(View entire post here)

I got a Halloween treat the last weekend in October--Rock Springs (WY) High School mounted a production of my adaptation of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. Judy and I drove down to Rock Springs, figuring we'd just drive the rest of the way to Denver the next day and catch our flight to France.        

            Now for the trick part. 

            It was a great show, but an October storm roared through the high plains that night, closing the highway from Rock Springs eastward-including the two-hundred and fifty mile portion on I-80 that we needed to traverse. I'd been invited to an incredible series of events in and around Clermont-Ferrand in the Auvergne (France) with actors performing from my books, readings, signings, incredible food, wine, and company. I had to get to Denver, because I had to get to France.

            Like all true westerners, I felt as if I had to test the waters and see how far I could get before the Wyoming Highway Patrol shut me down. I loaded Judy, the dogs (yes, the dogs-they were going to their other parents in Ft. Collins for the duration of our trip) and started out at ten that night. It was pretty smooth sailing to just past Rawlins, but then the blinking lights became more persistent with gentle messages like-ALL VEHICLES MUST EXIT THE HIGHWAY AT THIS POINT OR FACE PROSECUTION.

(View entire post here)

This week's episode of A Cup of Poetry features a dual language poem by Chilean poet Pablo Neruda read by Christina Castro.

Listen to A Cup of Poetry now and read the poem below!

Subscribe to the FREE podcast feed in the iTunes store.

Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, Dual Language Edition by Pablo Neruda, translated by S. Merwin

Book: Paperback | 8.26 x 5.23in | 80 pages | ISBN 9780143039969 | 26 Dec 2006 | Penguin Classic | 18 - AND UP

$13.00 - Add to Cart

The Morning is Full

The morning is full of storm
in the heart of summer.

The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of good-bye,
the wind, traveling, waving them in its hands.

The numberless heart of the wind
beating above our loving silence.

(View entire post here)

What a week!  The past few days have been the reward that all writers work toward.

I spend a lot of time alone in a room with a laptop listening to the voices in my head.  Ha.  That's right.  Be afraid!  ;)

Now all of a sudden the December titles are real, actual books in real, actual stores -- and I'm out there, too, meeting new fans and old friends.  The process itself is long and slow.  That's not to say the work isn't enjoyable.  For me, writing is like playing both sides of a gigantic, involving, multi-level chess game.  I'm the good guys.  I'm the bad guys.  But the manuscript unfolds in increments over most of a year, followed by weeks of editing and rewrites and page proofs.  Every book is a marathon.

The funny part is that if you met me, you might be surprised to find that I'm a very normal, happy, boring family guy.  I've written this dark trilogy of sci fi thrillers because once you accept the premise of the books, that the only safe places on Earth are above 10,000 feet, things get tense in a hurry.  There's no way to write a Mary Poppins version of the end of the world, not if you're honest, and it was important to me to give the series as much reality as I could summon.