On pre-order

My second novel, NO HAPPIER STATE, is now on pre-order here, with a release date set for March 18. The paperback will also go on sale on that date. It goes like this:

While the menfolk carve Mount Rushmore above, Pêche Appleton sells her own tiny sculptures to the Depression-era onlookers below. Some find them offensive, particularly Taft-Stuck-in-a-Bathtub, the Cancan-Dancing-Presidents, and the whole Jefferson-and-the-Slave-Girl series. Pêche is married to Ernie, star shortstop for the town team, and NO HAPPIER STATE is their story of love, small town scandal and national political outrage.

Their love is at first sight when they're twelve. The scandal revolves around the baby. The outrage involves their friends: Steinke, a German-born Jew, sent to an internment camp because the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor and Bad Glove Hand, a Lakota Sioux, heads for Hollywood only to be blacklisted as a Communist—but not before implicating actor Ronald Reagan in the same plot.

Despite their own personal burdens—and the Depression and a World War—love and friendship prevail in NO HAPPIER STATE (Americana #2).

Also, ALICE AND HER GRAND BELL (Kindle version) is FREE March 12 & 13. Plus, we just received a new Amazon review!

On 2015

I believe I've posted about everything I've actually done over the past year—which is a sad commentary on my social life. I probably neglected a couple of Twins games and there was a ten-day stretch recently where I hit First Avenue three times: Lucinda Williams, Nick Lowe, and the Curtiss A Lennon Tribute. All worth getting out of the apartment for. I work till midnight tonight, so that'll be the end to my 2014.

2015 will bring the self-publication of three completed novels and at least one more now in the works. Alice and Her Grand Bell may be out as early as next week. My sister Susan Tinkham is at work on the cover. The plan is to pub No Happier State in March and Bonus Man likely in May.

I don't mind saying I've worked really hard on all three books and it scares the hell out of me to put them out there on a hope and a prayer.

When did I start praying?

* * *

Totally unrelated Twins prediction: Since I seem to be the only one who thinks it takes more than a few months to recover from a season-ending concussion (see Justin Morneau's recent 3-year recovery), I'm gonna go out on a limb and predict that Joe Mauer will shake off that last lingering cobweb and contend for another AL batting title this year.

Happy New Year!

On the Minnesota Twins

MY BOLD TWINS PREDICTION: If Morneau, Mauer, Span, Pavano, Liriano, Baker, Duensing, Blackburn and Capps all finish in the top ten for Comeback Player of the Year, I think the local team has a chance. Hey, they all have the proper credentials (and then some) for winning the award. Should be some battle!

Actually, they probably need Morneau and Mauer to vie for the MVP (they've done it before). And Liriano and Baker to challenge for the Cy Young (they've had their moments). Oh, and maybe a Rookie of the Year candidate.

Outrageous hope on my part? Of course, that's baseball.



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On Meeting Kirby Puckett

[Wikipedia: Kirby Puckett (March 14, 1960 – March 6, 2006) played his entire 12-year baseball career with the Minnesota Twins (1984-1995).]

The Visalia Oaks came to play the San Jose Bees back in 1983. The Bees played in the lowest (single A) minor league and were a co-op team owned by four Major League teams and one from Japan. The first base coach doubled as their interpreter. Small ballpark, small crowd; the players and umpires couldn't help but hear the hecklers.

After some tailgating, my friends Bodie (from Tennessee), Tex (from Mississippi), DinDin and I took our seats behind the third base dugout. (Both southerners had booming twangs. Very effective. Us Minneapolis natives, not so much.) It was our custom to pick one member of the opposing team and ride him relentlessly throughout the game. We saw the name Kirby Puckett in the program and he was the one. Though comparatively svelte in those days, Kirby still had the huge butt and, when he waddled up to home plate to lead off the game, we let him have it. We gave him our best stuff, even managing to rhyme his last name without being vulgar.

The first pitch came in eye-high. Kirby hacked at it anyway, hitting a line shot that was by the shortstop before he could even react. The ball stayed on the same plane till it crashed into the fence in left-center. The hardest hit ball I've ever seen. Kirby chugged into third with a stand-up triple, looked up at us and tipped the bill of his helmet—all the while flashing us that wonderful smile.

We quickly searched the program for someone else to taunt. Within a year Kirby was getting four hits in his first game with the Twins and the rest is World Championships and Hall of Fame. (Okay, so we really didn't meet him. But he did acknowledge us.)