STILL coming: I plan to add purchase-direct links for my catalog of books on this website so you can buy them directly from the author, yours truly, signed and beautifully embossed on the inside cover.It’s taking a bit longer than expected. Technical difficulties. If this interests you, stay tuned!
Check out the image above of my beautiful bride at a local bookselling/signing event. Ain’t she pretty?
My Debut Memoir
In this new book I share with you a curated collection of turning points in my life, from a 76-year life (so far) I consider well-lived. Folks who know a bit of my background kept saying, “You oughta publish a memoir!”
I’d typically respond, “Really? Well, alright, then!” And this book is the result, which has taken a few decades to see the light of day. Yeah, it’s taken a while. I wanted to get it right. I think we’re there, y’all.
Some early readers, however, have suggested this book is too… irreverent. Or controversial. Maybe because of several bare-naked confessions not appropriate for publication. Screw that!
As I’ve matured, and am now well beyond caring what most folks think of my living what I consider a life that’s finallyauthentic as hell, I just have to follow my own heart, and say what I please. I’ve found that frightens some folks, or at least concerns them. I do not mean to disrespect anyone, or dismiss the beliefs or passions of anyone. That’s not what this is about. At all. This is just me being me after a long period of my life where I could or would not, for a bunch of questionable reasons. That took its toll. Those days are behind me. Finally.
For this book’s upcoming audiobook edition (still in production), might you wanna give a quick listen to a sound clip? Just click on the pointy arrow below to eavesdrop on this 6-minute excerpt, and let me know what you think! Thanks for being here.
Pre-order the Kindle version HERE. Or wait until 3/1 for the paperback edition, or 3/9 for the full-color hardback I’m anxious to share these stories with you! I’m convinced you’ll find most, if not all, entertaining.
Settling In
If you’ve read my previous posts, you know that we sold our motorhome and bought a townhouse in Rochester, MN USA last summer (2025). We not only wished to be part of our hometown community once more, after being largely absent for a couple of decades, we’re catching up on a bunch of medical procedures at the Mayo Medical Center here.
As I write this, my dear bride of 57 years (in April) is somewhere between Mayo’s St. Mary’s Hospital and a rehab facility for a week or two to deal with a complication from a couple of complex back surgeries last week. But we’re looking forward to a better summer, now! She’s already planning a couple of cross-country trips in the Jeep! And we’re likely to spend a few months in one of our favorite landing places in Tucson next winter. But full-time living on the road? Rear view mirror.
“Settling In”, however, does not mean I’m giving up my writing career. And the memoir above is not meant to be a capstone project, merely a waypoint on my literary journey. I’ve never written a memoir before. It was fun! Actual NON-fiction. Not bad for someone who tells lies for a living.
One other aspect of this memoir might interest you. My voice is changing, as we “speak.” Apparently, I’ve developed a lung condition, a form of COPD. Mayo’s pulmonologists think it might be a subtle form of asthma that results in a chronic cough. For that I’m reluctantly using a steroid/albuterol inhaler twice a day, which is now affecting my voice, and not in a small way. So, not only will you witness a progression through some of my life’s key moments in this memoir’s words, you’ll also hear my voice changing during the course of my narrating and producing the book’s 66 short chapters. Particularly poignant for a memoir, don’t you think? I could be upset about this, but why not just enjoy hell outa the ride?
We also settled in Rochester to spend more time with family and old friends, once the majority of this medical stuff gets resolved. We’re intent on making this dream come true after our lengthy absence as itinerant vagabonds (I love that phrase).
STILL coming soon: I’ll be adding purchase-direct links for my catalog of books on this website so you can buy them directly from the author, yours truly, signed and beautifully embossed on the inside cover.It’s taking a bit longer than expected. If this interests you, stay tuned!
You might be interested in some early listener feedback from the first-ever theatrical edition audiobook of my latest novel, Rogue’s Gallery, complete with cinematic sound effects and carefully curated background music:
Brilliant Characters!
5.0 out of 5.0 Performance
5.0 out of 5.0 Story
Jan 20, 2026
“This is the first book by G.K. Jurrens that I’ve ever read and the first from any author I’ve listened to all the way through on Audible! Mr. Jurrens is a prolific mystery writer and a very talented voice actor! Yes, he imbues the characters with realism and magic, always staying true to their personages.
“Apparently, the main characters have appeared in earlier works as references to activities of yore show up on occasion. Nonetheless, it’s not crucial to this tale to have read (or listened to) the former titles.
“As in many mysteries, there are crimes to be solved. The two main characters are a couple. Aubrey Greigh (pronounced “Gray”) is described (in the helpful Cast of Characters in the back of the book) as a “Best-selling mystery writer…and freelance investigator with Interpol.”
“Greigh’s other half, Chance Goodwyn McQuillan, a.k.a. “Q” is a Detective Lieutenant of the Chicago Enforcement Department, 99th Precinct. She has a partner in the 99th named Aidan (Mac) McKenzie.
“Early in the story, there are a couple of gruesome—even macabre—deaths, unlike any I’ve ever read about before! The homicides (or are they suicides?) force the reader to speed up one’s reading in order to follow the leads to a possible solution. I found the story to be quite compelling!
“Like a Hollywood-bound screenplay, “Rogue’s Gallery” features many story arcs, each with a believable timeline. The various characters in these arcs are skillfully made to interact with each other as the story lines intertwine to a climactic conclusion.
“I have purchased all of the author’s titles, gifting the set to my spouse! Since reading this book, I admit that I might even be a new fan. I look forward to working my way through Mr. Jurrens’ bibliography and sharing my enjoyment of his books with my wife.”
Bravo!
5.0 out of 5.0 Performance
5.0 out of 5.0 Story
Jan 23, 2026
“Rogue’s Gallery” kept my attention from page one. One of the most important aspects that compelled me to continue listening, was GK’s exceptionally entertaining voice acting skill! Whether the characters were male or female, young or old, they came alive in my consciousness! Bravo!”
So Good!!!
5.0 out of 5.0 Performance
5.0 out of 5.0 Story
Dec 23, 2025
This book has a ton of characters and it takes a few chapters to get them all introduced. However once the majority are introduced, it is off to the races! The book is very fast moving and will make you question the impossible! Is there really a ghost killing people? But beware, just when you think you know the answer, a twist happens that has you off to the races again!
I did love the feel to this audible book in that it was a very immersive experience. In the end this listening experience was enjoyable and so very different from the way other books have been read.
I am delighted and grateful that listeners are finding this audiobook entertaining and “an immersive experience!”
Coming soon: I’ll be adding purchase-direct links for my catalog of books on this website so you can buy them directly from me, signed and beautifully embossed on the inside cover.
My intent is to offer this service at no additional cost (other than shipping & tax, of course). But instead of supporting Jeff Bezos at Amazon or Tim Cook at Apple, you’ll be supporting Kay and me!
Side note: When I list one of my $15 novels on Amazon after spending a year or more researching, outlining, writing, editing, formatting, soliciting pre-pub reader feedback, designing its cover, and publishing, I receive less than $1.50 of that $15. But buy directly from me, and all the money goes to Kay and me, less printing and shipping costs from the printer. It’s more work for me fulfilling the order and shipping books to you myself, but this makes more ethical and financial sense, doesn’t it?
So watch this space, and please consider this option for acquiring paperback editions of all your favorite GK Jurrens books! Signed by the author (a simple autograph or optionally personalized) and embossed (a three-dimensional impression inside the front cover).
My dear bride Kay and I thank you in advance. We appreciate you, dear reader, especially as we settle into our new “igloo” in Minnesota that makes this offer possible.
So until… and now coming to you from the frozen tundra,
It’s been a while, kids. Sorry ’bout that. Lots going on. So here we go….
1. Home is Where Home Is
Yep, it’s official. We’ve purchased a townhouse in Rochester, Minnesota, and we’ve sold our beloved bus. It was just as hard turning custody of our motorhome to its new owners as it was saying goodbye to the good ship Sojourn 15 years ago. Big change is always a challenge. But when one door closes….
We’ve been busy hanging pictures, getting electrical stuff the way we want it, as with plumbing (new toilet and seats), insulation (in the ceiling of the garage–the walls were already insulated), furniture (new and used, including one new bed and another “re-purposed” bed and end tables, etc.), a new TV and home theater, getting our stuff from storage in Florida, etc.
