Author's Note From Sideshow

 

The new Nick Forte novel, Sideshow, may be the most personally important book I’ve ever written. Enough so that I decided to include an author’s note, something I’ve never done before.

 

 Here it is:

 

No straight, cisgender person can fully understand what it’s like to be a member of the LGBTQIA+ community; the best we can do is empathize and treat them with the same respect and courtesy as we do everyone else.

The years have brought me closer to this too-often marginalized community. Among the handful of best friends I’ve ever had is a gay man. My only child’s godmother is a lesbian. I have a transgender step-daughter; my brother has a transgender sister-in-law. I once dated an intersex woman. If I can safely say one thing that encompasses them, it is that they all want the same things everyone else wants: to be left alone to lead the happiest lives they can find for themselves.

I’ve rewritten this author’s note several times, trying to describe exactly how I feel. I finally found a couple of quotes from people far more qualified to express them.

The actress Jodie Foster said: “Being gay is like being left-handed—some people are, most people aren’t, and nobody really knows exactly why. It’s not right or wrong; it’s just one of the many natural ways to be. The world works best when everyone gets to live as they truly are. So if you ever feel out of place, remember: you're not broken, you're just beautifully different—and that’s something the world needs."

That’s how I see it. I am six feet, one inch tall and a little overweight. My hair is gray and my eyes are brown. Jodie’s quote applies to me as well: It’s not right or wrong; it’s just one of the many natural ways to be.

Transgender care therapist Dr. Collette Lord is credited with the phrase, “The existence of intersex people is proof that nature doesn’t see gender as a binary.” As Hamlet said, “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Indigenous Americans have long understood gender is not binary. The idea has arisen from Christianity’s efforts to make the world a neater, safer, and more understandable place than it has ever been, or can me.

This book is as important to me as anything I’ve ever written, and it vexes me to know I didn’t get it as right as I wanted. I hope I got it as close as a straight cisgender man can and that readers will understand anything I got wrong was not done out of malice.

I’ll close with a quote often incorrectly attributed to Morgan Freeman: “I hate the word homophobia. It’s not a phobia. You’re not scared. You’re an asshole.”

If you take issue with anything in this book, please feel free to contact me through my web site, danakingauthor.com. I learned a lot writing this book. Most of what I learned is how much I still don’t know.

My eternal thanks to Christa Faust for pointing out a flaw in how I approached gay characters, John Copenhaver for encouraging me to take this step forward, and especially to Robyn Gigl for taking the time to read critical sections and provide invaluable feedback even though she knew me for all of five minutes before agreeing. To all of you, I did the best I could. I hope it was close to enough.

 

Sideshow is available through Amazon in both print ($9.99) and e-book ($2.99) versions.

An Excerpt From the New Nick Forte Novel, Sideshow

Here’s an excerpt from the new Nick Forte novel, Sideshow, available on Amazon in print for $9.99 and as an e-book for $2.99.

 

Beth Bryant got right to business. “How many men have you killed?”

I saw no reason to sugar coat it. I was the guy paying for the hour. “Seven. That I know of.”

She paused her pen above the notebook. Added what I could tell from the motion of her hand was a question mark. “You’re not sure?”

“A year or so back I was trapped into a situation where I had to shoot at cars. It’s possible I hit a person. I know at least one man got hurt when I blew up a propane tank. Nothing in the papers about anyone dying and the cops never bothered me about it, but I suppose it’s possible someone could’ve been mortally wounded. It’s not like I visited people in the hospital or kept in touch with their families.”

“You think this is funny?”

I took a deep breath. “No, and I don’t mean to give that impression. You work with many cops?”

“Mostly retired. Those on duty tend to stay with in-house shrinks for their counseling.”

I liked her saying shrink. Last thing I needed was one with a stick up her ass. “Then I’m sure I’m not the first one to say something inappropriate. Cops see so much they’ll never unsee they have to make fun of it or go crazy. I wouldn’t be here if I thought killing all those men was funny. Come to think about it, that would’ve been an even better reason to come.”

“How do you feel about it?”

Someone once told me the difference between a good question and a great question was he knew the answer to a great question. This was a damn good question. I’d been thinking about it for years and the best I had for her was, “I honest to God don’t know.”

