Counting Blessings

I’ve said before that my sense of humor is so dark it veers into the ultraviolet. As is often the case, I think it’s a counterweight to the fact that I’m a melancholic sort most of the time, with a knack for finding the cloud that surrounds every silver lining. To be fair to myself, I’ve had my share of unpleasantnesses over the years, but I can generally find ways to remind myself that I’ve been blessed.

Some ways are more forceful than others.

For example, past installments (and some comments) of the blog have mentioned the work of my erstwhile Nashville homeboy Steven Womack. I’ve read his PI novels since he first broke into the paperback market, discovering them (as I did so many authors) through my mom and dad. More recently, I had the genuine pleasure of reading and reviewing Fade Up from Black (Womack’s return to the adventures of Harry James Denton) last year, and even more recently I got to turn him on to the band Dr. Feelgood.

In recent years, Steven has caught some bad breaks, and I think it’s fair to say he’s up against it. He explains his situation in a new article at CrimeReads. Fair warning — it isn’t for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. Although he has too much dignity to ask, I’m sure he’d welcome any support we can offer him, material or spiritual. At the very least, we can buy and read his work, which is the one thing a writer can hope for. At the same time, let’s be thankful for the fact that we have writers and teachers like Steven Womack around.

Meanwhile, if you’re reading this, Steve, give me a holler. I’m planning on being in town next month. If you’re available, let me buy you lunch. — Mondo