Geek alert! For those of you more technically-minded readers, I discovered a bonus after we bought our new townhouse–an RO system under the kitchen sink! Huh? Reverse Osmosis (RO) water filtration systems generate the purest drinking water imaginable. Here’s how it works. RO works by applying pressure to water, forcing it through a semi-permeable membrane that allows only (small) water molecules to pass while blocking larger contaminants like salts, bacteria, and other impurities. This process results in purified water on one side of the membrane and a concentrated waste stream on the other. But there’s a downside. RO water is SO pure it even removes beneficial minerals from the water. So, the dedicated water faucet on our kitchen sink generates on-demand RO water to which I add a pinch of pink Himalayan salt. The result is very pure water that benefits from the 30 or so trace minerals in this salt (NOT white table salt!) and tastes great (I can’t really detect any salt taste it’s so diluted). Is that cool, or what? The only other interesting artifact of this process includes a water dribbling sound coming from the kitchen for several minutes as the RO system feeds a new supply of purified water to its storage tank (also under the kitchen sink) and purges the waste products from the process. Kay likes the sound of a water fall. No additional charge!
We’re sandwiching all of this new house stuff between various doctors’ appointments, Kay’s and my surgical procedures, and even a little socializing (very little for a while, I’m afraid). But we’re thankful that we’re staying in one place while we get this medical stuff handled. That was always a challenge when we were relocating every few months, especially follow-up appointments or procedures.
And I gotta tell ya, I’m having a blast with a garage again! Check out my workbench project. While our garage is a double, it’s not overly large at only 21 feet square. So, any workbench I’d build had to be very space conscious. But I also wanted a full-service workbench, including a miter saw, table saw, bench grinder, peg board and drawers for a TON of storage. I found a space-saving design in Family Handyman magazine that required only 24″ along one wall of my new garage. But it’s been an ambitious project, and now it’s almost done (whew).
Check out my progress so far:
When not in use, my table saw doubles as an end table in the “man cave”. 18 drawers for small parts storage is mounted on a panel with full-extension slides for easy access, but tucks out of the way when not in use. Pegboard for tool storage extends the entire 21′ of one garage wall above the 15′ workbench surface and beyond. Notice all the new electrical outlets on the wall, including a dedicated circuit for a fridge/freezer and switched circuits for shop lights. Storage! And all in 24″ from the garage wall when none of the integrated features is deployed. One of 3 40+” wide drawers on wheels constructed of 3/4″ plywood. These drawers utilize floor space normally wasted. Notice the three drawers on wheels for heavy tool storage. Miter saw shimmed to be level with the workbench surfaceA heavy pop-up worktable when I need it.Table saw swung out with swing-up work surface for ripping longer pieces. Complete with dust bin and accessory storage underneathTable saw swung under the workbench via two strap hinges.
I’ll include photos of the townhouse in my next post (different from the ones I posted last time). It’s coming together!
2. Literary Works in Progress
Okay, so writing progress is a bit slow going as we get the new house up and running, plus we’re having fun spreading our domestic wings! But I continue to make steady progress on two projects:
an outrageous memoir, and,
my next (4th) Aubrey Greigh Mystery.
So, about this memoir. My current working title will give you a clue as to its theme: “The Trouble With Thinking – Confessions of a Compulsive Believer.” Yeah, it needs work. It’s about 60% complete, so I thought I’d share with you a draft of its foreword:
You now hold in your hands a collection of stories and experiences I squeezed from the life of an ordinary kid. He was raised on “the wrong side of the tracks.” According to some, he was thrust into extraordinary circumstances, time, and time again, as he matured and aged, and then reveled in his immaturity once more. The theme of this story revolves around how this lunatic developed and now maintains his belief system, many of which are unconventional, even blasphemous according to some. He now flourishes in the aftermath he’s characterized as “the trouble with thinking.”
Sorry about referring to myself in the third person. I don’t mean to sound pretentious. Sometimes it just happens. The ego still requires regular care and feeding. Yes, I remain a work in progress, even at age 76.
I will punish you with some painfully personal vignettes, including a few scintillating successes built upon a whole lot more miserable failures. I’m taking this risk with you by putting myself out here like this. Be prepared for a gaggle of unvarnished disclosures, kids. My sincerest hope is that you will find the account of my ongoing journey of survival and fulfillment a fun read. Maybe more. No doubt you’ll keep asking yourself, “Was he really that stupid?” Or, “How did he survive that?” Or, “You gotta be kidding me!”
I am proud to say I served my country with honor and suffered a lifelong disability while saving lives. Others fared much worse. In short, I’ve:
repeatedly defied death… voluntarily,
been shot at, robbed, stalked, threatened with the death of me and my family (and my dog),
contemplated suicide for about a nanosecond,
even been beaten bloody—but just once,
had friends who were cult members whose beliefs in their causes came and went. Some of those friendships and beliefs persist to this day. However, many did not survive,
witnessed corruption and redemption as a follower, leader, and concerned citizen,
experienced altered states of consciousness—still do regularly—and fell prey to chronic life-threatening addictions. Yes, I still struggle with a few of those.
Over the years, I’ve been a:
professional dishwasher,
hippie,
cross-country hitchhiker,
dope smuggler,
skydiver,
scuba diver,
water and snow skier,
racing and voyaging sailor,
electrical engineering technician,
marine law enforcement officer, along with search and rescue responsibilities,
audio recording engineer,
advertising executive,
hotel manager,
long-term high-functioning alcoholic,
touring motorcyclist,
frequent international traveler,
successful international business executive, and,
itinerant vagabond living on the road.
My commitment to each of these (mis)adventures further shaped my future and who I would become: an artist, published author, and full-time traveler.
It’s been an interesting ride so far, and my beliefs shaped every one of my endeavors at the time in what was possible, ethical, affordable, legal, or otherwise. For a kid with no pedigree, I still found a way to snag an advanced degree from a great school. Yet I’ve never been saddled with a single dollar of student debt. It’s likely I trust in the art of what is possible because of all this wondrous life texture.
Until a few months ago (as I write this), my only home was a 20-year-old 43-foot bus shared with my soulmate of 56 years. But we are not without means. Remember the old saw, “All those who wander are not lost?” We lived this life by choice. This was right at the time. In 13 years of living part time in a boat and another decade in a bus most of the time, we reduced life to its essentials. All while living a life most only dream of. We have been committed to this itinerant lifestyle, but now we’re ready for the next chapter.
I assure you, I am not merely some aging hippie stuck in the sixties, even though that was my street alma mater. I am a retired middle manager—a 32-year veteran of a high-tech multinational corporation. Armed with BS and MS degrees from the University of Minnesota, an adequate pension, and many passions. These include traveling and the arts, including music, painting, and writing.
Now a veteran author with 21 published titles—including 14 novels—under my ever-expanding belt, I labor under the somewhat-delusional residual self-image of a fit young man. This old dude ain’t all that smart, but I simply refuse to give up. Ever.
With all of this as my canvas, it is with some pride I can report I find great joy in life, a thrilling belief in the basic good and evil within others and within myself. I sit here typing away after completing my morning exercise and meditation rituals. Eagerly anticipating the pre-dawn of each new day, I celebrate life and everyone’s desire to seek their own passions, including me and mine.
Fair warning. Within the coming pages you will witness my most personal confessions during pivotal moments of a long and edgy life. I’ve only recently exploded in what seems like spontaneous fulfillment bursting from within. Corny? Possibly. But true. Most days, anyway.
After seven-and-a-half decades of living large, I’ve reduced my life to its essentials, and not just physically. My beliefs—and means—led me to this well-sharpened point. My journey might amuse, annoy, delight, or confuse you. I might even piss you off. But I will not bore you.
This book does not suppose to offer guidance, only personal experience and perspective. Perhaps it will open an entertaining window into a dark room where you just might find yourself staring back at you from the shadows.
I am a compulsive seeker of truth—the impossible dream. The importance of critical thinking, and the seeming epidemic of a lack thereof, consumes me at times. So, I travel and ask questions of friends and strangers in order to expand my own understanding. But only of those whom I consider credible sources.
If you seem less than credible, I am not shy about crying foul. Even if critical thinking is not your strong suit, read on. Because you won’t believe some of the shit that I got myself into over the years in search of wisdom. Yeah, wisdom… largely a fictional pile of crap most people avoid stepping into. Turns out I had it within me the whole time, but we’ll get there.
