The Annual December 27th Post

49 years ago today, I opened the mailbox at my parents’ house and took out a check in the amount of $167.50 from the Ideal Publishing Company, my first sale as a professional fictioneer. I’ve written about this many times before, starting with the very first year of this blog, a post that you can read here. And if you do, you may note that one of the comments is from my long-time, much-missed friend Bill Crider, and there are others by Juri Nummelin and Todd Mason, who are stlll good friends of mine all these years later.

I’m a lot closer to the end of my writing career now, but I’m still at it and plan to be for a while yet. Many thanks to all who have gotten me this far, including all the editors who have accepted my work and all the readers who have plunked down hard-earned cash to read it. My daughters Shayna and Joanna have helped me every step of the way, and of course, none of it would be possible without Livia, who has always believed in me. 49 years is a long time in this business. I’m not sure the youngster I was back in 1976 could have even comprehended such a thing, but I’m mighty pleased and proud to be here.

49 Years Ago Today

The Annual December 27th Post

Twenty years ago today, I posted about making my first fiction sale, which took place on December 27, 1976. You can read all about it here. Now, 48 years have gone by since that semi-momentous day, and half a century in this business is barreling at me. Will I make it? Who knows?

Meanwhile, here's a picture of a dog at a typewriter. Reminds me a little of me in those long-ago days. That would be a pile of rejected manuscripts behind the typewriter.

But to be serious for just a moment, to all the editors who have bought my work over the years, to all the folks who have laid down their hard-earned money to read it, to those who love it and those who hate it, and especially to Livia, Shayna, and Joanna, the biggest thank you I can muster. You've kept me going, and God willing, I'll putter along a while longer.

48 Years Ago Today

 

20 Years of Rough Edges

On Saturday, July 3, 2004, I published my first post on this blog. Here's how I started it:

Following the example of my friends Bill Crider and Ed Gorman, I've decided to start a blog. I may not post every day, and what gets posted here may be pretty haphazard sometimes, but I intend to talk mostly about what I'm reading and sometimes writing, as well as the events in my life I don't deem too boring. (Whether the readers find it too boring is, of course, up to them.) Don't expect anything about politics or religion.

We've lost Bill and Ed since then, of course, Ed in 2016 and Bill in 2018, and I still catch myself thinking now and then that I'm going to tell them about something I read or ask them about some book or author. I've never known two finer men than those two, and their inspiring me to start this blog is only one of the very, very many things for which I'm thankful to them.

Over the years, Rough Edges has become primarily a book review blog, although my own writing sneaks in now and then, as well as some real-life stuff. But still no politics or religion.

Here's how I ended that first post:

For those of you who don't know, I'm a professional writer and have been since 1976. Yesterday I finished my 165th novel, so I'm sort of between projects at the moment. I have to do some research and come up with a proposal for a historical novel, and then the next thing on the schedule is a house-name Western novel. I have work lined up through the spring of '05, which in the world of freelance fiction writing is considered pretty good job security. Of course, it could all come to a crashing halt after that.

That's enough to start this off. Feel free to comment if the mood strikes you.

The writing didn't come to a crashing halt. I'm currently working on my 425th novel. That means I've written 260 novels (or 61% of my novel output) since starting this blog. I don't think there's any connection, but I like playing with numbers. I have house-name work lined up through the end of 2025 and plan to continue writing some under my own name, too, assuming I stay sane enough to do it. And this blog will continue, too. As I said about the WesternPulps group a few months ago, it's a labor of love and I intend to keep on with it as long as I'm capable of doing so, even if it gets to the point where I'm just posting to myself.

My sincere thanks to all of you who have visited, whether you're new here or have been reading since 2004, and everything in between. Your comments and emails and just knowing that you're out there have meant a great deal to me.

The Annual December 27 Post

Regular readers of this blog know that today marks the anniversary of my first fiction sale, back on December 27, 1976. 47 years ago today, a number that makes me shake my head in disbelief. I’m sure that back in 1976 I hoped I would still be writing and selling almost half a century later, but I’m equally certain that I wouldn’t have bet money on it.

