Now for something completely different

Now for something completely different

Now for something completely different

Anthony Zych

I love to write, as you may have noticed. For more than 21 years, I’ve been turning out multiple items per day, every single day, in this room.

What we write here has limited relevance. Post one day, and the next it doesn’t matter, because there’s always something new to take its place. I wrote Playmakers in part to create something that would have a bit more permanence than the non-stop news cycle.

In 2020, I started messing around with fiction. Yeah, I wrote a crappy sci-fi football novel years ago, which strangely got me into this industry in the first place. This time, a combination of some extra free time during the pandemic and a jolt of inspiration got things going.

My father was a bookmaker in the small town where I grew up. He was attached to a wider crew, and my parents did a very good job of keeping me shielded from the realities of the things they (not my father, as far as I ever knew) were doing.

On the night of my birthday in 2020, I had a very vivid dream about my father and the things he, and they, may or may not have done in the 1970s. It gave me an idea for a novel about mob life in small towns. I started writing it the next day.

One thing led to another, and I’ve written six novels since then. I’m more than halfway through a seventh. I have some ideas for #8, #9, and #10. It’s night after night process, with an hour or two of writing and rewriting and editing and reediting as a way to reset my brain for the next day of healing the time to think and talk and write about football. I’ll finish one, start another, tinker with an earlier one, work on it, start another, with no real plan or strategy.

Last December I wrote a Christmas novel. It was based on an idea that had been rattling around in my head for more than a decade. Once I sat down and started hunting and chopping, the words and sentences and paragraphs and chapters flowed. It felt less like I wrote the story and more like the story wrote itself.

So what the hell do I do with these things? One thing I learned from Playmakers Experience is that even with a not-too-shabby advance from the publisher, writing books will not change anyone’s life – with extremely rare exceptions. And although I eventually want to cobble together something that people will possibly read and enjoy after I’m dead and gone, I expect or need or want to earn a penny from this hobby that has become part of my everyday life. routine.

The whole idea was to create something that people will read and enjoy. So why not just let people read it, and possibly (if they’re a bit drunk) enjoy it?

That’s what I’m going to do, with the Christmas novel that basically wrote itself last year. Officially, this is a Thanksgiving thank you to everyone who has supported what we do over the years. Unofficially, it’s an experiment to see if anyone will read this and possibly (if they’re a bit drunk) enjoy it.

The book is called On the way home. If you love the holiday season, there’s a good chance you’ll like it. If you’ve dealt with the pain of losing a loved one, the story may resonate even more with you.

I will be posting one chapter per day from Thanksgiving through Christmas. It has just enough chapters to fit the 32-day window.

Give it a try. Here is chapter one. Whether you like it or not, you’ll definitely get your money’s worth. And feel free to get a little drunk before you start.

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