It could be this journal will only offer you a few incredulous laughs, and that’s okay by me. Or you’ll offer a nod to similar predicaments of your own. I try to stay objective about why I made certain decisions throughout my checkered past. It is not my intent to alienate anyone; however, certain biases are likely to reveal themselves. Feel free to skim over these heart flowers (or turd blossoms, depending on your perspective). Regardless, I take comfort in knowing we all share more similarities than differences.
Obviously, you dare not just take my word for anything. I will cite credible sources for all of my conclusions whenever possible. From my own experience, I will also offer meager explanations (excuses?) for each of my possibly self-delusional beliefs (at the time), and why I sometimes still struggle—my trouble with thinking. Either accept or reject my reasoning.
So, hang on to your butt cheeks, kids. Let’s go!
What do you think?
Now, about my next Aubrey Greigh Mystery. Working title is “Exodus Road – A Remarkable Journey.” I expect to publish either later this year or early 2026, depending on how many delightful distractions cause me to stumble.
Allow me to share with you a draft of this uplifting story’s synopsis:
Shane Greigh is a gifted nine-year-old Romani boy thrust into the whirlwind of his new life in America. An unusual couple—police detective Chance “Q” McQuillan and best-selling author Aubrey Greigh, who also works as an Interpol investigator—recently adopted him. Upon arriving at his new parents’ luxury apartment, Shane uses his extraordinary observational skills to uncover Q’s early pregnancy—a shocking revelation. Yet adapting to his new surroundings proves challenging. He feels out of place amidst his youthful American peers.
No sooner does Shane start attending his new elementary school in the city than his razor-sharp intuition and mature outlook, not to mention his well-rounded wit, distinguish him. He soon notices subtle but disturbing signs of a sinister plot—suspicious interactions between adults and students, unusual vehicles lurking nearby, and patterns that others dismiss or don’t notice at all. While his adoptive parents chalk up his subtle observations to adjustment anxiety, Shane is undeterred and embarks on a relentless investigation, meticulously documenting every suspicious occurrence. Yes, he is an old soul in a young body and sharp mind.
Armed with a photographic memory and exceptional puzzle-solving skills, Shane encounters dubious acquaintances who reveal pieces of a chilling large-scale human trafficking operation. A smirk here, an inadvertent whisper there, or a new friend’s worries that he’s being watched, Shane sees an obvious pattern. Is the boy psychic, neurodivergent, or just hyper-observant?
As Shane consumes local news and events with a voracious appetite, he engages in conversations with Greigh and Q about how to wield his gifts without alienating those around him. Social integration remains a struggle, but he forms a tight-knit circle of trusted friends at school who appreciate his abilities and help gather crucial information, leveraging their own unique and curious skills. Their schoolmates call them The Freak Squad.
The stakes rise as Shane and his crew uncover concrete evidence of a trafficking ring—photographs, overheard conversations, and documented suspicious behaviors. When a fellow student goes missing, Shane can no longer keep his findings under wraps. Shane shows Greigh and Q his collection of evidence. The depth of his work stuns them, transforming them from skeptical but compassionate parents into staunch believers in their son’s discoveries and champions for justice.
Parenthetically, a secondary story line introduces us to a compassionate doctor and his family as they orchestrate their escape from a violent El Salvador, arguably one of the most corrupt and violent South American nations.
We follow the Curazco family’s endearing story as they flee the city of San Salvador, where the beloved Dr. Diego Curazco is a respected ER and community medicine physician. He is mercilessly persecuted by a corrupt government and their “muscle”—a paramilitary force known as Fuerza Armada —as he provides free health care to government undesirables. Dr. Diego, his wife, and two teenage children flee to America via Ecuador, Columbia, Panama, and Mexico. They are at the mercy of human traffickers during their perilous journey. It gets even worse after they arrive in the city of Chicago, a popular destination for this human trafficking cabal.
Ultimately, the plight of the Curazco’s beautiful 13-year-old daughter, Kalilah, intersects with Shane and his friends as she is forced onto the streets of Chicago by her captors. They learn of Kalilah’s plight from her younger brother, Balbo.
Together, as an immediate family of sleuths, Greigh and Q leap into action with Shane to investigate his shocking findings. Shane’s unique perspective sheds light on a dark underground network as they race against time and powerful enemies to unveil the full extent of the trafficking operation and the damage it has already caused to both those trafficked and those extorted.
As clues reveal themselves, Shane’s new extended family from previous Aubrey Greigh Mysteries in this series also joins the fray. They include Q’s partner detective, Mac, Shane’s new Uncle Rocko, MT, who is one of Rocko’s gumshoes, and Shane’s biological grandfather and Rocko’s boss, the influential Signore Gaspari Copolla.
Each member contributes their expertise and influence while remaining vigilant to protect Shane and his youthful friends from escalating dangers as the criminals become aware of their pursuit and bring increasing pressure to bear. As a result, victims of this ring apply their considerable influence to keep their sins from the pubic eye by attempting to bury Shane’s revelations. Time is running out.
Tensions further escalate as the investigation reaches a perilous climax, with Shane facing increased threats from shadowy figures surveilling him, his family, and his friends. He worries about them all. Quite the burden for a nine-year-old, but he is no stranger to living in fear from his years as a gypsy youth living in camps across the countrysides of Hungary, Croatia, and Northeastern Italy.
Greigh and Q grapple with the challenge of keeping the boy and his friends safe as they reluctantly allow Shane continued involvement in the case while retaining some semblance of a normal life. As if they could stop him!
Ultimately, their combined efforts lead to the exposure and dismantling of the multinational trafficking ring, bringing justice to at least some of its victims. But only after crossing swords with powerful politicians and law enforcement officials who have everything to lose if exposed by the Greighs and their friends—both official and unofficial.
In the aftermath, Greigh, Q, and Grandpa Gaspari, who is also a storied philanthropist, reveal the truth about Shane’s biological parents to him, including his father’s murder, his mother’s imprisonment, and their shared gifts for extraordinary observation and deduction. To their surprise, Shane already knows much of his family’s history. Of course he does.
The victors celebrate their triumph and newfound understanding of one another, paving the way for Shane’s thrilling journey as a budding young investigator, and perhaps, as another mystery author—like dear new dad.
Embracing both his inherited abilities, his experience from this case, as well as the accompanying encumbrance of not to reveal them to just anyone, Shane begins planning future investigations with his team of young “irregulars” with zeal.
That’s it. I like how the narrative is unfolding itself to me. Watch this space!
“Your performance of the story in the audiobook edition engulfed me.”
“The music and sound effects blended into the story so well it was as if I was listening to a movie, but better, because my imagination completed my vision of the story. So cool!”
So, until… and wherever… or maybe just in Southeastern Minnesota now….
Try a gut-wrenching environmental adventure on for size!
Sam Travis’ adventures continue. I am beyond excited to announce that Tom Kasprzak and I have put the finishing touches on the fourth Sam Travis Adventure, Lethal Catch: Crossing the Line. You won’t believe my friend Tom (as Sam Travis—his alter-ego in the book) survived this case in real life!
The Kindle edition is available NOW. The paperback edition will be orderable from Amazon Saturday July 19th, and both elsewhere shortly thereafter.
But order soon as prices will be going up, unfortunately.
Even though this is the fourth Sam Travis Adventure (all based on true stories from Tom’s case files as a Massachusetts state environmental police officer), the books in this series can be read in any sequence. They’re all riveting (humble opinion).
Order your copy of either edition for beach or campground reading this summer!
And watch for its audiobook edition in the future.
Synopsis:
Massive shipments of pure uncut heroin are invading North America in 1989. So, Sam Travis of the Massachusetts State Environmental Police infiltrates the crew of a suspect sword boat within the commercial sword-fishing fleet that plies the waters off the Atlantic coast of Canada and the United States.
Though federal drug enforcement is not his job, Sam feels compelled to help crush this elusive smuggling ring. He and the U.S. Federal Drug Enforcement Agency battle a cabal of cunning, well-funded, and ruthless international criminals who value money above all else. But they care nothing about human life. Least of all, his.
If this deep undercover mission fails, this insidious ring could incite a multi-national security threat—an eastern seaboard drug-induced epidemic. Or worse.
Check out what a few of our pre-publication readers thought of this latest environmental adventure:
“I looked forward to picking up the book each day. And since I was so engrossed in Sam’s fate, I didn’t spend too many days reading; I wanted to find out how he gets out of this one alive.”