But here we are, and if you want to read the background of that first sale, you can find it in my original post on the subject from 2004. I noticed when looking up that post that there are comments from Todd Mason and Juri Nummelin, who are still good friends and regular commenters here all these years later. I’m thankful for that continuity.

I’m thankful as well for everyone who’s contributed to me being able to stay in this business for so long, including all the fine editors and writers I’ve worked with over the years, as well as all the readers who have ever sat down and cracked open one of my books. And of course I couldn’t have done any of it without Livia, Shayna, and Joanna. My thanks and love to all of you. I’m at the point where I’m genuinely curious to see how long I can keep this up.

By the way, that isn't the exact model of typewriter I used in those early days, but I typed thousands of pages on one very much like it.

The Annual December 27th Post

Regular readers of this blog may recall that today is the anniversary of my first fiction sale. 46 years ago today, on December 27, 1976, I became a professional fictioneer. I told the story here, in the first year of the blog, and I can't sum it up better, so if you haven't read about how I broke into this business, you can check out that post if you're of a mind to. Almost half a century later, I'm still at it and intend to keep going for a while yet. I think 500 books is out of reach (I just started novel #414) but I ought to be able to make it to a full 50 years as a professional writer.

In related news, there will be no "A Million Words and Counting" post this year. As I've threatened for a long time, I slowed down some this year (not entirely voluntarily) and will finish with about 900,000 words. So the streak comes to an end after 17 consecutive years. I'm fine with that.

My sincere thanks to everyone who's helped make it possible for me to keep spinning yarns all these years.

18 Years Ago Today

On July 3, 2004, in the first ever post on this blog, I wrote:

Following the example of my friends Bill Crider and Ed Gorman, I've decided to start a blog. I may not post every day, and what gets posted here may be pretty haphazard sometimes, but I intend to talk mostly about what I'm reading and sometimes writing, as well as the events in my life I don't deem too boring. (Whether the readers find it too boring is, of course, up to them.) Don't expect anything about politics or religion.

Well, Bill and Ed are gone, and I miss them and always will. The rest of that paragraph has aged fairly well, I think. I've posted haphazardly about reading and writing and the occasional bit of personal news, good and bad. Still nothing about politics or religion, and there won't be.

Later in that post, after some of that personal stuff, I wrote:

For those of you who don't know, I'm a professional writer and have been since 1976. Yesterday I finished my 165th novel, so I'm sort of between projects at the moment. I have to do some research and come up with a proposal for a historical novel, and then the next thing on the schedule is a house-name Western novel. I have work lined up through the spring of '05, which in the world of freelance fiction writing is considered pretty good job security. Of course, it could all come to a crashing halt after that.

Clearly, the writing career didn't come to a crashing halt, since I've more than doubled the number of novels I've written since then. And I still have work lined up, the only question being whether I can find the time and mental capability to do it. (I probably will, but these days I'm less sure than I used to be.)

I should have waited until the 20th anniversary of the blog to post this, but I'm learning not to take too many things for granted. When I started the thing, 'way back in 2004, I gave no thought to how long I'd keep doing it. I wouldn't have guessed that I'd still be at it 18 years later, though. I've had a wonderful time writing the blog, though. Every couple of weeks, I get overwhelmed and say, "That's it, something's gotta go, and it's going to have to be the blog." And then I start hunting for pulp covers to post, or read something I like and want to recommend, and somehow it keeps going. I hope it will for a while yet.

Thank you to all of you who have stuck with me. Blogs are prehistoric now, we all know that. But I've always felt a little more comfortable in the past, and I hope you enjoy visiting it with me.

The Annual December 27th Post

When I wrote the first of these posts back in 2004, it never occurred to me that I'd still be writing them seventeen years later. I've missed posting about it a year or two along the way, but I've never forgotten what it was like to make that first sale on December 27, 1976, and to be able to consider myself a professional writer.

