Friday, September 23, 2022


 Hi folks,

Finally got my copy of the Japanese version of Hooked. They made a beautiful book!

Japanese publisher Film Art, Inc. is the publisher. Out of the blue one day, I got an email from a former agent of mine that they'd contacted him and wanted to purchase the Japanese rights to Hooked. He hadn't been my agent on it, so he got in touch with me and they made me a very generous offer of a $2,500 advance against royalties, which I happily took. It's rare for a book to sell foreign rights after it's been out 17 years, but Hooked has been mighty kind to me. I still get substantial royalties each year from Penguin who own the U.S. rights after Writer's Digest went bankrupt.

Film Art, Inc. came out with an initial run of 3,000 copies. Please tell all of your Japanese writer friends they can now buy it in their native language!

And, here's the original!

Blue skies,

Monday, September 19, 2022


 Hi folks,

Here's the cover of the Italian edition of my first novel, THE DEATH OF TARPONS. They changed the title to (to quote my editor, Loretta Santini, of Elliot Edizioni) The Italian title will be  “La morte dei re d’argento” (The death of the Silver Kings).

She says: I think it’d be better because it sounds beautiful and, unfortunately, nobody knows what the Tarponi are!

I hope you agree with this.

THE DEATH OF THE SILVER KINGS (THE DEATH OF TARPONS)  It's scheduled for release at the end of October.


Again, thanks to my good friend Mauro Falciani who made all of this possible!

Blue skies,


Monday, July 25, 2022


 Hi Folks,

Just received an email from the folks at Killer Nashville. I'm gobsmacked! They said:


Hi Les,




I don’t know if you’ve heard already, but I wanted to let you know that your unpublished manuscript, The Fixer, is a finalist for the Killer Nashville Claymore Award for Best Southern Gothic


On behalf of Clay Stafford, founder of Killer Nashville, and all our judging volunteers, we couldn’t be more excited!


I’m happy to answer any questions about the award and nomination.


The winners of each category will be announced August 20, 2022 at the Killer Nashville Awards Dinner We’d love to see you there.


If you wish to register for the conference (, panel assignments for Killer Nashville ( will be finalized on or before Tuesday, August 2, so if you are interested in being on a panel, please let us know your preferences soon.


I hope we see you at this year’s Killer Nashville Awards Dinner! And if I can be of any help in any way, please let me know.


Congratulations again!


- Jacqueline

I'm on that proverbial Cloud 9!

Blue skies,


Sunday, May 22, 2022


 Hi folks,

Just got this review of my memoir, ADRENALINE JUNKIE, by John Jantunen in Cannery Row Magazine.  





Adrenaline Junkie

by Les Edgerton

Down & Out Books, USA, Memoir, 2018, 344 pages

Review by John Jantunen

In 2014 Jack David, my publisher at ECW Press, rented a van and drove four Canadian mystery writers to Bouchercon in Raleigh, North Carolina. Bouchercon bills itself as the largest crime writers convention in the world and, as a newly published, first-time mystery writer, the trip would serve as a rite of passage for me as well as provide the opportunity to mingle with my more esteemed peers, most of whom would welcome me into their fold with a degree of fellowship I’d never thought possible.

         And few could have been more welcoming than Les Edgerton.

         I met him on the second night of the conference. Up until then, I admit, I’d been feeling a bit like a fish out of water. While the drive down with Jack, John McFetridge, Dietrich Kalteis and Sam Wiebe had been a thoroughly memorable and even joyful affair, I was beginning to suspect that any hope of capitalizing on the euphoria I’d felt during the thirteen-hour trip wouldn’t amount to anything more than a case of wishful thinking.

        My first inkling that I’d likely been a trifle too optimistic in believing an unknown author such as myself might so much as make a ripple in these international waters had been provided by way of the gift tote I’d received upon signing in at the authors' table. In it were a half-dozen free books from some of the convention’s 'featured' authors. All were of a decidedly mainstream appeal, quite at odds with my own reading habits. I knew I wouldn’t read any of them and since my motel was a thirty-minute walk from the Raleigh Convention Center and I didn’t want to be burdened with them until I'd return to my room that night, I stacked the pile of books on a table in the lobby of the adjoining Marriott City Center, free for the taking.