“I found the book to be a gripping tale of smuggling, murder, fishing shenanigans, and adventure at sea.”
“You keep the tension high throughout without it seeming forced.”
“It held me until the last sentence.”
2. Giving up Life on the Road (Full-Time, Anyway)?
This has been our home for much of the past 10 years.
Our new home! If we don’t sell the home on wheels by this fall, we may still run for Arizona in January for a few months.
Remember when I predicted last March in Arizona that a relaxing retirement lifestyle might “take” any day now? Well, that day is finally approaching 15 years after retiring! Some of us are slow learners. So what does this mean?
We bought a (town)house in Rochester, Minnesota, our home town, even though we haven’t spent much time here in the last two decades.
We’re both excited and a bit uneasy about another major change in lifestyle. But the family, old friends, and world class medical care (Mayo) are powerful draws. So be it. Nothing lasts forever. It’s time for a new and different adventure!
“I looked forward to picking up the book each day. And since I was so engrossed in Sam’s fate, I didn’t spend too many days reading; I wanted to find out how he gets out of this one alive.”
“I found the book to be a gripping tale of smuggling, murder, fishing shenanigans, and adventure at sea.”
“You keep the tension high throughout without it seeming forced.”
“It held me until the last sentence.”
So, until… and wherever… or maybe just in Southeastern Minnesota now….
First, FYI: TWO Audiobook Editions of Rogue’s Gallery Coming (Regular & Deluxe)!
——> watch this space, and look for another Sam Travis adventure (#4) soon, too! <——
As you might already know, I recently published my latest (third) heart-pounding Aubrey Greigh Mystery, Rogue’s Gallery this fall in Kindle and paperback editions.
In my last post, I mentioned I was seriously considering something that is not business-as-usual in audiobook production: a “theatrical” edition that will feature not only a stellar narrator performing the script (me!), this edition will also feature tasteful, scene-specific background music, with cinematic sound effects as well.
I see this as an attractive niche to provide a more engaging listener experience. So, I am indeed producing this theatrical audiobook edition as an option for Rogue’s Gallery. I think you’ll love it.
I’ll be looking for a few reviewers to provide feedback in the near future.
So if you’re interested in a FREE edition to listen to and provide a few observations, please contact me at gjurrens@gkjurrens.com. But hurry, and only if you can dedicate the time to listening and reviewing! I will only have a limited number of U.S. & U.K. promo codes!
Yes, I’m still having an absolute blast mixing and producing this. It’s about 75% complete. Won’t be long now, kids!
The 2nd largest book festival in the country (in the world, maybe?),
Typically >100,000 attendees (free admission) over one weekend,
Dozens of ticketed venues (presentations & moderated panels),
Millions of dollars raised for the community (non-profit),
More than 200 year-round volunteers.
This two-day festival took place this last weekend at the University of Arizona campus in Tucson just 13 miles from where we currently park our home on wheels.
TFOB was particularly special to me this year for several reasons which may be of most interest to you authors or aspiring writers. For example:
I’m not sure how many independently published (“indie”) authors wanted to participate in signing and selling books at TFOB (there is always a wait list – I was on it for last year’s festival), but only 200 of us were accepted this year. That’s determined by the amount of space available. The committee still accepted me even after reviewing my bio, two of my recently published mystery manuscripts, the entire list of my 21 published works, website/blog, and the gist of my rather opinionated social media accounts. This process started last July. So, yeah, this is a big deal for me.
Of the 200 authors that “got in,” they selected only 13 authors to be “presenting indie authors,” that is, those of us selected to participate in panels across various genres before a ticketed audience.
Of those 13 authors, 3 of us were accepted to participate in a panel within the mystery genre.
Even though our session was scheduled at the very same time as the inestimable Maureen Dowd, world-famous opinion columnist for the New York Times, we still drew a standing-room-only crowd in a room whose seated capacity was 110.
My insatiable ego needs this sort of periodic nurturing, y’all, and yes, I am still a work in progress.
The perks available to presenting authors also impressed me (great job, indie committee!):
On Friday, the day preceding my panel, the committee provided me with a coveted Second Street Garage parking pass, adjacent to the U of A Student Union, the venue for our panel on Saturday. This may not sound like a huge deal, but when “schlepping” maybe a hundred pounds of books, a banner, my point-of-sale terminal, and about a gallon of drinking water in my collapsible canvas wagon around this huge campus, proximity was my friend. And did they ever scrutinize my parking pass before allowing me and the Jeep entry! You’d think I was trying to cross the border into the U.S.!
I was to proceed to “Author Hospitality” where my credentials were checked. I offered my birth certificate, but that was unnecessary. I’d meet my panel moderator for the first time and/or my volunteer guide to direct me to our speaking venue, also in the huge student union (close by).
Author Hospitality? Very nice, indeed. Complimentary coffee, tea, pastries, boxed lunches (even vegetarian!), a secure place to store my inventory while I explored the festival a bit, or sat on the patio people watching. I texted one of my fellow panelists, also a mystery author: “Look for the olive drab Fedora atop a ghost-white goatee. I’ll be on the patio.” Like we were undercover! Nancy (see below) even knew what a Fedora is (old-fashioned brimmed hat for you youngsters)!
I was indeed delighted to meet Nancy Nau Sullivan, one of my fellow panel members. She is a fascinating author of cozy mysteries. I know we will continue to be friends. She uses a publisher, and offered me several valuable tips, both there in Author Hospitality, and later Saturday night at a Happy Hour. Say what, Mr. Recovering Alcoholic and vegetarian? Nancy, we must talk more about your Peace Corps experience in Argentina, Mexico, Viet Nam, and… Ireland? ¡Disfruté mucho pasar tiempo contigo, mi nueva amiga!
I also very much enjoyed meeting another indie author from our panel, Chris Jansmann, an extremely articulate author who writes in the first-person narrative with aplomb. After the panel, we discussed its pros/cons versus my third-person narratives. Plus, his rather unique penchants for Olympic swimmer training and model railroads as a basis for his mysteries? Dude, you rock!
Yes, this is the very first year of what’s being called the “Re-imagined Indie Author Experience” at TFOB. For the first time ever, select indie authors were invited to present as part of genre-specific panels, and presenting indie authors were invited to a happy hour hosted for all authors, including some hard-core veterans of the industry. I didn’t collect names, just pointers, sentiments, etc. An awesome experience for this little fish in that big pond in the desert! I drank or ate nothing. Too busy mingling, talking, and most of all, listening.
Kudos to Hilary Hamlin, Nancy Thompson & Pamela Clarridge, indie author co-chairs for the festival, for being crazy enough to select this uber-opinionated scribe! Hilary & Nancy, I especially enjoyed getting to know both of you this weekend! Also, thanks to Jo Perry, our panel moderator. I had never met a noir author before. Jo, you did not disappoint. I still wanna find out how you know Eric Idle!
Oh, did I mention I was approached by a German publisher who is looking to expand their portfolio into U.S. mysteries? Just in passing, but she took my info. We’ll see.
I am so glad to have participated in this event. Overall, three exhausting but exhilarating days of possibilities!
Author Hospitality!Not glamorous, but the little wagon got the job done hauling inventory!My credentials.Honored to be honored!Happy Hour on the rooftop patio of Gentle Ben’s
2. Countdown to Relocating (Again)!
We’ve enjoyed our stay in Tucson since the beginning of the year, and we’re not quite done here, yet.
Later this week we move the rig to Tucson Freedom RV (again) for some final pre-road preventative maintenance.
We also plan to see our dear great-niece, Hannah, who now lives here, having relocated from Lakeshore Drive in Chicago.
And I’ll be winding down my Spanish studies as Kay finishes up physical therapy after her shoulder replacement. She’s making great strides on range of motion and recovery pain management.
Then, we start a near-month-long trek northward to Minnesota, stopping in New Mexico, Missouri, and Iowa along the way to visit friends and family.
We don’t dare venture too far north too soon, however, as RV parks “up there” keep their water turned off until the threat of freezing passes. Without water they don’t open. And we like our full hook-ups (power, water, and sewer), “fer sher, dontcha know.”
