My Love Of Westerns

I have always been captivated by the genre that is so affectionatley titled "the western". I am a true blue fan of the movies of Glen Ford with their panoramic photography and I have read everything that Zane Grey ever wrote. To me the western entails high drama and cinematic action. I think one of my all time favorite westerns was Howard Hugh's The Outlaw that featured the lovely Jane Russell.

The west should always be a place where men are men and the women are damn glad of it. The old west tale is on my list of stories to conquer. I intend to create some rollickingly good yarns.

The Business Of Writing

I was drawn to writing like a moth to a flame when I found I had the gift for describing places and people. I mostly found myself wanting to live vicariously through others with my quill. So, I began with writing about my environment which at the time was Hollywood in the early seventies. I wrote about the restaurants I ate in, the bars I drank in and the people I associated with at parties. I was captivated by the rich texture that we call life; and at that time, my life was filled with the zest and vigor that only the everyday Joe dreamed about. So, I ended up filling many spiral notebooks full of experiences-- some were good, and some were just downright unfortunate. From these notebooks I was able to put together my first story that I ended up selling to the New Yorker. This was followed by numerous letters to Penthouse Magazine. Eventually, I penned my first novel Hot Days And Hollywood Nights and the rest was history.

Blinding Headlights Glaring Into The Misty Night

The amber of blinding headlights glared into the misty night as the silver Porsche Cabriolet whipped around the corner, heading down Laural Canyon. A fiery vixen sat behind the wheel with her foot to the pedal. She was headed toward the twinkling lights of Los Angeles; a town where the angels had soot stained faces.

Purple Prose

The willows whipped and the wind sang. And her hair fluttered about. She turned to him with her eyes on fire and an insatiable hunger. He wanted her, his thirst needed to be slaked. But, something held him back. Was it the fact that she was only 18 and he was old enough to be her father? Or did it have to do with him being a man of the cloth?