Cape Horn: A Short Story

Ibrahim shook his head and laughed. He was too smart for him. He would not take the dare. He was already three shots of rum in, and the fourth might be the end of him. “No, it’s your turn, he said, “unless you’re afraid, that is.” The...

Money and the Muse’s Underwear

I was at a writer’s conference in Charleston, recently, where I had the pleasure of paying a great deal of money to listen to another interminable speech about the ongoing revolution in the publishing industry. Book publishing, it seems, has been revolting and...

The Coming Thermal Inversion in Publishing

What will fundamentally change the publishing industry is not the rise of self-publishing or e-books but the rise of the non-reader. One of my many useless theories about the future of mankind is that the publishing industry as we know it today won’t exist...

The Deal

Over a crackly cell phone connection this afternoon in an Atlanta Bread Company cafe in Charleston, amid whirring blenders and grinding ice machines, I could hear just enough of the three-way conference call with producer Diane Isaacs and editor Kiffer Brown to know...

Tinseltown Dreams

Well, it’s officially unofficial.  The call from the west coast came today at 3:29 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time: The Prodigal is in play for a Hollywood movie deal and being shopped around by a Real Live Producer. Of course, that little bit of news and $4.25...

17 Days Alone At Sea

In May of this year, for a little diversion (and to deliver a new boat to my new home), I decided to sail to Bermuda. I set out from Annapolis and was headed ultimately to Charleston, a voyage of some 1500 miles.  I was alone aboard Prodigal, a thirty-foot ketch built...

The Morning of Our Hope

Today is Easter, the highest, holiest day of the church year. Across the world, hundreds of millions of Christians will enter a sanctuary and recite a profession of faith that begins with the words, “We believe.” This is the start of the creed named after...

The Night of Our Despair

A curious figure of Anglican liturgy who has always caught my eye is the verger.  He is that somber fellow who comes into church ahead of the priest in the processional, dressed in black and carrying a rather severe looking baton capped with an equally unyielding,...

I Can Hear The Ocean

It’s one month away, now.  By this time in May, I should be alone aboard Prodigal, a stalwart, thirty-foot ketch that was sailing the open ocean before I learned to ride a bike; before the Vietnam War really got going; before our hopes in Bobby Kennedy and...

Farewell to the Old North State

Well, today marks my last day as a full-time resident of the State of North Carolina. The movers come at 1 p.m.  I’m headed to the Holy City, where my bride has gone before me to take a fabulous job by which she intends to keep me in the style to which I have...