If you haven’t yet heard, after almost ten years “most-timing” in our beloved bus with her being our only home for the last few years, we’ve lived in some 40+ states for a few weeks to a few months each stay, returning to our favorite haunts. We’re now seriously contemplating “coming off the road.” Yep, that means shopping for stix ‘n brix again, as they say. We’ll be house-shopping once we return to “the Mothership.”
That’s Rochester, MN, our home town. But perhaps as significantly, that’s also the home of the Mayo Clinic, our primary healthcare provider. We now find ourselves increasingly outrunning our healthcare while we’re in perpetual motion.
Plus, let’s be honest, we wish to be closer to family, old friends (after running away for a couple of decades), and I miss a garage, okay? There, I’ve said it!
Kay, however, is like the Energizer Bunny. It seems she could continue scurrying about North America indefinitely. At least that’s her story, and she’s stickin’ to it.
But for now, we’re looking forward to another three weeks here in lovely Tucson.
Now, I really gotta get back to work. Books to be written and edited and formatted and recorded! Plus, covers to design! I think a relaxing retirement lifestyle might “take” any day now (not)!
So, until… and wherever…
Gene
P.S. For those of you who are new to the party, this is our only home (for now):
Last Monday, doctors at Banner University Medicine in Tucson, Arizona replaced my wife Kay’s right shoulder. On Wednesday night—actually at 2AM on Thursday morning—thankfully, sleep eluded her. She shook me out of a sound slumber. “Gene, we have no power!” Oh, crap. It was thirty-nine degrees outside, and our heat, both electric and diesel, depends on either external resort (“city” or “shore”) power or our motorhome’s battery power.
I scrambled out of bed at the rear of our forty-three-foot bus and headed toward the cockpit to diagnose the problem. Stumbling out of my sleepy stupor, I noticed the panel said “low battery.” Warning lights flashed. So did an instant headache. We were likely less than an hour from draining (and probably ruining) about two-thousand-dollars worth of deep-cycle “house” batteries that power the entire coach.
That’s when I remembered the screw-up that caused this situation.
NEVER
ALLOW
THE FOLLOWING
TO HAPPEN
IF YOU LIVE IN AN RV
(OR ON A BOAT)!
The previous afternoon, I prepared a late lunch. It was chilly outside. Even though we’re in the SW Arizona desert, we’re at almost 3,000 feet of elevation here south of Tucson. So, the temps are only in the forties and fifties during the day here in January, and a lot colder at night.
Our diesel boiler (furnace) provides central heat (and hot water on demand). It is powered either by “shore” power (110VAC) or our house battery bank (12VDC). It was too cold for our two rooftop heat pumps to be effective. They’re powered by either shore power or our diesel generator, but that requires battery power to get started, too (although separate unaffected “chassis” batteries).
We often run an electric space heater, too (also driven by shore power or generator) to ease the burden on the far more costly diesel boiler. Plus, the boiler burns about a liter of diesel per hour during the coldest times, which we use instead of propane for heat.
We were nice and cozy that previous afternoon. I toasted a ciabatta bun in the kitchen’s electric toaster oven. At the same time, I reheated a wonderful vegan pasta dish in the microwave. The power flickered. Oops! I then realized I was operating three very power-hungry 110VAC appliances all at the same time. Dumb! In an RV, anyway.
But after a brief flicker, like a momentary brown-out, all appeared to be okay. I immediately turned off the space heater to finish heating my lunch. I figured our automatic (electrical) load-shedding feature on our electrical management system just did its thing with only a slight hiccup. NOPE! But on we went with our lives.
What really happened? I had blown an obscure breaker, and instead of then providing all the power in the coach (one fridge, two freezers, lights, TV, home theater system, space heater, humidifier, etc.) from resort or shore power, which is normal, all now depended on our bank of house batteries for their power! That’s fine for short durations like a few hours when necessary, when shore power isn’t available, but longer term, like last week? The bus gobbles batteries dry and sends them to the scrap heap!
Our inverter normally translates 12VDC battery power into clean 110VAC household power from either shore power or battery power. Our 110VAC (household) appliances didn’t care where the power was coming from.
It wasn’t until 2AM Thursday, when our batteries had been drawn down to dangerously low levels, did I realize my mistake. So, I trundled outside, shivering in my pajamas and slippers, with my trusty headlamp to locate the breaker on the inverter itself in the “basement” (a storage compartment underneath the motorhome), pushed the emergency breaker to reset it, and everything came back online as it was supposed to.
STUPID! I will plan to hear about my mistake from now to eternity. I deserve it.
I checked the fluid levels in the batteries the following day to ensure I did no permanent damage. They’re okay, but another hour or so of drawing them down into oblivion? That would have made for a very expensive battery replacement fiasco. As soon as I had reset the inverter’s breaker, the battery charging system automatically started pounding a recharge into the four huge depleted house batteries.
I’m seriously considering something that is not business-as-usual in audiobook production.
From my last newsletter, you’ll recall I’ve just published my latest heart-pounding Aubrey Greigh Mystery, Rogue’s Gallery this summer in Kindle and paperback editions. I’m now narrating its audiobook edition, and hope to publish and distribute it to Audible, Amazon, and Apple by early this summer. But here’s the thing.
What would you think of an “enhanced” or “theatrical” version of this audiobook mystery? I envision offering such an edition separately in addition to the straight narrated version. This enhanced edition would include selected sound effects and music. I think such an edition might offer a more engaging listener experience, and would really appreciate hearing what you think of this idea.
Allow me to illustrate. Below is an audio sample of what I call a “theatrical” edition (do you have a better name for such an offering? I’m all ears!):
I really would like to know what you think. Would an extra offering like this enhanced audiobook edition be of interest to you? To other audiobook aficionados, do you think?
Besides, I’m having an absolute blast producing this!
Personal Appearance at TFOB (Tucson Festival of Books)
If you’re not aware, the TFOB comprises:
The 3rd or 4th largest book festival in the country (in the world, maybe?),
Typically >100,000 attendees (free admission) over one weekend,
Dozens of ticketed venues (presentations & moderated panels),
Millions of dollars raised for the community (non-profit),
More than 200 year-round volunteers.
This two-day festival takes place in the middle of March each year and sprawls across the University of Arizona campus in Tucson. This year, I am honored to have been invited to speak as part of a moderated three-member panel of mystery authors on Saturday, March 15th.
So, if you’re in the ‘hood, you’re invited. Tickets are free, but advanced reserved tickets are advised and are available one week prior. See the festival website for more and schedule info HERE.
On the next day, Sunday the sixteenth, I’ll be participating in the festival’s “Indie Pavilion,” that is, a meet and greet of independently published authors, where I’ll be selling and signing my sixteen published books for all you mystery fans and aspiring writers. This will be fun.
I’m not sure how much I’ll be speaking during the moderated panel, so I thought I’d use this forum to try out a few talking points. Care to weigh in on which ones you think I ought to prioritize?
My front line comments: “I love writing mysteries that are entertaining, authentic, and socially relevant. My mysteries are inspired by events that have occurred to me during my life. And I’ve been blessed with a pretty darn interesting one. Yes, this is most certainly driven by my passion for the allure of the obscure. I like to think I offer something in the pages of my books that readers are not likely to have personally encountered, like I have, nor maybe not have encountered in other mysteries.”
I plan to ask for a show of hands, and I ask you now:
How many of you grew up on the wrong side of the tracks and yet worked near the top of a hundred-billion-dollar multinational tech corporation for a time whose boss got indicted for insider trading?
How many of you have had your life threatened and were stalked for months after reluctantly firing 422 of your 1,013 employees? I’m not a fan of firearms, but I borrowed a loaded shotgun from a neighbor that I kept at my bedside that summer. We moved out of state, just in case. After that, I retired at age fifty-eight after thirty-two years with a full pension. I was not the guy I had become.
How many of you have relatives and close friends who have been members of the US intelligence community, including one high-level executive at the NSA and another who was an “air pirate” who flew “farm equipment” (wink) and “support personnel” (still winking) into third-world countries most of us have never heard of?
How many of you have owned a live-aboard sailboat that once was used as a safe house for Soviet defectors during the cold war, one of whom was married on its foredeck in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor?
How many of you have strolled the infamous Tokyo fish market in a $600 camel-hair overcoat at 4AM and helped a little fish monger pick up a spilled wheelbarrow of live eels after bumping into him and causing the spill? That coat was never the same!