One of Beth’s eyebrows called bullshit.

“Honest to God. They’re all different. It’s safe to say the world’s a better place without them. Except maybe one, and he was an accident. The rest, they had to go. It was them or me.” Pretty much.

“Heat of the moment kinds of things?”

Deep breath. “Confidentially, right?”

“Unless you’re about to tell me you’re going to kill someone. Your past is safe with me.”

I took time to settle myself. Beth gave me all I wanted. “One guy. Russian gangster. His was a case of what I call prophylactic self-defense.”

“You killed him to remove a future threat?”

“You’ve heard it before?”

“The legal term is ‘preventive self-defense.’ It describes the use of force against a non-imminent threat.”

“This guy brought a whole crew to my uncle’s house to kill me, my cousin, and my uncle. Probably my aunt if he had the chance. I get the drop on him and he gives himself up. ‘Go ahead. Arrest me,’ he says because he knows he’ll be out the next morning. A week or a month or a year later he, or one of his buddies, would come up behind me and put two behind my ear. He had to go as sure as the ones who were actively shooting at me.”

“You said they’re all different. How does he compare to the others?”

I generally avoided thinking about ranking my kills as if they were college football teams. It wouldn’t be fair to Caroline for me to dance around it. I needed to either answer this question honestly or go home and face her.

I decided I’d rather tell Beth. “Between the two of us.” Not a question.

Beth nodded.

“Pulling that trigger is one of the five most satisfying things I’ve ever done.”

 

Sideshow is available through Amazon in both print ($9.99) and e-book ($2.99) versions. 

Sideshow is (Finally) Available on Amazon

It took longer than expected due to reasons I won’t go into – mainly because they’re my fault – but the eighth Nick Forte PI novel, SIDESHOW, is now available in print and e-book formats on Amazon; Kindle Unlimited readers also have access. This is the hardest book I’ve ever tried to write, as I had to think about things I never had when writing any other book and I wanted to get them as close to right as possible.

 

The story opens with Forte’s return to Lake City to meet with Johnny Osgood, a televangelist who preaches what he calls “prosperity gospel,’ assuaging the consciences of those who want more than they need. A young woman employee of Osgood’s Lakeview Church, Elena Morales, stopped coming to work a few days ago. No one can contact her and people are worried.

 

Why this job needs to be under the table pricks Forte’s radar, not enough to turn down the work. Finding Elena is not difficult, but what he learns, and some of what he doesn’t, bothers him enough to leave her with his card and an invitation to call him if she ever needs anything.

 

Of course, she does. (Wouldn’t be much of a book if she didn’t, right?) What she calls him about, and what happens because of it, are what you’ll have to read the book to find out. I can tell you that along the way Forte spends time with

·         His daughter Caroline.

·         His friend and “debt collector” Goose Satterwhite.

·         His cop friend Jan Rusiewicz, now a lieutenant in charge of Area Five Violent Crimes.

·         Bobby Catlett, a detective under Jan’s command.

·         Steve Miller, Osgood’s right-hand man.

·         A therapist.

·         An intersex woman.

·         A gay detective.

·         A transgender woman detective.

·         A bartender who may end up being more than someone who serves draft beer and chicken wings.

SIDESHOW took me longer to write than any other book if we don’t count the time spent researching the Western. I think it was worth the effort. You’ll have to be the judge of whether I’m right. It’s available in both print ($9.99) and e-book ($2.99) formats on Amazon. 

I'm Old and I Read What I Want

This is probably going to irritate some people, but I’m old, which means I don’t give a fuck.

 Last week Rob Hart posted in Substack a piece titled, “DUNGEON CRAWLER CARL, why TWILIGHT is good actually, and the importance of reading bestsellers.” Rob is a helluva writer and a friend of mine. It’s always a good idea to listen to what he has to say. One of the best and most useful bits of writing advice I ever received came from him at Left Coast Crime in 2025 when he suggested an edit from back to front of a novel. I’ve done that for a couple of books now and it works great. Rob’s rationale was that it avoids the fatigue that comes as the end approaches in any edit; I also found it helps me to fix things that were not adequately prepared, as I don’t have to go back looking for them. They’re still ahead of me.

