Well, things are progressing with the new book – I’m about 15,000 words in, still laying the groundwork, but it’s coming together nicely. A lot of road to travel with our reluctant hero, and the going gets hard every now and then

[we all get blocked, even in the most subtle of ways]

but I’ve walked these paths before.

Too early to share much of plot, theme and intent – it may develop in a completely different direction. For the curious, I thought I’d share this very brief

[and beg forgiveness for the first-draft-iness of this writing]


Rufus wheeled his cart along the main road, deeper into the town.

Past sleeping car lots.

Abandoned big box stores.

A town that had moved on.

And left many behind, Rufus thought.

He glanced back at the cart, at the empty milk carton nestled within, at Michael Ridenour’s eyes.

Stay safe, his last words to the kid.

They repeated with every footfall.

* * *

At the police station, he pulled the cart into a space between two cruisers.

Mind if I park here? he thought, smiling.

As he walked towards the building, he paused, looked up and down the street, the town beginning to get into its normal flow.

He stood for a moment, guitar on his back, milk carton in hand.

The police station was on the corner of Wilson and Main, its windows looking out over downtown. These brick buildings had seen long years and many winters, flaking here and there, stucco patched and filled, left unfixed elsewhere. And in amongst, more contemporary, modern architecture; lego-block buildings filling the gaps between architecture of another age.

Shops, bars, coffee shops; commercial shroud blanketing small-town neglect. Walk-Don’t Walk signals flashing at crossings. The obligatory Subway on the far corner.

Pawn shops.

Porn stores.

Tattoo houses.

Normality reigned.

People moved along Main, in cars, on bikes, on foot. Some talking with each other, most toeing isolation paths.

Like the guy in the pickup, Rufus thought, neither smile, nor will to share.

“Good morning, Anywhereville,” he whispered, before turning back to the police station, pushing the door open and stepping inside.