      A few seconds later I saw an older gentleman sorting through them and watched, with idle curiosity, to see which of them passed his muster. The one he finally chose featured on its cover a cat sitting on a table beside a martini glass, which was about as far as my interest in the book had extended when I first found it in my tote.

Jack David would shortly thereafter inform me that it was from a sub-genre of mystery novels called “Cat Cozies” (the most popular in this breed being: The Big Kitty, The Whole Cat and Caboodle, Faux Paws & Hiss Of Death). Call me naïve but it had never occurred to me that people wrote books (for adults) in which cats solved crimes and that people (adults!) might actually want to read them. But read them they do, and by the millions as I soon found out. For the rest of the day, it seemed, whenever I spied someone holding a book, it featured a tabby or calico on its cover and the 'Cat Cozy' corner in the bookseller’s room sported a permanent line-up - while, I might add, nary a soul was to be seen at the table selling Cipher.


That night I ended up at an event called 'Bar Noir' and my mounting despondency was somewhat tempered by the promise that 'Noir', another sub-genre, was reserved for those who wrote to discomfort rather than its opposite. The first reader was a fellow named Tom Pitts who, I’d later discover, was a transplanted Canadian living in California. His offering involved a heroin junkie trying to shoot up in the video booth at a porn shop whose efforts were constantly being thwarted by a 'dwarf' banging on his door intent on purchasing his used jizz rag. Now that, I thought joining in with the audience’s boisterous applause, is more like it!

       The next reader was a shaven-headed, somewhat elderly author with a handlebar moustache that, to me, suggested he might have been a retired sheriff from down Texas-way. He was introduced as Les Edgerton and, while it turned out he was indeed originally from Texas, I quickly learned that he was about as far removed from a lawman as one could reasonably get.

     His piece recounted a true story from his stint as a convicted felon in an Indiana prison. Apparently the farmer who supplied the prison with beans always threw in a few shovelfuls of gravel to increase his profit. This meant that inmates had to be constantly on guard when eating the legume but in his story "Toothache" the protagonist becomes distracted by one of the cooks attacking a fellow inmate with a meat cleaver and thus bites down on a rock amongst his beans, breaking his tooth. Delivered with such dry wit and grisly humour, Les’s reading that night at Bar Noir, to this day, stands as the most compelling recitation I’ve heard in any of the dozens of literary events I’ve attended over the years and, between him and Tom, my mood was on a definite upswing come intermission.


The break found me smoking a cigarette on the bar’s street-side patio. One of the perks of the evening was a sampling of North Carolina whiskey. Given that a half-pint of beer cost almost ten dollars Canadian, I’d been keeping an eye peeled for the waitress in charge of dispensing these complimentary drinks. Having already managed to snag a couple previously, I was downing my third between drags when I heard a rather garrulous voice shouting out, “Who's got a smoke? I’m jonesing for a goddamn cigarette!”

Turning, I saw it was Les. Pulling out my pack, I handed a smoke over, assuring him that my Canadian Classics would be the best cigarettes he'd ever tasted. I’m almost certain he didn’t entirely agree but we still ended up jawing at one of the patio’s tables for a couple of hours joined by Chicago mystery writer - and former Def Jam comic - Danny Gardner who’d go on to found Bronzeville Books a few years later (a publishing venture at which a friend from my high school in Bracebridge would serve as an editor, another of those funny coincidences I tend to thrive on as a writer).

       Les proved himself as proficient a story teller as he was a reader and our conversation would give me plenty of fodder for the three minutes I’d been allotted to introduce myself and Cipher at the Emerging Writers Breakfast the following morning. Les was to sit on one of the panels that same day and, naturally, I put his appearance at the top of my 'to-do list'. He was seated between two law enforcement officers-cum-writers and set the tone of the discussion early on when he paused briefly while recounting one tale from his seemingly endless repertoire of stories as an outlaw to remark rather impishly, “I probably shouldn’t be telling this one with so many cops around,” before boldly charging ahead anyway. But it was something he said a few moments later which would tell me beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had found a kindred spirit. Answering a question about whether he had a specific reader in mind while writing, he answered that he didn’t write for a million readers, he wrote to find that one reader who might just get it.