This year I was trying to think of something to write about those days that I haven't rehashed before. I've talked about the first story that sold and how I came to write it . . . but I don't think I've ever written anything about the stories that didn't sell, for the very good reason that I don't remember much about them. But I recall a few titles and plot details, yarns that I scribbled out with a fountain pen on notebook paper or in a spiral notebook while I was working in my father's TV repair shop. Then either Livia or I would type them, I'd go over them and make revisions, then one of us would type a final draft to go in the manila envelope (with SASE, of course) to go winging off to editorial offices in New York or Los Angeles or Chicago . . . where they went right back in those SASEs and limped back home to me. Those manuscripts are long gone, of course, so I'm working by memory, but here are a few I recall.

"On the Dead Run" -- this was a mystery story about a heist crew that targeted a big party held by degenerate jetsetters in Cancun. All elements about which 23-year-old me knew little or nothing.

"Over on the Hot Side" -- a science fiction story about a radioactive zone, mutants, and other stuff that had been done to death even then.

"The Long and the Short of It" -- another science fiction story. I don't remember anything about it except that one of the editors who saw it handwrote a note on the rejection slip about what an offensive story it was.

"Key Allegro" -- some sort of tropical adventure yarn that I targeted at the men's adventure magazine market. The title came from a housing development in Rockport, Texas, a town I had visited with Livia a few months earlier. That's all I remember.

"No-Hitter" -- now this one, I remember a little better, because Sam Merwin Jr. almost bought it for MIKE SHAYNE MYSTERY MAGAZINE. It was about a major league baseball pitcher who got in trouble with the Mob. He was ordered to tank a game he was pitching, but a few innings in, he realizes he has a no-hitter going, and he's torn between his competitive nature and his desire to save his skin from the gangsters. It was a suspense story, told from inside his head as the game progresses, and probably the best story I'd written up to that time. But Merwin hated the ending so much that he didn't even ask me to revise it, as he did with another story of mine that he wound up buying a short time later.

For every one of these stories, I wrote at least five or six others that never sold, either. I tried to have three or four stories out in the mail, minimum, all the time. I look back on those days now with nostalgia and think about what a great time it was to be alive, a newlywed with a beautiful bride and a head full of hopes and dreams, but I'm also realistic enough to know that it was a lot of hard, grinding work, too, and I'm not surprised that I almost gave up a few times.

But I'm glad that I didn't, because today marks 45 years that I've been in this business of telling stories. I hope I have a few more years of it left in me. For now, a big thanks as always to the editors who bought the stories and the novels, those of you who read them, and Livia, Shayna, and Joanna, who continue to make it all worthwhile and possible. 

45 Years Ago Today

 

Time is going by pretty fast these days. Five more years will be 50. Hard to believe. But still the best thing I've ever done.

The Annual December 27th Post

44 years ago today, I made my first sale as a professional fiction writer. I've done a post to mark that anniversary every year since 2004, when I started this blog. The first and most detailed of those posts can be found here. Back on December 27, 1976, I had no way of knowing how my career was going to turn out, of course. That one sale might have been one-and-done. That happens to a lot of people less fortunate than I've been. Yeah, I have a certain amount of talent for the writing game and I've worked pretty hard at it at times, but luck has also followed me every step of the way and don't think I don't know it. The biggest stroke of luck I ever had, in more ways than one, was marrying Livia four months before I made that first sale. One thing definitely has a lot to do with the other. So here's a big thanks to her, to our daughters, to all the editors who've had faith in me, to all the friends I've made, and to all of you reading this post. 

Saturday Morning Western Pulp: Dime Western, January 1938

This cover has several of the things I love about Western pulp covers: a pretty girl, some action (there's gunsmoke coming from the muzzle of the cowboy's revolver), and great story titles. I want to read "Fugitive From Boothill's Ghost Legion". Better yet, I want to write that story! There are plenty of great authors in this issue of DIME WESTERN: Walt Coburn, Harry F. Olmsted, and Ray Nafziger are three of the top Western pulpsters, and backing them up are old pros Rolland Lynch, John G. Pearsol, and Lloyd Eric Reeve. I don't know the cover artist for sure, but I think it's Tom Lovell.