How many of you lived on a boat in the Florida Keys and Eastern Caribbean for years and faithfully listened to the piracy report every morning at 0700 hours on marine radio channel 69, so you knew where not to go next, or only with a buddy boat, for safety?
How many of you lived in San Francisco’s Hashbury district in 1969 as a rebel without a clue counseling draftees during the Tet offensive in the Viet Nam war when a thousand kids my age were getting killed each week? That’s when I got my draft notice, by the way, and enlisted in the US Coast Guard.
How many of you have had thirteen motorcycle accidents before age 18 and experienced relocating a house’s porch with a big-ass Buick, destroying an entire alley, and running that same car into a tree at 50 MPH in a drug-addled state? Unforgettable… I’m told.
How many of you have almost died in the bowels of a shipwreck at a depth of 120 feet of seawater seven miles off Key West when your SCUBA equipment got entangled in overhead wreckage in a tight passageway?
How many of you have experienced a free-fall skydive from 14,500 feet and seen the majestic curvature of the earth splayed out below you?
How many of you have traveled in a forty-three foot bus for ten years, living in forty-plus states for a few weeks to a few months at a time?
How many of you have smoked a joint with an awkward teenage Bill Cosby long before he became famous (then, infamous), and long before I became a respectable, high-functioning career alcoholic? I’ve now been sober for thirteen years.
This is just a sampling of life experiences that inspire me to write quirky mysteries with flawed characters who entertain you with believable situations that baffle, mystify, or make you laugh or cry. And you’ll wonder, “what if that were me?” I’d love to share at least a few of these anecdotes during my panel discussion, but at least I got to share them all with YOU.
One other important pearl of wisdom I’d share with you? NEVER try to out-drink your Japanese translator starting on the Shinkansen (bullet train) between Tokyo and Hamamatsu and later at the hotel, especially if you’re swilling down ninety-eight-degree (cheap) Saki. You will lose if you are “gaijin” (non-Japanese). No mystery, there.
I am growing excited to meet some new mystery fans at TFOB, and maybe also sell and sign a few books! This festival is one of the reasons we’re in Tucson this winter!
So, until later, and wherever…
Gene
Yes, this photo of ‘yours truly’ is more than a few years old. I’m performing a Native American style flute of my own making–one of my first (and best). But I thought this image befit the background theme of my latest mystery novel: ex-carnival entertainers who, despite their checkered past, like me, have a second chance in life. What they do with it, like the recovering alcoholic in this image, is for you to discover within the pages of this classic locked-room mystery with more than a few weird twists. Enjoy Rogue’s Gallery: Beyond All Reason!
Read about the weirdest place I’ve visited in nine years of RV travel.
The Salton Sea is the site of one of America’s worst environmental catastrophes.
But there’s good news, too.
An underground (unpublicized, before or after) group of “conspirators” gather to explore their creative and intellectual freedoms. This annual celebration of life lasts months and features a renegade celebration of art, music, and philosophy that takes place on the literal edge of western civilization to amplify the largely unknown and ignored ecological crisis that is the Salton Sea.They call it the Bombay Beach Biennale, or BBB.
I covered a lot of ground in a single morning and half an afternoon. About two hundred miles with a lot of stops, mostly photo ops.
I spent a day circumnavigating the Salton Sea in Central Southern California. Last Wednesday served as a suitable capstone to what is likely our last major exploratory trip. We’ve enjoyed nine years of “most-time” RVing and full time for the last couple of years after selling our condo in Southwest Florida.
We’ve seen so much splendor across our great nation. It was time for me to experience something… different. And, y’all, did I ever get my wish granted! Keep reading about my experience in a unique and bizarre place that wears its hardships on its philosophical shirt sleeves (sorry about the cliché)!
So, why did we park our RV in a town a hundred miles east of San Diego this week? Because I envisioned visiting the site of one of America’s worst environmental catastrophes. I’d read that almost nobody comes here anymore. That it hinted of what a dystopian post-apocalyptic landscape will look like if we continue to fail as our beloved planet’s steward.
It hinted of our future as a species—a grim future. I had to see it for myself.
Rio Bend RV Resort west of El Centro, California offered us a pleasant experience for three days while I ventured off to explore the Salton Sea area. I would soon discover how dramatically different the Salton Sea shoreline was from this delightful little desert oasis.
With 115 miles of shoreline, the Salton Sea was once a popular waterfront playground destination in the 1950s for throngs of tourists, movie stars, and politicians. Its genesis was an accident of nature. Its fate would be defined by gross mismanagement of natural resources.
A levy on the Colorado River broke in 1905 under the onslaught of floodwaters. That filled this below-sea-level basin (the “Salton Sink”) that lies on the San Andreas Fault within the Salton Trough between four different mountain ranges.
It took several years to repair that collapsed levy—to redirect the precious water to other more affluent areas in Southern California and Arizona. Of course, water is liquid gold in these parts. And this is an impoverished area. The water followed the money, away from those unable to pay dearly for it.
But by then, this large lake, a “sea” was the real deal at fifteen miles wide and thirty-five miles long—but shrinking over subsequent decades. With no inlets or outlets, this landlocked sea stagnated. Desert conditions caused it to recede from evaporation. This has caused a toxic chain reaction of catastrophic events in the entire area. And it’s been getting worse every year.
Kay had booked an RV site for us in a town called Thermal, north of this salty and dead sea. They advised we bring our own water as high levels of arsenic plagued their water supply.
Aresenic? The frickin’ poison? Yep. Instead, we booked a site west of El Centro, about 25 miles south of “the sea.” They still advise caution. We’re using our own tank water as a precaution.
I allocated just one day to venture around a significant geographical area, so I only experienced a fraction of what the Salton Sea area offers. That exposure, however brief, left an indelible impression.
So, I drove our Jeep from El Centro, southwest of the sea, north along its western shore, and stopped at Salton City, population ~5,000. I found it to be a rather unremarkable small town to which the sea had distanced itself over time. The ancient sign below, at least seventy-five years old, pointed the way to the Salton City Beach. Or so I thought.
I’m guessing this mobile home near Salton City Beach (but no longer anywhere near any water), augmented with a deluxe covered patio, could be purchased for any reasonable offer. May need some T.L.C.
I meandered westward down crappy roads covered by windswept powdery sand, but couldn’t even get within a half mile of any water. So, I snapped a few pictures and headed farther north.
I continued on up through the city of Coachella and had lunch in Indio. I found Indio to be a lovely city southeast of the affluent Palm Springs area, but still less than twenty miles from the north shore of the sea. I asked my server about it. She said, “No idea. Nobody ever goes down there. It’s nothing.” She was wrong, as I’d find out when I drove down the eastern shore of the sea. Just… wow!
Bombay Beach, California, is the lowest (elevation) community in the United States. First, the statistics. It’s at 223 feet below sea level. I believe the only place lower is Death Valley at minus 280-ish feet. The population of “Bombay” is declining—from 231 at the 2020 census, down from 295 in 2010, down from 366 in 2000.
This place is eery, although the temps were in the pleasant mid-seventies. The locals don’t use the word “Beach” as part of the town’s name anymore. Either it’s too anti-climactic or serves only as high-camp humor for the cynics, as reflected in some of their beach art. More on this later.
They named the only bar, the most active place I saw, when the town was a famous water ski destination back in the 1950s (“Ski Inn”). Now, though, they just call it “the Skinn.”
A handful of locals hunched over the bar inside had no interest whatsoever in talking with outsiders (like yours truly). Message received.
Apparently, numerous artists (painters, sculptors, multimedia…) and participants gather and stay in town for several months each year while they collaborate on art and events, culminating in an invitation-only celebratory weekend.
That includes a world-class philosophy conference with major scholars from universities such as Oxford, Harvard and more.
Activists, artists, writers, and independent researchers also present topics related to the festival’s theme. Who knew? Is that not so… Californian?
Some of the art seen everywhere around town on any surface, especially down on the beach, seems rather “on the nose” philosophically. Bear with me for a moment. I gotta get this out.
Much of the art I explored by driving my Jeep around the beach (some of it is rather large scale) seemed to represent one of two different schools of philosophical thought.
First, some artists offered existentialexpressions. Some were obvious in portraying this philosophical theory that emphasizes the existence of the individual as a unique agent with free will and responsibility for his or her own acts. Though such an individual lives in a universe devoid of any certain knowledge of right and wrong.
Or even nihilism, which is defined as the relentless negativity or cynicism, suggesting an absence of values or beliefs.