     In my twenties I’d read Herman Hesse’s Narcissus and Goldmund, in which Goldmund is enticed into the artist’s life by a statue he encounters in a small country chapel at a particularly dark moment in his life. Ever since, I’d become convinced that art’s true value resided in its potential to instil a longing for a new direction in those ‘lost souls’ who needed it most. I’d been inspired by quite a number of writers over the years in my own efforts to chart a new direction for myself through my fiction but it was rare indeed to actually meet a fellow author in the flesh who, by virtue of his very being, seemed to embody such an all-too-often maligned ideal.


Over the intervening years I’ve come to respect Les's prowess as a writer as much as I do the man himself and there are no emails I treasure more than the ones I’ve received from him during our correspondence. Les generously offered to provide a blurb for Savage Gerry and while he certainly struck at the heart of the matter when he wrote, “This is a novel of the love of men for their sons” - after all I wrote it For Drake (my first son) - it wasn’t until I’d read his book Adrenaline Junkie that I’d fully understand the emotional imperative simmering beneath the surface of these words. 

        Les leads into his memoir by quoting James Baldwin in the first of two epigraphs: “Artists are here to disturb the peace.”

Words were insufficient to express my sudden elation upon reading that as I literally leapt out of my chair to share this discovery with my partner Tanja, for James Baldwin’s Another Country plays a pivotal role in In for a Dime and I had also chosen another Baldwin quote as the epigraph for my next book, Mason’s Jar.

        The complete quote in which this line appears is: “Now it is true that the nature of society is to create, among its citizens, an illusion of safety but it is also absolutely true that the safety is always necessarily an illusion. Artists are here to disturb the peace. They have to disturb the peace. Otherwise, chaos.”

       I include it here because, to me, it provides an invaluable key to fully appreciating what Les has accomplished with Adrenaline Junkie, as does what author Marjorie Brody writes in her Foreword: “Les understands that backstory matters. It influences the presence. So, he journeyed through the past seeking answers for why he was here . . . Fighting for a moment - regardless of how fleeting - to feel in control of his life.”

      It was hard not to pause again when reading this, since the only inspirational quote I have hanging on the wall above my computer is a single page torn from a July, 2021, Harper’s Magazine article. I’ve highlighted the last paragraph in Matthew Karp’s “History As End” to serve as both a constant reminder of what I myself am striving for in my writing and as a welcome reassurance that I am far from alone in what often feels like a solitary, and futile, pursuit of such an ideal.

        To quote from Karp's article: “The past may live inside the present but it does not govern our growth. However sordid or sublime, our origins are not our destinies; our daily journey into the future is not fixed by moral arcs or genetic instructions. We must come to see history . . . as what we fight over, fight for, and aspire to in practices of justice. History is not the end, it is only one more battleground where we must meet the vast demands of the ever-living now.”


If Les’s brazenly courageous and brutally honest account of his past is anything, it’s one man’s attempt to create just such a battlefield out of his own personal history . . . and what a history it turned out to be!

      From working at his grandmother’s bar/restaurant in the highly segregated - and oftentimes callously violent - city of Freeport, Texas, during his youth, to his military service as a cryptographer stationed on the Caribbean Island of San Sal, to his life as an outlaw and professional thief. Then there was, of course, his stint at Pendleton Reformatory - one of the worst prisons in America at the time - during which he’d learn the skills which would lead him to becoming a renowned hairstylist, only to have his career derailed in a self-destructive streak fuelled by his seemingly insatiable appetite for sex and drugs, and finally his moving on to rediscovering his true calling as an author. 

