The Cure – now available for pre-order

If you have the cure, all you need is the disease.

That is the premise of my new novel, The Cure, now available for pre-order. It is set in the mountains of western North Carolina at a lab for a biopharmaceutical firm. Eric Carter, M.D., has spent the last ten years of his life perfecting a cure for a strain of avian flu. He and his team are crushed when the FDA denies it.

What comes next may surprise you.

Coming soon – The Cure

If you have the cure, all you need is the disease.

That is the premise of my new novel, The Cure, coming this fall. It is set in the mountains of western North Carolina at a lab for a biopharmaceutical firm. Eric Carter, M.D., has spent the last ten years of his life perfecting a cure for a strain of avian flu. He and his team are crushed when the FDA denies it.

What comes next may surprise you.

Birthday Thoughts

With almost thirty years in the health care field, I am all too familiar with the red, white, and blue card carried by Medicare beneficiaries. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d have my own.

Well, that day is today and represents a milestone in many ways. It is a time of great thanks for making it sixty-five years, and for the many blessings that have come my way. I have so much to be grateful for, including being able to walk in, sit at my computer, and type this column.

It is a time for reflection as I remember those friends and family who are no longer with us. That list keeps growing and seems to be surpassing the list of those present. As a good friend reminded me years ago, funerals are for the living, not for the departed. Good advice.

I’m amazed at the places I’ve been and the priceless memories I’ve collected. That is my treasure. I never dreamed a good ole boy from Macon, Georgia would have a list as rich as mine.

It is a time for hope, in spite of the toxic, partisan cloud that has enveloped our country. I’ve always been an optimist, hopefully wearing glasses tinted with realism. After all these years, I doubt I’m going to change.

Last, I begin to think about legacy. I reflect on all those in my life who’ve had such a positive impact on me. I hope I remembered to tell them. In over six decades on this earth, I hope that I’ve managed to do some good things to go with the many mistakes I’ve made.  And one day, I hope that someone remembers me in this way, for being a favorable influence in their life.

Nothing else a person could ask for. 

Coming Soon!

Happy New Year! I just finished the first draft of my next novel and am getting ready to send it out to my beta readers. New characters and new setting! I’m excited about it. Will be sharing more information soon.

I’ll be in Amelia Island next month at the Amelia Island Book Festival. This will be my first time there, and I’m looking forward to it. Hope to see you!

In March, I’ll be back at the Southwest Florida Reading Festival in Fort Myers. This will be my fourth year there. It is always a great event and excited about going back.

All for now, more later!

Pat Conroy

The other night, I started reading Pat Conroy’s Death of Santini. His words flow like the tidal creeks in the marshes of the low country, in seemingly random directions but ultimately leading to a larger, more important body of water.

I came across a passage so powerful and so beautiful, I had to stop reading. It literally moved me to tears. I reread it several times before closing the book and turning out the light. It was absolute perfection. I would never be able to write like that.

As I lay there in the dark, I resolved to set down my pen and never write another word, knowing I was incapable of the majesty of his words. As a writer, I was a fraud, not deserving of the title. My work suddenly seemed cheap and I was glad to be cloaked in darkness. Unable to sleep, I berated myself for my amateurish attempts to put down words worthy of reading. After a while, my vision started to clear and I could hear the voice of Conroy.

If every writer who could not measure up to the masters lay down their pen, the libraries would be desolate places with empty shelves. Countless versions of young Darryl’s would not be able to read and ride the wings of authors to other worlds. It dawned on me that there are very few writers who qualify for admission into the same chamber as Conroy, just as there are few musicians who will ever achieve the greatness of a Beethoven. What a sad world it would be if all artists felt the same way. I made up my mind that I would take his words as a challenge; a challenge to do better.

I’ll not repeat the passage. To do so would be a sacrilege. His words deserve to be read in the context of his work. I will say, to readers and writers alike, that one passage alone is worth the price of the book. I hope you’ll read it.