Yeah, this place is really “out there.” Fascinating, and unique in all the world! These heady concepts seemed all too appropriate in this incredibly hostile local environment. I possessed the sensation of skulking around in the mind of Albert Camus, author and philosopher (see link below if interested in exploring existentialism or absurdism – sorry, I’m kind of a philosophy geek)!
Every structure in Bombay looks to be fair game for conventional or surreal art. Is this grafitti, art, or a satirical political statement on this once luxury vehicle? Eye of the beholder.
And these “artists” aren’t gonna help us figure this out. Quite the opposite of self-serving narcissism – they not only don’t seek credit, they seem to revel in keeping us tourists guessing. Refreshing. I love it! Even the neighborhood behind this car is part of the artist’s “canvas.”This “composition” covers the better part of a small-town block. The sign serves as its title, “Bombay Beach Drive-In” (theater).
There is no movie screen (implying nothing worth watching?). It’s as if all the people escaped the barbed wire perimeter, but left their useless possessions behind, the carcasses of a couple dozen cars. My interpretation, but again, consistent with the BBB’s theme.
I noticed numerous buildings in the area, and mobile canvases as you see above (truck trailer) covered with an art form that, to my uninformed eye, bridges the gap between murals and graffiti.
I tried chatting with a few locals at the only bar in town. But I guess they’re tired of explaining to tourists what perversion attracts them to this bizarre community. After all, it perches on the edge of a huge toxic body of water that emits poisonous vapors and swirling clouds of lethal dust. I’ve never felt more like an outsider!
I’m told the somewhat unpleasant smell on the shore results from high levels of hydrogen sulfide overpowering the lake’s low levels of oxygen.
To make matters worse, the surrounding area (Imperial County to the south) faces clouds of dust billowing away from the dried-up portions of the lakebed. Not so bad until you realize that fine dust contains toxins such as arsenic and selenium. They say the effects have been disastrous for locals. I get it. After just one day there, I can only imagine (as I continued to cough for two days after leaving).
In hiking along the seashore, I found two contrasting textures underfoot. One was rough, and I’m told they’re countless petrified fish carcasses. The other texture comprised sand so fine and smooth that it puffed up like powder around my shoes as I walked. Thankfully, it was not windy on Wednesday. Not sure if I breathed something in that irritated my lungs (arsenic? selenium?). God, I sound like a wimp. Just reporting my experience, kids.
I guess you really gotta wanna live here. Oh, and down by the shore? Dense hoards of tiny flying bugs assaulted me. Their only apparent purpose? Keep the tourist population down to a manageable level? Dunno. They died as soon as they found their prey, landing either on the hood of the Jeep, in my hair, or in my beard. Thankfully, they weren’t the biting kind. Had to get the car washed today to scrub off their futile but persistent little carcasses.
Yup, the vibe here is one of neglect, but intense intellectual curiosity.
Looked like a few boys were setting up for some sort of event. They were up on a roof, so I didn’t try to talk with them (most unlike me!). Oh, and they didn’t want to be photographed. Hmmm..
Now for some really fun stuff. And it was AWESOME. I drove the Jeep up over the dike that stands between the town and the sea. I don’t think its purpose is to keep water out as the sea is receding… a lot. But maybe it’s a measure of protecting the town (what’s left of it) from the toxic dust clouds, maybe the odor and bugs, too. Not really sure.
I saw a sign for an “art tour,” but I preferred to strike out on my own. There was nobody around, anyway. Art was all over in various media, so I just drove around, stopping frequently to take pictures. I poked around town, and down on the beach. Other than a handful at the bar, I only saw one obvious local who didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Okay, then.
A dike (levy? berm?) separated the town from the sea. There were steps here and other places to drive up and over to the mile-long beach.
Though there were no locals out and about, I saw a handful of tourists like me—less than ten in three other vehicles. That’s it. I thought, “What do the locals know that we stupid tourists don’t?” Like what I learned AFTER visiting that charming little burg’s erstwhile beachfront?
No, this isn’t a working lemonade stand. It is an artistic display on a dune overlooking the beach. It is a signpost for positive thinking during the darkest of times, and apparently getting darker..Huh? The smaller sign to the right says, “the last car parked here is still missing.”Bombay is not a small beach! Makes my Jeep Grand Cherokee look small, doesn’t it? Part of it was hard-packed although lumpy (petrified fish carcasses?), and part of it was powdery sand and windblown smooth. But down here on the beach? That’s where a collection of unique art pieces perches on the precarious shore of this noxious sea. How nihilistic is this piece? One of the more iconic displays on this beach. This piece is called “Open House.” I found this small label on a larger display – an old newspaper dispensing machine, the kind we used to see on every street corner (see below).
On the outside was this sticker with a much larger signboard emblazoned with just two words: “FREE” on the front, and “FACTs” on the side. Thinking it was an antiquated version of FAQs, I pulled the handle to open the box. Inside? Empty? Too “on the nose?” Dunno. I’m just a dumb tourist.
It looked to me like this “artwork” was at least forty years old.
Ahead of its time? Not for me to say. Like I said, just a tourist. Above is the FREE FACTs dispenser, humbly sinking into the sand at the base of an elevated aircraft sculpture constructed of 1960s car parts. Probably some meaning to that, too. If so, it escaped me. Okaaaaay, so what the hell is IID? Infinite Improbability Drive (for you Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fans)? Maybe.
My favorite guess after researching IID? This artist is trying to blame (ever so bluntly) the area’s maladies on the Imperial Irrigation District (homage to the politicians who so mismanaged this environmental disaster over time by re-routing the area’s fresh water to those with the cash-ola to pay for it. That fits with the spirit of BBB held annually here in Imperial County. And I suspect the word “Imperial” was intended to have two meanings. I think I broke the code!The sign says, “Drought Resistant Landscape.” Yeah, all dead.I think this hints at the insanity of unrealistic expectations. The human species, nevertheless, always seeks a greater level of happiness, of satisfaction. You guessed it – no water in that faucet. Fake news? No happy ending? Like I said, this whole place feels so dystopian (dire; grim). Uniquely Salton Sea! As the water, shore, and air above it continuously devolve into a toxic waste dump for pesticide and fertilizer runoff from the surrounding fields (thousands of overdeveloped acres), the ocean will remain?
Perhaps that resource—the ocean a hundred miles away—is the only thing man’s screw-ups cannot completely annihilate? Definitely a political statement, but did I get it right? No idea. I’m not invited to the BBB, you see, nor am I willing to subject myself to, or seek out, their entrance requirements (see link below).I strolled through the marina, including where the water is supposed to be. Paddle boats and canoeing were once popular activities in the 1950s and ’60s here. Fabulous shoreside resorts have long-since come and gone.
This is obviously staged, and has been for many years. I’m guessing this is some sort of nihilistic statement, lamenting joyful activities gone awry as the environment failed us arrogant humans, or something like that (for the record, that is NOT my philosophy!). I felt so weird walking through and around it. Actual water = fifty yards away, and receding more every year as this small sea continues to evaporate. But there WAS water here in my lifetime. I envisioned I was some distant future archaeologist strolling around in my own distant past. Weird, right?
The red circles are at least two tiny gnat-like flying bugs that found my tiny iPhone lens before expiring. They swirled all around me everywhere on the beach, but not in town (on the far side of the dike). I got nothin’. Though, it did remind me of one of the Planet of the Apes movies, though. Maybe yet another meaningless artifact of foolish humanity that surely meant something at one time (yeah, I’m really getting into this “role” that I’m playing!).
Although it probably wasn’t necessary, I was glad to have the 4-wheel-drive-low feature of the Jeep as I drove down on to that huge beach that alternated between powdered sugar and clumpy petrified fish carcasses.
I saw another car and a van down there, too. But I ventured farther than that smattering of other tourists. I don’t know how many sculptures and standalone creative displays are down there, but I’d guess dozens, all spread out. These pictures are the only way to even try to convey this experience.
Check out the rough and hard and lumpy texture of the beach as I got closer to the current shoreline. Petrified fish carcasses? Not sure, just damn hard on the ankles.
I thought that was a real bird out there. The damn thing never moved. Because it is a small steel sculpture. I didn’t see any wildlife. At all. The water looked… syrupy.