Also, I wanted to mention that I got curious and looked back to see if I could find when I started this series of posts. I had posted Western pulps covers before, but as far as I can tell, the first one that was called Saturday Morning Western Pulp was on February 5, 2011. I didn't realize I'd been doing it for that long. Since February 5 was last Wednesday, I'm going to count this as the ninth anniversary post. I've missed a weekend here and there, and it's possible I could have inadvertently posted the same cover more than once, but even so I figure I've posted more than 450 Western pulp covers in this series. Maybe I can remember and come up with a special tenth anniversary post next year, if I'm still at it (which I plan to be).

Oh, and the first Sunday Morning Bonus Pulp was June 10, 2012. I plan to mark that occasion, too.

The Annual December 27th Post

Regular readers of this blog may recall that December 27 is the anniversary of my first fiction sale, which occurred in 1976, 43 years ago today. I’ve written about that in detail for December 27 posts in previous years. Looking back at that day 43 years ago when I first opened an envelope and saw a check for something I’d written, I’m glad I’ve been able to hang around in this crazy business for so long. I’m very grateful to everyone who’s helped, especially Livia, Shayna, and Joanna, and all the readers who have enjoyed what I’ve written. (And those who hated it but paid me anyway.)

43 Years Ago Today

I know I've posted this picture before . . . but, dang, isn't Livia beautiful? We keep inching toward 50 years together.

Blog Anniversary

Today is the 15th anniversary of this blog. As I've mentioned before (and did so in my very first post, in fact), I only started to blog because my best friends in the writing business, Bill Crider and Ed Gorman, had started blogs and I thought it sounded like fun. It probably never occurred to me at the time that I'd still be at it 15 years later. Early on, the blog was very much a diary, full of not only what I was writing and reading but also comments about the weather and my day-to-day life. It's evolved into whatever it is now, mostly just occasional posts about old books and movies. But I'm still enjoying it, and even though social media has moved and blogs are sort of dinosaurs, I intend to keep at it as long as I'm able, just like I plan to continue the WesternPulps email group (an even more prehistoric venue) as long as a platform exists for it.

Looking back at that first post, I notice that I'd just finished my 165th novel. I'm working on #375, so that's 210 novels in 15 years, or an average of 14 books a year. No wonder my brain is tired.

Also, the day I started the blog, our Nigerian dwarf goat Sugarfoot died. Sugarfoot was about the size of a regular goat, so he was a lot bigger than a regular dwarf goat. He was allergic to regular hay and could only eat alfalfa hay, otherwise he would roll onto his back, wave all four legs in the air, and bleat. I am not making this up. We told the vet about it, but he didn't believe us until he saw it happen for himself. He thought it was the weirdest thing he'd ever seen, and it was pretty bizarre, no doubt about that. I don't believe I've ever told that story here on the blog before, so see, there are still new things to discover even after 15 years.

Many thanks to all of you out there, whether you've been reading Rough Edges from the first or have just started it. I appreciate each and every one of you and hope that you enjoy what I'm doing here.

The Annual December 27th Post

Regular readers of this blog know that December 27^th is the anniversary of my first fiction sale. (I had been paid for my writing before that, a small sum for movie reviews in the local weekly newspaper, but I’m a fictioneer and so December 27 is the anniversary that I count.) This year marks 42 years in the business for me. Starting out, I hoped my career would last a long time, but I had no idea if it would, of course. That first sale might have been the only sale. Nothing is guaranteed in this business, or any other. But somehow, I’m closing in on 30 million words written and sold in my career, and I’m incredibly thankful for the opportunity to have done so. It never would have been possible without Livia, Shayna, and Joanna, as well as all the editors who have put their faith in my abilities and the readers, God love each and every one of ‘em, who have plunked down their hard-earned cash for my books. So thanks to all of you, and while I may slow down a mite, I’ll still be here at the keyboard for a good while yet, I hope.

