If I’ve learned anything the past couple of months it is this: Do not do a book signing with a blind raccoon. Trouper is the raccoon in question. Kyle Miller has written a children’s book devoted to Trouper’s adventures. She…
If I’ve learned anything the past couple of months it is this: Do not do a book signing with a blind raccoon. Trouper is the raccoon in question. Kyle Miller has written a children’s book devoted to Trouper’s adventures. She…
The Detroit Auto Show got underway yesterday, and in the way I have lately of linking these things, the show always makes me think of a woman named Michele and the romantic, embarrassing mess of an encounter I had with her so…
This week a reader of The Sanibel Sunset Detective novels e-mailed me several questions, ending with this one: “Why does a man with ten published books to his credit spend his time hawking a handful of them in an airport?”…
In a fit of nostalgia yesterday I pulled John Ford’s 1946 western, My Darling Clementine, off my DVD shelf and watched it on our new fifty-five-inch Sony television screen. Magical: it brings old movies to life again with a sharpness and clarity that…
I remember the day clearly. Fifty years ago, in the time when news still arrived in newspapers, the afternoon edition of the Toronto Telegram fell onto our small town Ontario doorstep reporting that Marilyn Monroe, age thirty-six, had been found dead at…
I met her in Detroit a long time ago at a party for author Harold Robbins. Michelle—although she called herself Mickie then—was one of the models hired for the occasion to promote Robbins as the real life incarnation of the irresistible stud he…