…it just dawned on me that today is my Dad’s 81st birthday. Rest in peace, Pop. And happy birthday.
Here’s a pic of the elder Knight back in his salad days in Houston. His beard looks skimpy because he’d shaved it off a few weeks earlier, and my brother and I melted down in tears when we saw him. Looking back, it was pretty funny.
You might be inclined to believe that the Authors Guild–and its titular leader, Scott Turow–would be interested in protecting authors from the land-grab tactics of traditional publishing (purists demand the term “trade publishing” be used, but fuck ‘em, sez I). This is so hilariously far from the mark that it’s almost beyond me to articulate it. Suffice to say, the Guild (and Mr. Turow!) are more interested in protecting guilded cages than anything else.
But rather than bore you all with retelling past events, I’ll allow those who are substantially more accomplished at such activities do all the heavy lifting:
Really, Turow. With a guy like you pinch-hitting for the rest of us, no wonder most writers are broke.
My “Gathering Dead” short story, The Farm, is now available on Amazon, for a mere 99₵. It’ll appear on other platforms over the coming days, and please, forgive the abbreviated description–that was just a placeholder I dropped in, but neglected to correct before it was published. I’ll get that squared away as soon as I can.
Will be MIA in Texas all of next week, so y’all have yourself some fun while I’m away!
Today, as many of you doubtless know, film critic and American Pundit-at-Large Roger Ebert died.
Like a lot of people, I “knew” Roger from those halcyon days of yore, when he ran a subforum in the universe formerly known as CompuServe. While we had some interesting exchanges and I grew to admire the man’s intellect and keen insight, I wasn’t one of the forum participants who knew him the very best. But my Showbiz Media Forum pal and indie screenwriter W.C. Martell did, and he wrote a fantastic eulogy over on his blog, sex-in-a-sub. (The blog is clean; the title stems from Bill’s success in the 1990s writing submarine movies.)
So without further ado: RIP: Roger Ebert.
I’m sure Siskel saved him a seat.
For myself, my little boy was diagnosed with autism when he was about three. He doesn’t speak, has some emotional distress conditions, but he’s beautiful and happy. Poppa Knight and Momma Knight ship him off to the best schools in the area, and we keep him growing and learning as best as we can. Despite everything we do, though, his road will be a hard one. So give a kid a hand and tell folks there’s this little book out there that might add some pennies to the war effort, eh?
I don’t normally post personal pictures and the like here, but I’ll bust open the piggy bank this time. Say hello to my son, Brian.
Courtesy of one rather excellent composer named Sean Beeson, let your ears feast on this “audition” for the score of The Gathering Dead! It’s just mind-blowing! Hugh Howey only got a main title for his WOOL, but I got a suite! BOOYAH! (Though the title music for WOOL is pretty damned good too, I must say.)