How did I get so southern? Where the hell did the southern fiction come from? I never read southern fiction growing up, leaning more toward gritty novels and crime. I don’t just write southern fiction though. My next novel due out in 2018 is about five very east coast young actors who meet in the 1970s and reunite many, many years latter to share secrets better left to history but you know actors, they have to have the drama. The book is definitely about five drama queens but all of them very East coast. (Faith Among Friends) Then I’ve got a novel about a very feisty spirit from Salem, Massachusetts (Annabel Horton Lost Witch of Salem, and a guy who thinks he’s been abducted by aliens in the Catskill Mountains. (Pharaoh’s Star) I’m writing another Catskill mountain story about robots or should I say holograms that take over the innocent minds of children and turn the little innocents into cold and brutal killers, nothing southern about it. (Pindar Corners) Yet another Catskill Mountain novel, Marybeth, Hollister & Jane doesn’t have a drop of southern blood. Even my most biographical novel, The Fourniers, which include a series of three novels beginning at early twentieth century: When Hannah Played Ragtime, Glamor Girl and The Way Back is soooooo New York and coming out in 2018 as well. Oh, biographical novels. Of course! Yes, my grandfather on my mother’s side was a bastard from hell and came from a southern South Carolina family. That’s where I get it. Somewhere in my subconscious mind or past life I am southern. Everyone should write novels; it brings up the strangest deep-seated utterly bizarre moments in the spiritual journey of life and death that remind us of how ignorant we are about where we’ve been.
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