       The only corollary within the literary world that I could think of which even comes close to matching his story would be that of Hunter S. Thompson. But whereas Hunter S. allowed himself to become a caricature, forever trapped in a persona of his own devise, Les is driven by what at times seems like an almost pathological desire to keep reinventing himself, sometimes for the better, frequently for the worse.

To be honest, I often had a difficult time reconciling the man he was with the man I’ve come to know. While this dissonance primarily served to bolster the pervasive, and increasingly palpable, tension which veritably bristles off every page, it also instilled in me a certain reluctance while approaching the last few chapters. It was akin to how I feel nearing the end of a particularly intricate mystery novel, knowing that the whole thing could quickly become unravelled by an overly pat or facile resolution that leaves far too little to the reader’s imagination, whereas my favourite reveals always compel the reader to re-evaluate everything that came before, even while pointing towards a far-from-certain future. Adrenaline Junkie, I’m relieved to report, manages this with a similar prowess as Les brings to his crime fictions.


In fact, it was a passage from his 2011 novel Just Like That which was ever in my thoughts while I reflected on Adrenaline Junkie. In it his lead character, Jake, is serving time for much the same reasons Les did and, while conversing with his cellmate about what led him into a life of crime, he reflects that “the scareder I get, the gutsier I become.”

      This itself serves as incisive an explanation of what drives the 'adrenaline junkie' as I’ve ever heard and, where in his past lives Les seemingly allowed this same propulsive fear to drive him towards imminent self-destruction, ultimately it’s his embrace of that same verve which elevates his memoir beyond a mere cataloguing of the extreme turns his life took as a result.

       That his ultimate reversal was spurred by the love of a woman and the birth of his son might have, in less adroit hands, come across as trite but, here, it serves only to raise the stakes even further. In McCarthy’s Blood Meridian, Judge Holden remarks “The stakes is the game” and it’s a lesson Les seems to have taken well to heart. By using his fear to force a reckoning with his own past, and damn the consequences, he’s achieved the rarest of all feats; he’s turned what could have been a simple cautionary tale into an epic saga of a man re-imagining what was once his Achilles heel into his greatest asset and I, for one, cannot think of a more compelling, nor salient, story for our times than that.

Les Edgerton is an American author of 23 books, two of which are on writing fiction, and has taught at several colleges and universities.

   His works, including a variety of short stories, screenplays, essays and articles, have been nominated for numerous awards and several of his books have been translated into Japanese, German and Italian.


Monday, May 16, 2022

First royalty statement for Hard Times from Italian publisher, Elliot Edizioni!

 Hi folks,

I'm very pleased to announced I just received the first royalty statement from Italian publisher Elliot Edizioni and not only did it earn out its advance, it earned almost three times that amount. I take great pride in that. Every one of my books that were on the bookshelves have earned out their advances in the first accounting. It's the key to success.

Much thanks to bookseller Mauro Falciano who recommended this book to Elliot Edizioni's Loretta Santini. And, thanks to Loretta for taking a chance on it. More good news--they've contracted to publish Italian versions of The Death of Tarpons and The Bitch this fall.

And, a big shout-out and thank-you to my friend Joe Lansdale, who provided a fantastic foreword to the book, which contributed significantly to its success.




        Les Edgerton is one of our best and most underrated writers, and that’s a sad moniker to throw at anyone. Underrated.

To know you’re doing fine work, and not obscure or abstract work, to wake up and go at it every day, hammer and tongs, with the understanding that you may not be reaching the wider audience you would like or deserve, that’s got to put a kink in your mindset from time to time.

        But Les seems to be made of stronger stuff, or has the ability to de-kink the kink and keep moving forward, writing one amazing book after another.

When he writes he takes his soul and winds it up and lets it loose and it sails across the literary skies with grace and truth, and damn if just about everyone seems to be looking in the wrong direction.

        I once told him, and meant it, that when he writes crime, he my favorite crime writer, though after one of his novels, I have to come up for air for a while before I leap into his next. His books can be that intense.

