There’s a joke I’ve been telling for almost forty years. An old Jewish grandmother is walking along the Boardwalk in Atlantic City with her young grandson when suddenly a giant wave grabs the child and pulls him into the ocean. ‘Mein grandson. Mein grandson. Someone save mein grandson.’ A young police officer nearby removes his hat and his belt and dives in without a second thought.

I suppose anytime you use the phrase “on the road” around a bunch of writers, there is an automatic association with Jack Kerouac. The more journalistic minds might bring up Charles Kurault. This use of the phrase relates to neither. My recent travels have been well documented, especially after my retirement. Book signings and events have captured my fascination in a way unknown to me prior.

Perhaps there is the conception that writers, like the goddess Venus, sprang from the foam of the sea. We were a creation considered but not completely formed until a magical touch brought us to life. It’s charming. It’s almost romantic. It’s also hogwash! Through the posts on this blog for the past seventeen years, I have discussed my journey as a writer, trials and tribulations, new learning and other epiphanies.

This question will come up for any artist at some point in their lifespan. It all boils down to a basic question of motivation. Years ago, I spoke with a young writer at a one-day writing seminar. As was my typical conversation starter, I asked her what she wrote. She indicated she was currently writing steampunk, but then added as an unsolicited addendum that it was because THAT was what was selling at THAT time.

In The Time of Judgment, Vol. 4 of The Wichta Chronicles, Jewish private detective Harold Bergman becomes ensnared in the search for a Nazi war criminal, supposedly somewhere between Wichita and Arkansas City KS. He is joined in this search by beat cop Baron Witherspoon (the main character of The Ark City Confidential Chronicles); Alex Gordon, a Jewish FBI agent; and Robert McKay, an attorney from the Justice Department.

During the last couple of months, I have read two pieces of crime fiction by Friedrich Durrenmatt (1921-1990), the Swiss author and dramatist. What was particularly striking about them was lack of association with anything I had read prior within the genre. They were not hardboiled, noir, nor what you would think of as police procedural, although much of the activity does involve policeman attempting to solve crimes.

My culinary proclivities have been well documented. However, I discuss them as an adjunct to my writing, the notion of creative endeavors being analogues to each other. I have rarely discussed by approach to baking, cooking, i.e. anything related to the kitchen. It is true that I make a new recipe as exactly as indicated, measuring precisely, chopping instead of dicing or vice versa, and as much of the indicated ingredients as possible (bread flour vs.

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As of this post: The Time of Judgment, Vol. 4 of The Wichita Chronicles, has a release date of August 19, 2026 Vol. 5 of The Wichita Chronicles (tentatively titled The Right Hand of Righteousness) is written and edited and awaiting the release date of the prior book with a little traction before it is sent to the publisher. The first book of a new series has been written and edited.

Harold begins to doubt he has the capacity to continue on the search for a Nazi war criminal and his ability to separate his sense of law from his desire for justice. He visits his dear friend Bradley Wolrebinski. When Bradley answered the door, he looked as concerned as a Jewish mother, the same look I saw several times on Svetlana’s face, and reminiscent of my own mother.

FBI agent Alex Gordon, himself a Jew, has some additional information for Harold regarding an old case, one which could bring potential harm to Harold and those around him. “Come with me.” He turned and walked off without waiting for a reply. He entered the next office. It was spare in appearance, nothing stenciled on the door to indicate its official use, but with marbled glass just the same.

For the past several months since I’ve retired, I could swear I keep hearing Willie Nelson singing “On the Road Again.” I’ve taken part in and looked into more opportunities to do book signings and events as a way of connecting directly with readers. I had seen so many writers I know go to events, both locally and regionally. In the past, when I was working full time, I was limited to a local weekend event (like…

Harold visits his dearest friends, the pulp novelist Bradley Wolrebinski, and his wife Svetlana Halonen, both Jewish, to consult on possible suspects. The spiritual and moral repercussions of this investigation indicate an eventual choice to be made. I provided a brief synopsis of the most likely candidates as well as my interactions with them. While it was not a verbatim recitation, Bradley had enough to provide an assessment.

Well, as I have done for the last seven books published through The Wild Rose Press, I have created the eighth book trailer for The Time of Judgment, Vol. 4 of The Wichita Chronicles. To be perfectly honest, I don't know how beneficial these book trailers are from a marketing perspective. Perhaps I am merely trying to justify my college education when I studied filmmaking!

Back in 1997, shortly after I arrived in Wichita, I hooked up with a couple of guys to make a short film. It was a mockumentary on a recently deceased folk singer. We used family and friends for “interviews.” Without going into too many details, one of those interviews was with someone who had been inspired by this musician. “It was a step in the right direction.” He proclaimed.