 I have enormous respect for Rob as a writer and as a person. With that in mind, I can still say three things with certainty:

1.      I’m not going to read Dungeon Crawler Carl.

2.      What I know about Twilight means I’m not going to read any of those.

3.      I’m not slavering at the mouth to grab hold of the next bestseller.

 As Percy Garris (Strother Martin) said to Butch and Sundance, do you want to know why?

1.      I’m as close to 100 as I am to 40 and therefore officially old.

2.      I appreciate I have a finite amount of time remaining to read anything.

3.      I’ve been reading for over sixty years, and I know what I like.

4.      I’m not trying to build a career as a writer. That ship has not only sailed, it is beyond the horizon.

The first three are all that matter to me. I don’t want to hear what anyone thinks I should read or need to read; I already can’t keep up with what I want to read. I know I don’t want to read

1.      Books that mix sci-fi and fantasy with video game rules.

2.      Forbidden love (with monsters), eternal commitment (to monsters), a love triangle (with monsters), et cetera, et cetera (probably also involving monsters.) If I want to read about monsters, I have the Trump Administration.

3.      Bestsellers, with rare exceptions. I understand there is a skill, even a talent, in writing a bestseller, and that I lack it. I’m okay with that. The greatest musician this country has produced, Leonard Bernstein, once lamented his inability to write a hit popular song and admired those who could do so routinely. I find most bestsellers to be facile, strain credulity, and spend too much time on description and things I tend to skip. (Hat tip to Elmore Leonard.)

Which brings us to Number 4 on the second list above. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do what Rob suggests. If you’re trying to build a career, or even gain a foothold in the industry, these are things you should at least be aware of.

 I, on the other hand, have made a conscious decision to stop thinking about a career in any form. I have not changed the kinds of books I write and I’m not going to. I haven’t adapted how the books are written to maybe make them more popular, and I’m not going to. I write what I write because those are the kinds of books I like to read. Period.

 I’m also retired and well into the back nine of life. I can afford this attitude, which allows me to create lists of entities who, in the timeless words of Senator John Blutarsky, can kiss my ass from now on (I promise this is the final list of this post):

1.      The publishing industry.

2.      Agents.

3.      The Trump Administration.

4.      Booksellers who make it almost impossible for indie writers to get shelf space.

5.      Grammar Nazis

6.      The Trump Administration.

7.      Pedants of any stripe.

8.      People who don’t read.

9.      The Trump Administration, Natalie Harp in particular.

10.  The Trump Administration in general.

(You may detect a pattern there.)

 

Do not comment that I’m old and cranky. I know I’m old and cranky. My lifetime allotment of fucks to give ran out about the time I learned my publisher would not provide sales figures except in the annual “quarterly” reports I received, and I found errors in those. So take everything here with a grain of salt.

 

And get off my lawn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Going to See the Elephant

 My brother and I have a tradition of taking a ‘bro-trip” when either of us celebrates a birthday ending in zero. For his 50th we spent a weekend in Chicago; I used to live there and he’d never been. When he turned 60 we went to upstate New York to see the baseball Hall of Fame, then to the largest motocross race in the country, at Unadilla in New Berlin.

This year I turned 70 and had never been to Las Vegas. We took care of that earlier this month, the excuse being the country’s largest pool tournament running from August 4 – 9.

We stayed at the Flamingo, where my brother’s wife got us a stupid cheap rate. (I think it was $218 for the three nights combined.) As neither of us are gamblers, the hotel took a bath.

I’d like to tell you all the cool things we did, but, you know, what happens in Vegas and all that. I can share some thoughts.

• You may not be aware of this, but Las Vegas is hotter than a dog’s balls on a griddle. No one was frying eggs on the sidewalk; they were roasting whole chickens. Highs were in the 110s every day we were there. The low each morning was 91.

• The food was outrageously expensive, but excellent. A Gordon Ramsey hamburger cost $26.95; it was also the best hamburger I ever ate. Bottled water at the hotel was six dollars. (In what was clearly an oversight, vending machines in the hotel sold the same water for only $3.10.) Beers were routinely $13 – $15. We did find a place that sold dollar wings and three-dollar drafts during happy hour. The wings were huge and excellent. If you’re in Vegas and want that combo, check out Bottled Blonde, across the street from Bellagio.

