she was injured. She could barely walk or stand. An animal trap was snapped around a back leg. She was a gentle dog, and with the help of a young man that had also stopped, they put the dog in the lady’s car. The vet’s office was just across the street.
“But someone has to be responsible for the services,” the vet replied in a curt tone.
A few weeks ago I received an email from reporter Wes Locher. He is a staff writer for the The Star, the local newspaper in Port St. Joe. He asked if I would be interested in coming by to chat about my books and my connection with the area. Hell yeah!
So, last Friday I spent about an hour with Wes at their offices located in the Piggly Wiggly shopping center complex. It was fun. We had a nice talk and covered quite a bit of ground. After it was over and I was walking out to my Bronco, I began to think … Damn Kirk, did you say anything stupid? I’m sure I did. I usually do. But … you wouldn’t know it by the article. I am quite proud of it. Click here to read it.
And, as it turns out, the young reporter also collaborates with others to create graphic novels. (Back in the day, we called them comics). Check him out at his website WesLocher.com.
My decision to start writing came late in life. I was 50, a half-century in age, when I decided to throw all caution to the wind and start writing with purpose. Recognizing my age and eventual mortality, time wasn’t on my side. There was much to do, and, to make matters worse, I had no idea what I was doing. I still don’t, but I know a lot more now than I did four years ago. Okay … the cat’s out of the bag. I’m 54.
I was in Baltimore, Maryland on business. The day was over, and I was in my hotel room that overlooked the harbor. I had my laptop out pounding out an article for my sailing club’s newsletter. Bored to death with the truth, I put that project aside and started writing something else. It was a sailing story, but fiction. I stopped writing and stared at the screen. What are you doing? My only answer was … I don’t know, but I like it.