Harold is contacted out of the blue by Officer Baron Witherspoon of the Arkansas City Police Department to consult on the death of a Wichita policeman in his jurisdiction. Something doesn’t sit right with Witherspoon. “The officer’s name was Robert Schwartz. Did you know him?” I shook my head negatively. “We identified him by his wallet. It contained his police identification card and driver’s license,” Witherspoon continued.

When I first took a look at a particular social networking site, I saw articles on writing, philosophy, the arts, basically subjects that intrigue me. There were some posts about “the way things are today” most of which were filtered through the eyes of various artists. But this venue was not overly political in nature. I read articles and felt I could contribute.

I have commented on many occasions of the influence on writing of the hardboiled progenitors, Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler, as well as the darker influences of Cornell Woolrich and James Ellroy. But I have to wonder if I am truly a hardboiled writer. Sadly, I do not believe I am. Not so sadly, I am grateful I am not.

Of late, I have waxed rhapsodically about retirement and the freedom it has afforded me. My culinary endeavors have escalated to a point where my wife asks me exactly how many loaves of bread I need for the deep freezer. With more opportunities, I explore recipes that were previously beyond my grasp, but there is also one’s diet and health to consider.

The traditional question on Passover is “Why is this night different from all other nights?” Well, if this conference was no different than any other one, I’d simply be taking up space and wasting your time. Suffice it to say it WAS different. I just came back this weekend from the OWFI Writing Conference. Tikiman and the Viking were presenters as we were in 2024.

Tomorrow, I will be going to the OWFI Writers Conference. I’ve been going since 2012, missing only 2020 (COVID cancellation) and 2023 (when my wife and I were house-hunting and trying to downsize). This will be the third time I will be on the faculty as a presenter. The first time was remote in 2021 and the second was in 2024 when…

It might seem odd to invest an entire blog post to one particular actor. However, a review of Dick Powell’s career can be an example for a lot of writers and other artists. Powell had been a singer and made a few records by the time he was signed by Warner Brothers in 1932. He made a number of movies in which his singing was featured and was often loaned out to other studios as was the standard routine with the Studio System.

As I sit here today, I have published seven books of historical crime fiction. Four have fallen under the Ark City Confidential Chronicles and the three recent ones under the Wichita Chronicles. Nearly ten years have passed since the writing process began on the very first one. While I can wax philosophically about my development as a writer, it is important to consider how I first came upon this genre and how I have since progressed.

To expand upon this analogy, there is a vast difference between driving into a tunnel and a fog bank. There is an innate understanding that the tunnel will end at a fixed point, that light from the other side will be noticeable well before the end, and there will be a blinding sense of exhilaration. Fog, on the other hand, can come upon you at any time.

When I started writing poetry what seems like a lifetime ago, it was largely iambic pentameter, A-B-A-B rhyme schemes, simplistic doggerel. When I encountered Shakespeare, I wanted to write sonnets. Further readings pushed me in alternate directions. High school and college gave me T.S. Eliot, likely “The Waste Land.” But it was almost academic as opposed to empathetic. Was that the teaching or the youthful naivete?

I grew up at a time when the educational system was intent upon creating the Well-Rounded Student. The curriculum in high school and many colleges was designed to provide a diverse offering to students in order for them to be (what?) more interesting or, in their minds, better developed. Perhaps they were well-intentioned at the time; I did come away with an appreciation for a wider variety of subjects.

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As far as writing goes, I started out with short stories. They were part of my public school curriculum until upper grades of high school when we delved into classic novels. (I wasn’t a big fan of “Wuthering Heights” but was fascinated by “To Kill a Mockingbird.”) I studied screenwriting in college but also took creative writing classes. At the very least, I knew this was what I wanted to do.

After a certain amount of life experience, you realize the books and movies and music you have come across in your life. For many people, it becomes simply anecdotal. We talk about a book, when we read it, what our feelings were about it BACK THEN. We have too many books and too little time now to re-evaluate it or reconsider it from another perspective.

Let me start by saying this is my absolute favorite movie of all time. And it’s not because I share the same initials as the leading man. There are movies with better acting, better directing, better production values. There are movies with deeper meaning, have a philosophical or sociological bent that makes them intriguing. There is all of that. This movie stands head and shoulders above them for the pure emotional connection.

It was in the early to mid-1990’s that I developed a passion for the music of Charlie Parker. This then expanded to other Be-Bop musicians and then further into Cool Jazz and beyond. With the idea of capturing the essence of Parker’s music and life and what made them both unique, I embarked on a project eventually entitled ORNITHOLOGY. It was a multi-page poetic treatment of the fundamentals of creation and the notion of capturing an ephemeral essence.

I would not advocate the use of Frank Sinatra lyrics as an alternate to, let’s say, Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, as a philosophical system. But, you do have to admit that, on occasion, the crooner was right. This forthcoming year looks to be spectacular. I don’t mean this in the “I feel it in my bones” way that an urban Italian might suggest from a 1970’s crime flick.