Of Blood, Shadows, and Fort Bowie, AZ; or, A Novelist’s Own Roadtrip

Writing a novel can be a bloody business.

‘Course I would rather do it any day than spill real blood, but rarely a writing day goes by when I’m not “licking my wounds,” “battered,” or just plain depressed at my paltry efforts to put letter after letter and have them say something meaningful to more than me . . . → Read More: Of Blood, Shadows, and Fort Bowie, AZ; or, A Novelist’s Own Roadtrip