Bill A. Brier
I received an email from a Nigerian saying he needed help getting a million dollars out of the country, and if I’d help him, I could keep half. Of course, it was a scam to get my money, but I went along with him, being totally outrageous and intending to eventually turn the tables. My friends enjoyed reading the ongoing humorous exchanges I called Scamming the Scammer.
My writing career may have ended there, had it not been for a writer friend. I told him I had an idea for a story about a boy and his talking dog. The boy would play golf, and the dog would tell him how far to the hole, what club to use. Things like that. I was prepared to abandon the idea as being dumb, had my friend cast a skeptical eye. But his eyes flashed, and he said, “Bill, that’s a wonderful idea. Go for it!” And with that, I was off in full stride writing my first suspense novel, The Devil Orders Takeout. Of course, the talking dog had to go, and I suspect my friend knew that.
My writing career may have ended there, had it not been for a writer friend. I told him I had an idea for a story about a boy and his talking dog. The boy would play golf, and the dog would tell him how far to the hole, what club to use. Things like that. I was prepared to abandon the idea as being dumb, had my friend cast a skeptical eye. But his eyes flashed, and he said, “Bill, that’s a wonderful idea. Go for it!” And with that, I was off in full stride writing my first suspense novel, The Devil Orders Takeout. Of course, the talking dog had to go, and I suspect my friend knew that.
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