        Thing about Les, though, he’s not just a crime writer. He writes other things. And when he writes crime, he’s not just a crime writer. I like his kind of bonkers approach to fiction, as he both tells the daily truth, and tells the metaphorical truth as well.

A storm isn’t merely a storm, an arithmetic award torn in two is more than a piece of paper or a momentary disappointment in the life of his main character in Hard Times.

 It is the symbol for all she is, and you might say all she will be. The award is ripped in half by an envious boy. This leads to the main character taping it back together and tucking it away. Wounded dreams, deferred, taped up and stored in wishful reserve. That one scene tells you who Amelia is. How she sees life. How she handles it. Any happiness she might have comes with Scotch tape and disappointment.

        I have read a lot of Les’s work, and I have liked it all, but this, hands down, pinky-swear, is his finest novel to date. It takes place where I live—East Texas—and though I might have a quarrel here and there with how the location is presented, and a wish for a quotation mark, its minor. How it feels is presented with accuracy. How Amelia feels is unquestioned. He is inside of that character, and I don’t care if he’s an older man writing about a younger girl, a young woman, he remembers youth, and his radar is hot and high and he has picked up the human condition vibrating in the air. He knows people, and seems to best know people who exist on the edge, supported by hot smoke and a doubtful prayer.

        This is a dark and grimy story about a young girl growing up, making mistakes, and having to survive under tough conditions and enough disappointment Job might ask for room at the Devil’s table. Even the things that go well for Amelia come with that aforementioned Scotch tape and disappointment.

        I never had to deal with the things Amelia has to deal with, but I did deal with being poor, if not being dunked down at the bottom of abject poverty. My family was close to the bone all of the time, and as my father once said, if it cost a quarter to shit, we’d have to throw up. We thought of ourselves as broke, instead of poor, but what we have here is a different mindset. Amelia’s life is down deep in the greasy bucket of existence. A large bucket with slick sides and no easy way to climb out, jump out, and there’s no one to boost her up or to lower down a rope and say, “Take this. I’m pulling your ass out of there, sister.”

        And if there was a rope for Amelia, there’s a good chance it would fray and break.

        Amelia is in for it. Life is chasing her with an axe, so to speak. Still, she’s after that American Dream.

        I believe in it, by the way. I’m a product of it. But it’s a dream that some are better able to grasp. It’s a dream that isn’t constantly snatched away from some. But for others, it’s too far away to reach.

        But like Gatsby reaching out for the Green Light from his position on the pier, she never stops reaching. Or at least thinking about reaching.

        Let me add, I like how this novel feels, how it is written, how the characters are presented, even more than the plot. Which, is indeed engaging, but this is not a novel of stick figures chasing to the last page. It’s got meat on its bones and blood under its hide.

But the color of sweat and despair, the sounds of tragedy and unexpected comedy, the taste of hope covered in shit, will fill a readers head before one truly understands what it all means. Or before one understands that this is a quintessential American novel, in the way Wise Blood is, in the way Gatsby is. It seems simple, but buddy, it means bloody business.

        I wish I had written this.

        A writer can’t offer another writer greater praise.

        Truth is, though, only one writer could have written such a marvelous and constantly surprising book.

        Les Edgerton.

        And long may he write.




Joe R. Lansdale

Nacogdoches, Texas

Big Bear Manor


Blue skies,


Monday, January 10, 2022

Our next class begins on January 16th--openings available!


Hi folks,


Well, we’re just finishing up our final week on the current session of my online novel-writing class, “Les Edgerton’s Bootcamp for Writers,” and find ourselves a couple of openings. Our next session will begin on January 16 and consists of a ten-week session, with the probability of taking a week off sometime during the term to recharge batteries.


This is a call for new class members. Not sure how many openings we’ll have as we offer vacancies first to our auditors.


The basics are the course costs $400 and it’s limited to ten people. The $400 is nonrefundable, as if a person quits during the session it would be impossible to fill that vacancy. As this is my primary source of income, it would be detrimental for myself and my family. It’s very rare that anyone opts out once begun, however. In over five years, there have only been two.


