AVAILABLE NOW!!! The Cary Grant Sanatorium and Playhouse - A disgraced Hollywood starlet, Donna Darling, and two-time German Army deserter, Séamus von Funck, meet in 1942 at an idyllic Ohio home for unwed mothers—or a Nazi abortion slaughterhouse, depending on whom you talk to. Their love endures despite the efforts of a power-hungry congressman, an overzealous religious tabloid, and Donna's Hollywood past. (Psst, it includes Cary Grant.) They prevail despite Séamus being a suspected Nazi spy and America's first prisoner of the second World War—and also the first to escape.

Available now!!

Available now!!
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About Me

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Will Tinkham has published six novels: THE CARY GRANT SANATORIUM AND PLAYHOUSE, THE GREAT AMERICAN SCRAPBOOK, THE ADVENTURES OF HANK FENN, BONUS MAN, NO HAPPIER STATE, and ALICE AND HER GRAND BELL. He lives and writes in Minneapolis, MN. His short fiction has been published on three continents and he long ago attended Bread Loaf on a scholarship. An actor of little renown, his credits do include the Guthrie Theater and Theatre in the Round. @WillTinkhamfictionist on Facebook

Monday, May 16, 2011

On Neighborhood Beatings

Over the last week there have been four beating/robberies in my neighborhood; the closest being two blocks either side of Lake Street. There may have been more, I haven't checked the news today. It's always the same: three or four cowards jump an unsuspecting passerby and pummeling him senseless and—if they think about—steal whatever he's got. It's more about beating than robbing. Their last victim turned out to be a 61-year-old, ex-Marine with a gun. They beat him pretty bad but he got off a few shots. Reports say he may have "winged" one of them. Let's hope.

The crimes have taken place between 11:30 pm and 2 am. I leave work every night at midnight and make my walk from Lake Calhoun, up Lake Street to Lyndale. I am safe. Even these thugs aren't stupid enough to do their dirty work on such a well-lit, highly policed strip. Cowards prefer to do their cowering in the dark and, by nature, fear the authorities.

It used to be a very pleasant walk; a good way to unwind after a long night of watching tv at work. Now—instead of working out a troublesome scene from a story or fantasizing about a promising email from a magazine or agent awaiting me at home—I find myself watching for people heading off toward 31st or crossing Lagoon and worrying about their fate. Instead of chuckling at the partiers stumbling around Lake and Hennepin, I wonder which ones are gonna be foolish enough to venture off on foot. Jump in a cab! I wanna yell.

I'd rather the police get 'em before some vigilante. Let 'em take their own beating (and worse) in prison.

(I guess this means I'm gonna have to be more diligent in my blog posting, lest my two followers worry that something bad has happened to me.)