David R. Lewis

I am yet another embattled crusader in the writing wars. I live in the wilds of the Missouri outback with two cattledogs, a belligerent cat named Grizz, and my bride of 42 years, the coveted Laura. In my rather extended life I have been a musician, a metropolitan cop, a ranch hand and cowboy, and (shudder) a writer of radio and television commercial copy. Now before you run for the Pepto, let me say that there are some benefits to be had from such mundane labor. After a writer has ground through twenty to thirty thousand pieces of commercial copy, one of two things will happen. He will spend the last years of his life in Sunnydale Acres grinding his teeth and staring blankly at the sun, or he will have learned to write for Theatre of the Mind. In my case, some would claim the jury is still out but, since no nice young men in white coats have arrived at my dusty door sporting smiles and a jacket with extraordinarily long arms, I am free to keep the Theatre open . . . this time on my terms.

Even though I don’t care for bandwagons, I was browbeaten into writing two of my novels because I disliked the genres and trendiness from which they sprang. Oddly enough, they are two of my favorites. They are significantly different than others of their breed because I am a grown-up, and I write for grown-ups.

My novels are character-driven because life is character driven. As we move through the years, snippets of plots rocket by, but very few ever pan out. Characters, however, stay with us through thick and thin, rich with remembered dialogue and situation, four dimensional on the big screen in our Theatre of the Mind.

As a writer for grown-ups, my function is entertainment. Because I am a grown-up I indulge myself and write what entertains me: rich characters, tight dialogue, and uncomplicated storylines. Check out my website at www.ironbear-ebooks.com. Or, if you’d just want to jaw here for a while, great! Grizz won’t like it, but he’s just a cat.