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alexpgpWhile "browsing" Amazon, I ran across a blurb for a new (to me) book by Mickey Spillane, but actually written by Spillane and some other fellow. My curiosity piqued - I assumed, for some reason, that Spillane had joined the ranks of writers like Tom Clancy and Clive Cussler, who seem to have transitioned to producing books jointly with other authors.
I was wrong. Spillane apparently died about 4 years ago, and the news sort of ruined my mood for a while, for although he was not as productive in recent years as, say, Robert B. Parker, he was one of my favorite writers.
And it occurred to me - duh! - that this kind of feeling is more the result of not liking to be reminded of my own mortality than of sorrow at the passing of someone I am a "fan" of, because it occurs to me that I never experienced such funks when I was younger.
Enough of that.
Progeny of the Next Big Job™ calls, but before that, I need to tickle the ol' gray cells with another dose of French conversation, so I better get to it.
Cheers...
I was wrong. Spillane apparently died about 4 years ago, and the news sort of ruined my mood for a while, for although he was not as productive in recent years as, say, Robert B. Parker, he was one of my favorite writers.
And it occurred to me - duh! - that this kind of feeling is more the result of not liking to be reminded of my own mortality than of sorrow at the passing of someone I am a "fan" of, because it occurs to me that I never experienced such funks when I was younger.
Enough of that.
Progeny of the Next Big Job™ calls, but before that, I need to tickle the ol' gray cells with another dose of French conversation, so I better get to it.
Cheers...