• The sports book at the Westgate is large, quiet, and comfortable. No one hassles you to spend money, and no bright lights are in your face. We came to view it as a sanctuary. Of course, we weren’t there during a football weekend.

• Speaking of sports books, you can get a bet down right now – today – on NFL games to be played in January. It’s safe to say anyone placing such a bet – not knowing how the season will play out or who might be hurt – is a degenerate gambler who should seek immediate assistance.

• As might be expected in a town where the sole industry is tourism, everyone we dealt with could not have been nicer, and it never seemed forced. The sole exception was a pissy blackjack dealer who was taciturn at best when I didn’t see the “$50 minimum” sign at her table and tried to get a twenty down. 

• Among these friendly people was an attractive young woman we met on The Linq Promenade, dressed in a cowboy hat, boots, chaps, and nothing else except for little spangly things over her nipples. She asked me if I wanted a picture with her. I replied, “Do I and will I are two different things.” She laughed and we went our separate ways.

• The monorail passes we bought the first day saved our lives, possibly literally, given the heat. We were able to tour the length of The Strip while never spending more than a few minutes at a time away from air conditioning. The two-day pass was the best $26 I spent all week.

The end result was about as I expected. I always enjoy time with my brother. We’re not just close; we genuinely enjoy each other’s company, even if we’re doing nothing more entertaining than riding the monorail or cooling off in the Westgate sports book. 

While I had more fun than anticipated – the tournament exceeded all expectations – now that I’ve been I see no reason to go back. I won’t go out of my way to avoid Vegas now that I know the niches where I’m comfortable, but it is the most ostentatious, extravagant example of profligate spending to be found outside of Saudi Arabia or Donald Trump’s bathroom. Several times each day I couldn’t help thinking any nation that can afford this kind of spectacle can afford to feed hungry children and make sure they and their grandparents have adequate health care.

Stu turns 70 in 2030. Embryonic plans are already under development.

Favorite Reads, Spring 2026

 I’m a little late with my Q2 list. That doesn’t mean I had trouble finding books to recommend. On the contrary, it was a good quarter.

 The Big Empty, Robert Crais. I’ve been a fan of Crais’s work for over twenty years. His consistency is such I’m hard pressed to say which of his Elvis Cole books is my favorite. Until now. The Big Empty is the work of a master of the craft at the peak of his powers. Not only is this a compelling story with characters as well drawn as any in the literature, Crais handles with aplomb things that cause even the best of writers to stumble, such shifting points of view and timelines. Even if you’re not typically a fan of PI fiction, do yourself a favor and read this one.

 Mirage City, Lev AC Rosen. A new voice to be reckoned with in the PI genre. Rosen sets his novel in the gay community of Los Angeles in the 1950s, when homosexuality was still a crime. The story is complex and well told, and Rosen never stoops to preaching. The issues of the time – more than a few of which still linger, though not officially – are described matter of factly to allow the reader to draw his or her own conclusions. Outstanding book. I’ll look for his earlier novel.

 Gray Dawn, Walter Mosley. There aren’t any compliments for Mosley’s Easy Rawlins novels that haven’t already been said, so I’ll leave it at this: Gray Dawn has everything one would expect from a Rawlins novel without seeming repetitious in any way. Easy’s family life evolves, but he still reaches back to former acquaintances for help when needed. His name may be misleading – things are never easy for Mr. Rawlins – but reading Mosley’s books is never a chore. The writing flows like water over a cliff. No oner does a better job of putting readers firmly in a place they’ve never been.

 Hatchet Girls, Joe Lansdale. Hap and Leonard ride again. I don’t know if there’s anything exceptional about this book when compared to the rest of the Hap and Leonard oeuvre – except maybe the premise – but the voice is so comforting and familiar to readers of the series that you feel like you’ve settled in with an old friend you haven’t seen for a while by the time you finish the first page.

 Crooks, Lou Berney. This book is currently on all kinds of award lists, and deservedly so. The story of a family of, well, crooks, who are proud of their heritage and happy to work together to enhance it. Berney’s writing is easy on the eyes and the story – stories, actually – each could stand alone as novellas. In Berney’s deft hands a framing story ties everything together as the children make their own ways after Mom and Dad had set their courses. Crooks proves a book can be great fun and still thought-provoking.