After spending a few hours in Bombay, I drove down the rest of the eastern shore and back to our campground west of El Centro (Seeley) to the lovely Rio Bend RV Resort. A stark contrast. Quite the day, kids!
I got what I needed, a first-hand experience of what felt like a dystopian post-apocalyptic landscape, a unique experience visiting an area very much off the beaten path. Nothing in my seventy-five years of life compared. But… once was enough.
For those of you who have been there, I trust you can relate to this report. If you’ve been there, but not for many years, the area continues to devolve, I’m told. I found it both sad and heartening. The creative philosophical types that spend a lot of time there, either full or part time (I think I missed the seasonal party), gives me hope that no matter how bad things get, we as a species find a way to convert lemons into lemonade.
By the way, authors live and die by reviews. So, if you read any of my books, please consider leaving a line or three of what you thought, and don’t forget to give it a star rating (preferably 5 stars!).
I’m celebrating! This is my third book this year. I should say “our” third book. I wrote two of those books (Sam Travis Adventures) with my writing partner, Tom Kasprzak. Plus, you can get Lethal Game as an audiobook (more to come). Still, three books in one year is a personal best.What’s amazing is that they just get better and better (so my pre-publication readers tell me).
Below, I offer you a sample ofRogue’s Gallery: Beyond All Reason. This scene takes place more than a few years in the future in a high-security apartment inside Chicago’s near southwest loop—the scene of a heinous murder:
Detective Chance McQuillan—Q—once more questioned the wisdom of asking her captain for the lead in this case. Was it because of her pathological hatred of anything that smelled like that fake paranormal shit? When she was twelve, a carnival fortune teller scared her so badly, she still remembered that awful feeling. She was an emotional dumpster fire back then looking for… well, she had no idea what she was looking for. Who does, at that age? But that… gypsy, that… man! It was like he made love to his beliefs and tried his damned level-best to seduce her to do so, too. That total creep show had stained her. Forever. And her own bastard of a father dismissed it all. Q hated gypsies and carnies, and knew that to be irrational. That’s where she thought all paranormal shit came from. Only when they’re around. And now this bullshit. It was all crap, anyway.
* * *
Halfway through his second shift the night before, Jerry Hannafin had received an S.O.S. signal from Ms. Schift in 2613. Mac, Q’s partner, kept his mouth shut. She now grilled this oaf at Wolf Point East’s combination front desk and security station. This rent-a-cop desk clerk seemed nice enough, even capable. But he showed obvious signs of discomfort around real cops. Not too surprising. She stared at the summary of this hump’s record on her WristPad. Nothing major. Still, it surprised her they even let this guy carry a weapon. But Wolf Point’s ‘brand’ was security and discretion. They talked as he led the way to the scene on twenty-six.
“All I got, detective. I got the automated call at 10:16 PM. When Ms. Schift mashes that button on her remote, her system also calls you guys. I got up there fast as I could. Pounded and pounded on her door, see. But she don’t answer. And my master electronic key don’t work, either. I get real worried. Then I get a call from Mr. Leibowitz in 2720. Says he heard what sounded like a gunshot. Now, I’m real worried. So I calls the fire department thinkin’… well, I dunno. Ain’t no kickin’ down that door.” He nodded off to his left.
Q looked him up and down as they stood in the wide hallway outside of Jolina Schift’s apartment. The door was now damaged beyond repair. “Mr. Hannafin, is it unusual for you not to have master key access to apartments in the building?” They entered the apartment as they talked.
“Supposed to work. It’s in the H.O.A. bylaws, see. For situations just like this, ya know? Ms. Schift, she was a real piece a work. Din’t trust nobody. Who’s got three honest-ta-God deadbolts? And the C.F.D. guys find this.” He nodded toward blood pools, spray, and spatters extending from one side of the kitchen to the other, ending with the outline of a corpse near a black luncheon bar. The M.E. had long-since removed the body. A bright yellow numbered card labeled ‘bloody weapon: knife’ lay near the white outline. Jerry muttered, “Hey, I’m not in trouble here, am I?”
Q sauntered from room to room. Stopped in the master bedroom and Mac followed. Tapped her on the shoulder while reading the crime scene report, and pointed at the twelve-foot ceiling. Neither Mac nor Q had spotted a single bullet hole at the joint between the ceiling and fancy crown molding. But the Crime Scene Mapper—the C.S.M. device—had spotted it.
“Does she ever have visitors?”
Jerry said, “Hey, dunno, ‘kay? We monitor the lobby and the desk. Nobody what don’t have no pass key gets in. And nobody gets by me what I don’t recognize ‘em, see? They come to visit somebody in the building, I call up and get the high sign or send ‘em packin’, ‘kay? Nobody ever come to see Ms. Schift. At least so’s I know. Not on my shifts, anyways. And I’m here six nights a week.”
“You got a record, Jerry?”
“Look, I din’t do nothin’ wrong here. Are we done?”
“Yes, sir. For now. We appreciate your time.”
* * *
Mac continued to study the crime scene team’s analysis on his WristPad with Q looking on. He scratched his head and said, “The report says no prints or D.N.A. other than the victim’s. No echoes of any other presence detected by the C.S.M. for the six hours prior, either. But from footprint trace energy, it appeared she first went from room to room. Like she was searching. And then she scrambled on her hands and knees from the bedroom to the kitchen after firing a single shot, but she left her pistol in the bedroom. The bloody knife near the body?” He nodded toward the empty slot in the knife block on the counter. “Looks like she grabbed a big-ass knife, from the width of the slot it came from, and defended herself. Then, she cuts out her own tongue with that same knife? What the fuck, Q?”
That was the C.S.M. device’s analysis during the six-hour window preceding the time the crime scene team deployed their machine. Its sensors picked up and recorded any presence or motion anywhere in or around the scene, including D.N.A., fingerprints and footprint motion tracers with timestamps. The C.S.M.’s technology still baffled Q, but it was reliable. She said, “And the report also pinpoints time of death at 10:30 PM, plus or minus five. So Ms. Schift was the only person in her entire apartment during that time. Fires a shot in desperation at her bedroom ceiling, apparently at some invisible presence before fleeing to the kitchen?”
Mac squinted his eyes and looked at Q slantwise while they strolled through the sumptuous living room. He expected to get his nose tweaked for his next words. “At least she was the only human presence in this well-fortified kill box.”
“Oh, not you too, Mac.” She hated that kind of trash talk. Brought back those ugly childhood memories.
“Hey, just sayin’. What now?” She smirked. He muttered, “A seance?” He ducked away from her. Didn’t want to get slugged.
Q snorted. “Yeah, let’s go report that plan to the captain. Guess we call this a suicide, time being, ’til we get some more evidence. Gotta be about the evidence.”
“I don’t believe she didn’t have help, either, Q. For now, the answer is beyond any reasonable explanation we got in hand.”
“We’re done here. You know the drill, Mac: background, known associates, personal habits, vices, enemies…. Head back to the nine-nine and dig in. Gotta be something. Let’s start by connecting the Rune case to this one. Too frickin’ similar to be a any kind of coincidence. Suicide victims cutting out their own tongues is odd enough. But when two do that within three days of each other? And with no rational explanation?”
Mac registered a surprised expression. “Where are you headed?”
“I need to run an errand.” Q was conflicted. One person who had researched and debunked at least some of this paranormal shit was the eccentric man she shared a bed with. Another perplexing case almost eight years ago involved voodoo, and Greigh’s research was fundamental in solving that case. Smelled a lot like this one. Now, as much as she hated to admit it, she shared Mac’s frustration. They were no closer to solving this mystery than before this second body had dropped. Yeah, she’d ask Greigh’s opinion on this clusterfuck. Her husband always had an opinion. He called them theories or hypotheses. Opinions. Plus, she worried about her objectivity anywhere near this paranormal crap. But first, she’d talked to an old friend who had also helped out on that damn voodoo case.
Yes, this photo of yours truly is more than a few years old. I’m performing a flute of my own making–one of my first (and best). But I thought this image befit the background theme of this new book: ex-carnival entertainers who, despite their checkered past, have a second chance in life. What they do with it, like the recovering alcoholic in this image, is for you to discover within the pages of this classic locked-room mystery with more than a few weird twists. Enjoy Rogue’s Gallery: Beyond All Reason!
Available for a limited time, why not pre-order right now for your next read in three days, but also to enter a high-probability drawing for a free audiobook, a $15 value. Just click HERE NOW!
