Writer/editor. New Mexican tumbleweed blown east to skyscraper country.
Right now, I am working on a book about F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sheilah Graham, and Hollywood in the 1930s. It will also contain a lot of drinking, powder blue suits, dances at the Cocoanut Grove, betrayal, gossip columns, crazy ladies, secret Jews, film lot moguls, and Dorothy Parker quips at funerals. If the world is still around then, it should be out from Random House around 2014. So let's hope the Mayans were wrong.
If you want to say hi please do. Or find me in short form, here.
Frederick, South Dakota (1972)
“I stopped taking pictures in 2007. So many places have vanished. I can’t drive around the country, trolling through everywhere I’ve known so well, and find nothing. I’ve photographed all these places when they were vital, in use. I really can’t take pictures of the ghosts, the rusting buildings anymore. Twilight was one thing, but this was another.”
David Plowden, whose new fifty year retrospective is here. God, I love him.
