Years in the making

"A master of sly observations, of the truths hidden in words, echoes to the time when men were men, and writers weren't afraid to tell stories." (L.B. Johnson)  "The combination of courage, tenderness, integrity, brains and raw sensuality is way out of the ordinary." (Erik Svehaug)  "Uncanny ability to portray exclusively female experiences accurately." (Sunni Maravillosa)  "One part grit, a dash of over the top machismo, a pinch of womanly intuition, add heartfelt devotion, murder, and heat over a flame of erotic pleasure." (Goodreads)

I re-read Portrait of Valor this morning, cried at the ending. I can accept that literary agents and publishers dislike my stories. I do things that other authors don't. Fundamentally, I'm a patriot of a peculiar sort. My heroes and heroines blaze an independent path, no different than Crockett or Pankhurst, with a modern twist. They don't fight for glory or social justice. Given a choice, they'd rather go dancing and drinking in luxurious nightclubs, tempt others into a hot wet romance. Cable and Blount are rich, resourceful, armed and dangerous, and bonded to each other by the only thing that matters in life -- personal autonomy in action, unafraid of life on life's terms.

If I had a magic wand, I would rewrite and polish The Tar Pit, but it would be wrong to dilute its terse tension. The final chapters are a miracle of heroism and its moral price.

I'm very proud of Charity, a shorter work that spans important truths and manages to be an exhilerating tale with a comic epilogue. I don't know what to say about Finding Flopsie, the same story told twice, with Chris and Peachy separated by baffling circumstances, a global chase that seems unfair and destined to end badly. A final adventure, Who Killed John Galt, passed the torch to a new generation of lovers, spared from peril, as most people are. Chris and Peachy were uniquely bold and irreplaceable, the best of an elite ruling class, fiercely independent and whole, free to thrive as wanton wildcats who faced danger as a welcome natural challenge.

Our social media distanced nation is worse without them. As proof, I offer Finding Flopsie, which I finally re-read tonight, a day after composing the rest of this post. It was wonderful. Nothing like it in literary history. Full of warmth, determination, deceit, despair, a love so deep that it hurts, and a blockbuster finish.

An easy death, achieved so much.

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