42 Years Ago Today

The Annual December 27th Post

So how many years is that, now? Yeah, 41, that's right. 41 years ago today that I sold my first story and became a professional writer. I've written about that and much of the background to it in previous December 27th posts, and if you're interested and haven't heard about it until you're bored to tears, I hope you'll go back and take a look at them. In that 41 years, I've written 358 novels (got a good chunk of #359 done), more short stories than I've ever counted up, one non-fiction book, and a bunch of outlines, letters, emails, and blog posts. I believe it was Ed Gorman who once told me that a writer is somebody who sits in a room and types for 30 years. Well, in my case, it's 41 years and counting, because I think I have some good years left.

40 Years Later; or The Annual December 27th Post

Earlier this morning I posted about the Overlooked Movie GENIUS, which is mostly about writing and editing, and talked a little about my own influences and what my goals were during my early career. That leads into this post, where I'll expand a little on those things. Because today is the 40^th anniversary of the day I became a professional writer.

If you've been reading this blog for very long, you know the story: newly married, working for my dad at the TV repair shop, pounding out short stories as fast as I could on an old manual typewriter, sending them out to any possible market, and more than a few impossible ones, because, hey, you've got to hope, right? Livia and I lived in an apartment attached to the side of an old house and didn't have a mailbox, so I used my parents' address on my manuscripts. The morning of December 27, 1976, I swung by there on my way to work. Nobody was home, so I was by myself when I got the envelope out of the mailbox that had Ideal Publishing Company as the return address. I tore it open and took out a check in the amount of $167.50, payment for my short story "The Voice on the Other End", a confession yarn published about four months later, anonymously, in the magazine INTIMATE STORY.

I mentioned in the earlier post that a part of me wanted to write The Great American Novel. Well, "The Voice on the Other End" sure wasn't it. But I also wanted to see my work in print and to get paid for it, and there was the proof of my ability to do that, all $167.50 of it. It wasn't cold hard cash, but it was the next thing to it, and once that check was in the bank it paid our rent for a month and bought a week's worth of groceries, and that was a thrill I'd never experienced before. That was probably where my mercenary instincts began to win out over my artistic ones, although it took a while for the victory to be complete, but my main goal ever since has been to write for a living.

I've done that, mostly. Over the next ten years I had several regular jobs but managed to write full-time for three of those years. Then, since February 1987 I've done nothing but write and have made an often precarious but sometimes comfortable living at it. I am, to quote Lou Gehrig without the microphone reverb, the luckiest man on the face of the earth. Never wrote The Great American Novel, but I've written some decent stuff under my own name and a lot of solid novels under other names that have entertained millions of people. I've brought pleasure to them in the good times and I hope I've helped them get through some of the stressful times, the same way that books have gotten me through many dark nights of the soul.

If you want numbers, as of today we're talking about 344 novels, one non-fiction book, and upwards of 150 short stories, novelettes, novellas, essays, articles, and book introductions. The fiction output alone is somewhere between 25 and 30 million words. I've slowed down some in recent years, but if I stay healthy I think I've got at least another five million words in me, maybe more.

As always, special thanks to Livia, who really does make it all possible; to our daughters Shayna and Joanna, who have helped out in so many different ways; to the editors who have bought my work over the years, from Sam Merwin Jr. to Gary Goldstein and all the ones in between; to the writers who have inspired me with their work and their friendship—I'd list them but there are too many and I'd leave somebody out—and to the readers who have kept me in business. I'm thinking this may be the last lengthy December 27^th post I'll write, although I'll probably keep pointing out the anniversary here on the blog. If I make it to 50 years in this business, I may have a few other things to say.

Until then, thanks to all of you reading this as well, and now I have pages to do.

Sunday Morning Bonus Pulp: Love Story, July 22, 1939

This cover, of course, is exactly how Livia and I have spent the past 40 years of our marriage. I'd talk about the authors in this issue, but I never heard of any of 'em. The cover is by John Newton Howitt, who did a bunch of covers for THE SPIDER, OPERATOR #5, and other hero and adventure pulps. I didn't know he did love pulp covers, too, but this one is pretty good.