Reading gets done alone. The writers I love best stay invisible. They understand that reading for pleasure is intensely personal, done on sofas, window seats, and spread-out towels at the beach. It’s done before going to sleep at night. Once in a while it gets done on a streetcar, or an airplane. It’s done with feet up, eating a bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips and pausing to look out at the rain. It’s solitary and private, and no writer has any business getting in the middle of it.

A good storyteller stays out of sight, behind the green curtain, and hopes like hell the Great Oz is doing his thing out there. The thing is, you never really know if it’s working or not. You write like it’s all a letter to your beloved, a note to God from your deathbed, and then you pray there’s a magic spell in it someplace. If there is, it’s in the reader’s personal experience. You aren’t allowed to see it and you don’t intrude. That’s the way it should be.

It fascinates me, the magic of it, and I want to keep doing it right until the very end of me. When I’m just too old and tired to go on, I want them to find me face-planted on my keyboard. I hope whoever finds me reads what’s on the screen over my dead shoulder and says, “Shit… he didn’t finish it.”

I'm so grateful. You make me very lucky. These stories are a hell of a lot of fun to write, and I hope they're fun to read. I love them, and I hope with all my heart you do, too.  I write for you, and I want to hear what you think. Contact me, anytime.

Thank you, past the Moon.

"In the end, it's really a love story about a couple of not-always-easy people

 carrying some baggage. You'll find yourself rooting for them."

William E. Westbrook, Wall Street Journal

"Deftly probes the seething undercurrents of gritty intrigue, desire, and sweet yearning."

                                                                       (Joanna Kafarowski, author of

                                                                              The Polar Adventures of a Rich American Dame)

                                              .

                                         

 

 

 

 

 

 

"...the past is closer than you think. Bickford’s spin on the uncanny is precise and chilling."

 Nyla Matuk, author of 'Stranger'

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 "...reads like a true-life memoir... one kiss, so many shattered lives."

Diana Rubino,  author of  'From Here to Fourteenth Street'

 "... seamlessly weaves the past and the present. A ripping good mystery."

Peggy Blair,  author of  'Hungry Ghosts'

"In the end it’s really a love story about a couple of

not-always-easy people carrying some baggage. You’ll find yourself rooting for them."

William E. Westbrook, WSJ

 "...a thrilling tale of murder, the corruption of innocence, a serial killer bent on erasing entire families to protect a shameful secret... a page-turner.”

 Regan Murphy, Reviewer 

"...well written, a chilling tale of spirits who can’t rest due to the consequences of a childish prank almost seventy years before--a thought-provoking story that will make you sit up and take notice.” Taylor Jones, Reviewer

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© 2016 by Bob Bickford