We’ve had a remarkable history of success. Nearly three dozen writers over the past dozen years who has become a part of our class or whom I’ve coached privately has gone on to being legitimately published and/or secured a good literary agent. In fact, that is our only goal—to become legitimately published.


I try to warn people who are thinking of joining us, how tough the class is, but I know from past experience that even so forewarned, at least some are going to be in for a shock when they see that we really don’t hold hands, pat people on the back for minimum efforts, or overlook writing that doesn’t work. I’m not cruel (at least I don’t think so) nor are any of the oldtimers in class, but most new folks haven’t been exposed to a class like ours. The truth is, most writers who haven’t had a class like ours has been praised in other classes or most likely, has been in classes that use the “sandwich” method of teaching. You know—that deal where the teach applies a bit of praise, then a bit of criticism, and then a bit of praise. Well, that ain’t our shtick. Not even close. The comments we all provide on everyone’s work fit one definition only. They’re honest.

This isn’t to be mean or to act like we’re the only folks around who know what good writing is. Except… we do. I’m not aware of any other class out there with the kind of track record ours enjoys. Virtually every writer who stays the course with us ends up with a top agent and/or a book deal. That doesn’t happen in a single ten-week session. About the earliest anyone has earned an agent or book deal in our class has been about a year. And, that’s reasonable.

The thing is, our writers don’t expect things to be easy.


I figured I’d let some of the class members give you their take on our class. They don’t hold back and they all have tough skins. They will all tell you the same thing. It isn’t a class for sissies or for those who need their hands held or lots of pats on the back. Becoming published is hard, hard work and isn’t an undertaking for sissies. To get there, our students know they have to put on their Big Boy and Big Girl pants and expect to work harder than they ever have in their lives—and to never, ever “settle” their standards of excellence.


From a student several years ago:

Hi ________. Since Les opened the floor for comments from the "class veterans" I'm chipping in with my two cents. I have a file cabinet filled with stuff I sent Les and then needed asbestos gloves to take the paper off the printer. When I started this journey, I'd never taken an English class past high school. (I was pre-med in college) I figured I love to read, so how hard can it be? Okay, quit laughing at me. Clearly, when I wrote my first version of my first novel, I had no idea about story structure, POV, any of that. I figured I'm pretty articulate and therefore I can write?

Les quickly set me straight. All of this is to point out that we've all been on the receiving end of Les' brutal honesty. I will find some of the comments he made on my work and post them but phrases like "throwing up in my mouth now" and "bury this so deep in the yard no one ever finds it" are seared into my brain and I don't have to look to find those!!! The point is, I took other classes before I met Les and the teachers were kind and gentle and never told me I sucked. If it weren't for Les, I'd still be churning out awful drivel that makes people want to throw up instead of trying not to throw up while I wait to see if my agent is able to sell my book. I would never have gotten an agent without Les. So hang in there. Listen to everything he says and if it doesn't make sense, ask away.


From another student:

The novel that I am currently trying to sell has been a work in progress for several years. The first time Les saw it he sent it back and told me to re-write the WHOLE thing!!! My character was a wimp. She sat back and let things happen to her. I argued a little, rewrote a little and then moved on to another book. After a year, I went back and reread it and saw the truth. It was awful. So I took a deep breath and started over. Page one. First sentence. Re-wrote the entire thing. It took a full year and then I revised it again. It's definitely a process. But once you get the inciting incident and the outline steps down pat, it's a whole lot easier. Trust me!!! And you'll never graduate completely. A few months ago, Les and I went head-to-head on one single passage. I was trying to be lazy and take the easy way out. He called me on it and I resubmitted three or four weeks in a row, revisions on the same passage. I was sure my classmates were so sick of it they were going to stick needles in their eyes rather than read it again! But in the end, the passage rocked!! So hang in there!!!! It'll get better. (Note: This novel sold and the writer is currently working on her fifth novel.)


Class members come from all over the globe. We’ve had students from the UK, Ireland, Taiwan, Spain, all parts of the U.S., Canada, Australia, Luxembourg and many other places. We work with writers in virtually every genre on the bookshelves.


