Still > Recent Status Updates

It’s been a while since I could start the day merely glancing at the miserable headlines for a change and then rushing for refuge in a novel that compels me to keep reading and takes me somewhere other than contemporary American madness.


This page turner of a historical thriller is every bit as exciting as Boston Teran’s Crippled Jack or Creed Of Violence.

No idea how such magic is accomplished.

Damn. This one’s a page-turner.
In the immortal words of Billy Lee Riley, that flat gits it-

“They began a riff of their favorites, doing one up.
‘Let it be me,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry, baby’, he said.
‘Beach Boys… I saw them in England. How ‘bout Don’t Let The Sun Catch You Crying by Jerry and the Peacemakers?’”

Jerry?
Peacemakers?
I’m old, but say whaaaa?

Interesting “mistake” by the author on page 50.
Quote: “There was a truck stop on Route 321 outside Pigeon Forge, Kentucky…”
U.S. Route 321 does NOT go into Kentucky. It runs through Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, then through Maryville, Tennessee—and eventually reaches Lenoir City, Tennessee.
I’ve read most of the author’s novels.
Factual mistakes are rare.
So - my assumption is that it’s intentional.

Pardon me, I’m in between funerals.

Only a few pages in & already I’m emotionally engaged in the “…and then what happened” phase of this…

I paid Bezos through Amazon for this brand new Boston Teran novel.
It arrived last night around six.

I have no idea what awaits but eagerly anticipate Boston Teran’s typically brilliant story telling magic.

Good stuff!

Good tough guy lit.

Former cop turned private eye but who works with the police department on various cases is hired to recover stolen ice.

Slight twist on the usual private eye formula of cops vs private dick.

Oh- and this one features pimps, strippers hooked on heroin and tough guy patter.

“Easy, Pal, don’t squeak, that’s a gun you feel.”

I didn’t know this was going to be that kind of book.

Fast moving chapter on more unsung heroes of Rock & Roll: The Newborn Family - especially guitar genius Calvin Newborn and his brother Phineas, the greatest pianist ever to emerge from Memphis… or anywhere else.

Nice chapter on the major Gospel figures who lived & played around Memphis; historical data on Dewey Phillips & his attendance at the Black church, East Trigg Baptist’s Sunday night Gospel battles of the quartets.
Kind of like an old 1960s battle of the bands but these competitions were between Gospel quartets where serious house rocking ensued.
Dewey encouraged his teenage (white) audience to attend- and they did

Today I learned that Elvis told Scotty Moore to imitate guitarist Frank Murphy’s slap back riffing on Junior Parker’s “Love My Baby” and graft it onto Elvis’s cover of Parker’s own song, “Mystery Train”.

Listening to Parker’s “Love My Baby” on YouTube at this very moment.
Same song!
How come I never knew this before?

History behind the birth of rock & roll in general and the artists most influential and inspirational to a young Elvis Presley.

Typically brilliant research’n’writin’ by Lauterbach.

Impressive writing so far.

Page 123:
“I’m an addict, Tom”, she said quietly. “A dope addict.”
“My God, Carla! You’re kidding .”

My what a long, slow slide it’s been. This took forever to get interesting.

Single girls go bad in 1950s New York City. So far - so meandering.

Love this clumsily written horror classic.
Huge fan of both films based on this novella.

I’ve been rereading this since Sunday for some reason.
Oh yeah- somebody posted a few songs by Peter Laughner on YouTube and I recalled Lester’s moving combo obituary, tribute and blanket condemnation of rock & roll hero worship and the pitfalls there in.

And then I got hooked.

“Driven out by Cromwell, the myth {of the cavalier} found sanctuary in the American South. And flowered its finest amid mill waste. And in those small grubby towns where Main Street was rutted by wagon wheels, and the last gas lamp on the outskirts looked tired all night long.”

Nelson Algren is a brilliant writer.

I’ve read Nelson Algren for over 40 years.

This collection of stories I’d never read before now remind me why I keep returning to his writing.

More depraved bastards per story than your typical anthology of tales of Depression era Texas.

Just finished “Thundermug”- an unpleasant account of a three week stay in a filthy & poorly heated county jail and of the kangaroo court of law in a blue steel and stone cage somewhere in Texas.

You won’t turn the page at the close of each story humming your favorite summertime pop tune but the writing’s superb.