 At Their Own Game, Frank Zafiro. Why isn’t this guy better known? He’s worked on multiple crime series himself and collaborated on two others (that I know of) and I’m hard pressed to say one is better than the other. Usually a police procedural writer, At Their Own Game takes the POV of a cop turned criminal to examine both sides. The story is complex, with several twists I didn’t see coming until I found myself mumbling, “Of course,” though I never felt adrift. If you’re not familiar with Zafiro’s work, you’d be wise to take a look. Everything he writes is good.

 The Killing of the Tinkers, Ken Bruen. I picked this up at a used bookstore shortly after I heard of Bruen’s death. Two chapters in I realized I’d read it before but never thought of stopping. Jack Taylor is Jack Taylor, and sometimes Bruen makes him suffer more than he should, but Bruen’s ability to tell a tragic story with a little whimsy, and his unsurpassed control of the language, make everything he wrote a treat. His passing is a great loss.

Who You Calling 'Woke,' Motherfucker?

 On October 31, 2024 I posted a blog titled, “Chandler's Misogyny and The Little Sister.” On June 27, 2026, the heroically named Anonymous posted the following comment (I guess he’s a slow reader, as he is clearly not a deep thinker):                                    

 "Full disclosure: I am not what anyone would consider woke." Yeah, I could tell you were totally not woke when you wrote and published a long essay about Raymond Chandler's enduring and beloved detective mysteries and how appalled you are by their misogyny. Nothing screams "Not woke" to me than a long digressive essay judging an author from the 1940s through a contemporary feminist lens. Maybe you could further establish your "not woke" bona fides by examining Hammett's shocking inability to platform black voices in his work.

 My reply:

 Your courage is admirable. Anyone with an opinion I'd be inclined to consider would have left his name. And, yeah, I can tell you’re a guy, which only embarrasses me; you're beyond such self-examination.

 Thanks for giving me the idea for another blog post, dickhead.

This is the promised blog post.

 People who know me well will attest to the fact that, while I try to treat all people the way I’d like to be treated, I am not by any means ‘woke.’ The Beloved Spouse™ has an abstract object she calls ‘The Box,’ into which she insists I place some of my comments in the hope no one but her will ever hear them. As was Chandler, I am a product of my age, so many things The Sole Heir™ would never dream of saying strike me as innocuous.

 And sometimes I say shit just for effect. Sue me.

 I’m making a few points here:

1. There is a goodly distance between being woke and being an asshole. Context matters. Standing up for women/racial minority/LGBTQIA+/etc. rights is not woke; it’s doing the right thing. I’m proud to stand up for them, which doesn’t mean I accept their agendas without modification. I’ve had many disagreements with members of all these communities over the years. Sometimes it’s because I’m behind the times; I am, after all, seventy years old. Sometimes I’m an insensitive prick. There are occasions when I genuinely disagree with something they want, or how they want to accomplish it. There are also times my agreement is insufficient (to them), or not in the manner they want me to express it. To someone who is truly woke, that disqualifies me.
2. The fact that Chandler is a product of his times doesn’t mean he’s not a misogynist. He lived in misogynistic times. The laws, as well as social mores, were discriminatory toward women. (And just about everyone else who wasn’t a straight, white male.)
3. Papering over past inequities does not make this a better world. While The Little Sister exposes the misogyny of the times, I would never advocate for changing a word. No one is more strongly opposed to sanitizing the works of Mark Twain by removing the word nigger from his writing. We need literature that accurately describes the vernacular of its time so we can see what progress has been made. Or not.

I feel safe in assuming Anonymous is a white male, almost certainly straight (at best a self-loathing homosexual), as my peers, alas, are the only demographic that says things like this. So, and I’m speaking directly to Anonymous, you ofay, cracker, GED-aspiring-to, latent pedophile: You don’t have to ask if someone is woke any more than you have to ask if a person is vegan; you couldn’t stop them from telling you if you tried.

 Feel free to comment, especially to clarify what the fuck you mean by Hammett's shocking inability to platform black voices. Put your name on it, though. If you’re afraid to use your real name, “Pussy” will do. (With apologies to what may be my favorite part of the female anatomy.)