On John Prine

My introduction to John Prine's music came in junior high listening to a friend's brother's records. In retrospect, I was drawn to storytellers: Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Robert Hunter's Grateful Dead tunes—but mostly John Prine.

Come high school, any excuse for a John Prine sing-along was a good one. I'd sing “Dear Abby” or “Your Flag Decal...” on my solitary walks home to learn all the words. In college, I was that obnoxious drunk singing along with Prine at that Grand Forks show. And maybe others. My apologies.

A move to the California desert started me writing short stories and lyrics. I bought a guitar for the sole purpose of learning those three magical chords that John Prine used to write all those wonderful tunes. I learned the chords but Essential Tremors thwarted any attempt to get through an entire song.

I have a short story called Christmas in Prison, published years ago in some now-defunct on-line journal and written years before that. With my nightly walk home from Liquor Lyle's interrupted by a train blowing through Uptown, I stood singing the Prine song: “It was Christmas in prison and the food was real good / We had turkey and pistols carved out of wood.” As the train passed, I spotted a little girl in a pink snowsuit laying in the snow. As I grew closer I watched her make a snow angel. How's that for having a story handed to ya?

John Prine made his way into my novel The Great American Scrapbook in the form of grief therapy for the book's main character, Brock McCoy. He took to wandering around the house with his guitar, singing John Prine songs that came to mind. The family let this play out, even calling out requests till Brock snapped out of it.

For those of you unfamiliar with my work—and you are many—I enjoy using real-life characters in my novels. My work-in-progress (If I Lie in a Combat Zone) has its main character stumble into John Prine while returning from Vietnam via Germany. Naturally, they become friends.

Last night, we all got the news that John Prine had died from complications from the friggin' hoax virus. Wait a while eternity? I guess not.

UPDATE Sept '21: If I Lie in a Combat Zone is finished and available: https://kdp.amazon.com/amazon-dp-action/us/dualbookshelf.marketplacelink/B09FH2MC4V

I hope I treated John well.

On pre-order, launch news and some trepidation

THE GREAT AMERICAN SCRAPBOOK is now available for pre-order (Kindle version) and the paperbacks are winging their way here in anticipation of the launch at Magers & Quinn on November 7 (7pm). The pre-order business is only because it's complete and I promised the good folks at M&Q that it wouldn't go on sale before the launch. (Last time I did a pre-order nobody pre-ordered.)

For more launch info, and to catch up on the soundtrack for the novel, click here.

I've redone my humble website here to give notice of the new release. Have a look around see if anything interests you.

This new book seems to be a bit more stressful for me than my previous ones. The others were way more historical and all the real-life characters were dead. In this I'm using real live characters like Sherwin Linton, Anita from the Uptown Bar, Johnny Rey and Bill Murray, as well as friends who passed away far too young: Steve Foley, Kevin Foley and Kevin Calhoun Hazlett. Institutions like Bob Dylan and John Prine figure prominently without ever showing their faces.

Hope to see you November 7 and hope you enjoy the book(s).

On Meeting Sherwin Linton

I had an ulterior motive for wanting to see Sherwin Linton last night at the Lake Harriet Bandshell. Sure he's a country legend throughout the Midwest but he's also a character in my novel-in-progress, The Great American Scrapbook. Another character, Peaches, runs away from her Mount Rushmore home at 15. And 16. And 17. I really had nowhere for her to go until I saw this photo—lifted from sherwinlinton.com. I googled the guitar player, found that he had a radio show out of Watertown, SD back in the 50s, traveled all over the state playing his rockabilly and, just like that, Peaches was running away to see Sherwin Linton shows.

I made it over to Lake Harriet with the hope of talking to Sherwin and getting his okay to use him in the book. I was early and noticed Sherwin walking up the aisle, shaking hands and chatting with everyone in attendance. Perfect. I slipped onto a bench about four rows up from where he was. Row by row he laughed and shook hands and I practiced my quick pitch: Would you mind be a character in a novel? Have you ever met Bob Dylan? [In my book he encounters Dylan before Bob became famous.]

Sherwin made it to the row ahead of mine, reached out to shake a man's hand, then turned—standing right smack in front of me—and said: “Sorry I can't meet ya all but I got a show to do.” And he headed to the stage.

The show itself was a good old time. Sherwin's gruff voice, loving banter between he and his wife/vocalist Pam, plenty of pedal-steel guitar—even a 13 year old sweetheart of a guest singer.

I bought a couple of Sherwin Linton for President bumper stickers and hung around for a second shot at speaking with the man. Finally he turned to me. I shook his hand and said, “This might sound strange but I'm using you as a character in a novel and I'm hoping you don't mind.” He smiled broadly and asked about the book and if I'd written others. I explained Peaches running away to see his shows and them meeting again later in life. He handed me his card—as I handed him mine—and said he was “flattered” and “tickled pink” at the idea.

“You can even use my real name, if you'd like,” he said a couple of times—possibly under the misconception that my books are widely read.

Thank you, Sherwin! I hope I can do you justice in the book.

On Nick Lowe and Levon Helm

Wednesday evening I caught Nick Lowe and His Band at First Avenue. The show began with Nick and his acoustic guitar doing the fairly new "Stoplight Roses" and the Rockpile gem "Heart." Nick spoke to us between songs. Thoughtful and light-hearted, he spoke and we listened. He spoke, not like a rock star (which he ain't), but like an old pal who had been away too long. He was genuine, self-deprecating and silly throughout. Years ago, I'd seen him there with with his Cowboy Outfit and once at the Fine Line solo and one post-Rockpile show in San Francisco. It had been too long. He gave a heartfelt thanks to the recently departed Dick Clark and launched into "Cruel to Be Kind." We got his take on "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding" and, as a bonus encore, Nick's solo version of Elvis Costello's "Alison."

I spent Thursday thinking I was somehow a better person for having seen Nick Lowe again and woke up Friday to the news that Levon Helm had died. Back in 1974 ("just 18, proud and brave"), I attended my first concert: The Band at the old Civic Center, I think. Sure Robbie Robertson was the frontman, but the attraction for me was Levon Helm and his soulful, woeful voice on the drums. Again, no rock star; just a cat from Arkansas who made you feel every word he sang. The show had been advertised as "The Band and Special Guest." Early on in a wonderful show, fans rudely began chanting: "Dylan! Dylan!" Who else could the special guest be, right? Robbie calmed them with a teasing: "Maybe later" and the show rolled on, interrupted again by more Dylan chants and Robertson soothing them with: "Patience." Nonetheless, it was a fabulous show. We stuck around till the stage had been completely torn down and, of course, Dylan never showed—though I have no doubt he was backstage (yea, I'm talkin' to you, Bob!)

And so, Levon and Nick bookend my rock'n'roll experience. Not too bad. (As I write this "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" comes on Pandora. How 'bout that?) We miss you, Levon. And we'll see you next time around, Nick!