The way class works is that the class is divided into two equal groups. We used to have just one group, but it got to be too much for many students. In the past, everybody in the class was required to read everybody else’s work each week and provide in-depth comments on everyone’s work. That meant they had to read nine other class members’ work and deliver intelligent commentary on each one. We’ve since evolved to a more manageable number where now each class member reads and delivers comments on just four other classmates’ work. I provide comments on everybody’s work and that’s why the class is limited to only ten. With ten writers, I can give each person the quality of time and analysis each deserves.


Each week begins on Sunday evening, when people can begin submitting their weekly pages from Sunday until Wednesday. If it’s a new writer to the class, they are allowed to submit their first five pages of their novel, plus an outline which consists of five statements and a total of 15-20 words. Oldtimers in class call this “inciting incident hell.” If the outline isn’t working and their beginning doesn’t represent the inciting incident as provided in their outline, they are required to keep submitting each week until it does. Our feeling is if they haven’t thought through their novels sufficiently and provided a publishable novel structure (evidenced by the outline), then they most likely don’t have a novel ready to be written and to simply plunge ahead will almost invariably lead to an unfinished novel. We don’t want that.


Once they’ve been okayed for the beginning, from thereafter they can submit up to eight pages per week, along with the others in class.


Time zones don’t matter. Everybody’s work, including everyone’s comments and my own comments on each person’s work each week is posted on the class site and folks can go to it any time of the day or night. Class members can begin sending back their comments on each others’ in their group from Sunday through the following Sunday, when it begins again. Although, in practicality, most members send in their work each week on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. It’s like being in an “on-ground” class in that everything said or done in class is seen by everybody.


We do have a chat function and people use it all the time, even though they’re in different time zones. One of the best things about this class is that we have lots of oldtimers who know from their own experience what works in a novel and what doesn’t and more importantly… why it works or doesn’t work. It’s like having a group of seven or eight other professionals helping you with your own novel. Probably at any given time in class, there will be four or five who already have had a novel or several published as a result of being in class, so it’s a really rarified group. And, if you think that you couldn’t operate in a situation like this because you’re a beginner, that simply isn’t the case here at all. Every single person in each class began just the way you did, as a rank beginner. And, they remember and they have complete empathy for your situation, if you’re a beginning writer.


It’s not a situation of simply saying, “This doesn’t work.” Myself and others in class will surely say that, but we then let you know why it didn’t work and give you solid suggestions on how to make it work. We collectively have a nurturing nature and all of us want the newcomer to succeed just about as badly as that writer wants to.


Besides class members, we also have an auditor function which works the same as it does in a “regular” college class. You’re admitted to class and can view every single thing we’re doing and the entire class session is archived and easy to access. The cost of auditing the class is $50. If interested in joining us as either a class member or auditor, just email me at and let me know. If you decide to join us I’ll have our class administrator, Holly, get you on board asap.


I know there are no doubt a lot of questions you may have. Please feel free to contact me at any time and ask me anything you’d like.


From past experience, when we’ve had openings like this, they go quickly, so if you are interested, please get in touch, okay?


For those interested in such things, here are a few of my own qualifications to teach writing.


MFA in Writing from Vermont College

Taught writing for the UCLA Writer’s Program

Taught writing via Skype for the New York Writer’s Workshop

Writer-in-Residence for three years for the University of Toledo

Writer-in-Residence for one year for Trine University

Taught writing classes for St. Francis University

Taught writing classes for Phoenix College

Taught writing for Writer’s Digest Online Classes

Taught writing classes for Vermont College

Published 23 books, including craft books on writing, novels, sports books, YA novel, historical nonfiction book, humor nonfiction, black comedy novel, noir, thrillers, literary and existential fiction.

Dozens of short stories published in such publications as The South Carolina Review, High Plains Literary Review, Aethlon, Flatmancrooked, Murdaland, Best American Mystery Stories and many others.

A lot of living… much of it as an outlaw…


Blue skies,