It’s never a good sign when a publisher suddenly slips under the radar like a Cold War submarine. Unreturned emails, unanswered calls—it all adds up to one thing: uh-oh.
Fortunately, I had a not-so-secret weapon in my corner—author, investigator, and all-around mensch, Mr. Glen Held. Glen’s a hell of a writer, and both of us had pitched novels featuring Barry Reese’s pulp hero The Peregrine. Part vigilante, part occult detective, all hero—the guy checks every box for two writers who grew up on shadowy alleys and two-fisted crimefighters.
We both worked our tails off on our novels and turned them in… and then? Crickets. Not even polite crickets. Meanwhile, I also had a short story (Operation Purple Zombie) parked with the same publisher, and the runaround had become so routine I felt like I needed frequent-flier miles for it. Add to that the joy of switching literary managers—never a stress-free process—and let’s just say my attention was somewhat divided.
But Glen? Oh, Glen wasn’t having it. He was not about to take this publishing slight lying down.
We traded messages, always ending with Glen promising he’d “look into it,” and look into it he did. He hounded the publisher until, miracle of miracles, an editor named Dale Russell finally emerged from the mist and contacted him. Together they whipped Glen’s book into shape—and surprise! I was next in the chute.
Success! After three years of waiting, something was finally happening.
Once Dale and Glen wrapped, it was my turn in the editing chair. It was my first time working with a bona fide, capital-E professional editor, and Dale was an absolute godsend. Detailed notes on everything—story, structure, and my unnatural fondness for overwriting and repeating myself. (Guilty as charged.) It was genuinely a joy.
Two months later, after a lot of work and a lot of fun, we were finally done.
Off it all went to the publisher and…
You guessed it:

Silence. Again.

Final Chapter:  Next Week!

My hard drive is a virtual elephant’s graveyard of lost stories, novels, and screenplays. Honestly, they’re almost too numerous to name. Some died because of an accident at birth—usually at the hands of their loving author. Some died of old age. (Hey, I fed them as long as I could.) A few were commissioned and then abandoned when the money evaporated, or for some other very Hollywood excuse. And some simply lie in wait, biding their time until I die.
Ha. Bad news, stories: I’m never going away.
But The Last Argonaut was different.
The tale of the Golden Fleece has always held a special place in my heart. It was a favorite story—and film—when I was a kid, and I could never shake the epic adventure out of my head. Many years ago, I wrote a screenplay called Barry and the Argonauts—think Ray Harryhausen meets Ghostbusters. It floated all around La La Land. People read it, even liked it, but no one had the faintest idea what to do with it. Its last stop was the producers of Bill, Mickey Rooney’s Emmy-winning TV movie. Long story short: the concept died a quiet, dusty death, and no one ever made the film.
Cut to many, many years later. I get an invitation to submit proposals to a publisher called Pro Se Productions. I’d already had one story accepted there and figured, why not try my luck again? (If you want more on that other tale—the Purple Zombie one—pick up Tales from the Chair, available now. Yes, that’s a plug. I am shameless.)
My proposal was accepted, contracts signed, and I rolled up my sleeves to write my opus. Barry became author Barry Reese’s daring creation, The Peregrine. Pro Se sent me literal volumes of stories—an entire universe of pulp heroes and villains. It was all wonderfully adventurous and fit perfectly with my lifelong love of pulp fiction.
A quick side note: This is also when I met someone I now consider a friend—Glen Held. His pitch had been accepted too, and we became a sort of two-man support group, trading tips on how to bring Barry’s character to life. Glen and I turned our novels in within days of each other, both of us chomping at the bit to see what Pro Se had planned.
And then… nothing.
(To be continued.)

BTW, did you see the big contest? Now is your chance. December 2o is the deadline so don't let it slip by. Not just one, not just two, not even 3. All four autographed by me. What are you waiting for?

I get asked sometimes if I miss stand-up. The short answer? Not really. There were—and still are—so many comedians who were simply better. Years later, I can look back and truly admire what they do: the discipline, the grind, the sheer nerve it takes to keep getting up there night after night.
As for me, I’m exactly where I want to be. These days, I get to write stories, create worlds, and still make people feel something—sometimes even laugh. Folks read the books, visit the site, and check in just to see what I’m up to. That’s more than enough spotlight for me.
If my website were a small comedy club, we’d be doing just fine.
Most nights, about sixty people wander in — some regulars, some curious first-timers. The lights are dim, the mic’s a little dented, and the jokes are equal parts pulp and punchline.
Real laughs don’t come cheap. But the crowd sticks around, orders another round, and lets me try out new material — whether it’s a fresh story, a wild idea, or a screenplay that just might land.
Some nights, the room’s packed. Other nights, it’s a quiet set for the diehards who’ve heard every bit but still laugh in the right places. I like those nights too.
Every so often, someone important drops by — a producer, an agent, a reader with the right sense of humor. They sit in the back, watch the set, and maybe, just maybe, something connects.
So if you’re one of the sixty — thanks for coming back. If you’re new, grab a drink, find a seat, and stick around. The next set starts any minute now.
Headlining soon: The Last Argonaut, Stay Tuned

Pictured: J.P. Linde has envisioned by legendary producers Hanna-Barbera

At the stroke of midnight, the paperback edition of Tales from the Chair officially comes to life on Amazon. Click the picture—yes, it’s got a link, I made sure—and it’ll take you straight to the goods. We’re all very excited about this horror/comedy anthology. Who knows, maybe I’ve accidentally invented an entirely new genre: “screamlaughs”? “Chuckleterror”? We’ll workshop the name later.
Meanwhile, in the glamorous world of Hollywood, my agent recently reached out to a producer who agreed to read one of my screenplays--if she’d read one of his. Apparently, this kind of quid-pro-quo reading club is becoming more common these days as agents cut loose writers and producers cut back on, well, everything. It’s not exactly heartwarming, but hey, it’s honest. The odds that were once astronomical now feel… intergalactic.
Still, there are bright spots. Vertical dramas are having their moment (until the next shiny trend shows up), and some writers are wisely—or desperately—swerving into that lane. Just be cautious of anyone charging you a “special fee” to teach you how to format your words vertically. Spoiler: gravity does that for free.
The truth is, there are always creative paths open to you: plays, novels, sketches, iPhone movies shot in your garage. The tools are in your hands. Use them. Create something. Anything. Especially now.

​And now some inspriing words!