Turning Up Bones
Because we’ll all be fossils one day.
The fact and fiction of David Lee Holcomb. You decide which is which.
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As everyone is no doubt aware, I have another novel coming out on May 3, called Strange News. The book is starting to appear at various online retailers for pre-orders now. It is available in hardcover, paperback, and e-book; if you don’t see it in your format yet, check back later. It’ll get there. About… Click here to continue
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The woman at table Front Two does not look happy. This seems wildly unfair, given that she is drop-dead gorgeous and reeks of money. I am at a stage in my life where I’m sure having a hot body and a little extra cash would solve all my problems, with some self-esteem left over to… Click here to continue
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The visitor wore cargo shorts two sizes too big, a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, grimy canvas deck shoes, and a blond ponytail. “No, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t have a library card. I’m a pirate.” Kellie Lovell didn’t bat an eyelash. Situations like this came with her job. “In that case, you won’t be able to… Click here to continue
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In the westernmost part of the African nation of Cameroon lies Lake Nyos. As lakes go, Nyos is not all that large, a bit less than four hundred acres. It is an expanse of still water surrounded by fertile green hills, occupying a crater on the side of an inactive—mostly inactive—volcano, the water held in place… Click here to continue
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The dead blonde in the babydoll nightie was fast becoming a nuisance. Danny Zickell struggled to keep his mind on his playing, watching the apparition sashay among the tables. She was mouthing the lyrics to “I Surrender Dear,” her eyes half closed in what she undoubtedly believed was an expression of soulful concentration, while the… Click here to continue
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During the years I’ve lived in this city, the hotel at the corner of Centennial and Eleventh Avenue has been a Hyatt, a Marriott, and before both of those, something called the University Suites. Tonight, it is a Hilton. By Christmas, it will be a Best Western. Someday, they’ll throw in the towel and tear… Click here to continue
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No one called “Prissy” by friends and foes alike could possibly be anything other than a high-strung, imperious, bratty child. Prissy was all these things and more … Click here to continue
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Way back in 1770 the French philosopher, historian, and poet Voltaire wrote that “Perfect is the Enemy of Good.”1 He was quoting an Italian proverb, which was itself probably derived from the Greeks or the Etruscans or somebody, but we’ll go with Voltaire because he said so many wonderful things and deserves all the credit… Click here to continue
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The classical Greek conception of the afterlife was not a particularly attractive one. In Homer’s universe, the vast majority of the dead — those not singled out by the gods for special treatment — did not wake up in some bright city of jasper and chalcedony. There were no beautiful houris, no songs, no drinking… Click here to continue
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In a twenty-two-year-old farm boy from rural Alabama, barriers to comprehension were high. It didn’t take me long to understand that inserting chunks of Eliot or Auden into every conversation never fools anybody, but the significance of the mood/doom connection went right over my head. Click here to continue