Feb 2010
In Memory of Dick Francis
I was very sorry to read that one of my favourite
mystery authors of all time, Dick Francis, passed
away this past weekend. I have loved Francis' writing
for more than 20 years now and will miss him very
much.
I first encountered Francis' work in 1989 while working for a string of small newspapers in Southern Ontario. I had dropped by the local library, looking for something good to read, and ran into a colleague from a rival newspaper. We got to talking about our favourite writers. After chatting for about a half hour, we realised we'd been trying to sell each other on our own faves so we agreed to a trade: I'd read his two favourites (Francis and some early 20th-Century English comic writer) and he'd read two of mine (I think at that point it was Raymond Chandler and F. Scott Fitzgerald).
I never really found out what he thought of Chandler and Fitzgerald but his suggestions proved to be a hit and a miss with me. The hit? Dick Francis. Francis was something special. I was enthralled from the first page. I wish I could remember which novel it was that I read first but, to be honest, I can't. I tore through one, then a second, then a third. Before I knew it, I was reading them at a rate of about one every two days, gobbling them up as quickly as I could find them at the library. When I had run through the holdings of all three branches of the local library, I finally had to suck it up and go to used book stores to buy them. I still own every one of them in paperback and, a couple of years ago, I found an autographed hard-cover edition of Twice Shy in a used book store: a real treasure.
I've read each novel at least twice. They are simply wonderful mysteries.
Francis' career, itself, sounds a bit like a dream. In the first part of his life (the time immediately following the Second World War), he was a champion jump jockey, eventually riding the Queen Mother's horses in races all over England and Europe. When a significant fall knocked him out of competitive racing in the mid-1950s, he went to work for a newspaper, covering the racing scene. Success came quickly for him.
He wrote his first novel, Dead Cert, in 1962 and it was an instant hit. With the research and editing help of his wife, Francis went on to write a novel a year until the late 1990s and, if I remember correctly, he's written a total of 42 mystery novels in all.
Every one of them is a thrill ride. His heroes are average people, his stories all have some sort of a horse-racing angle to them and you always find you learn something from each book.
I can't name a favourite among the 42 but I can tell you that certain scenes and certain characters stand out strongly in my memory. And I'll never be able to hear the phrase "torpid stumblebum" without thinking of Dick Francis.
I'm planning to go back and re-read his novels from first to last, now that he's gone. It's the least I can do for a writer who has given me so many hours of enjoyment and who has earned my respect and admiration. Goodbye, Dick Francis; you will be missed.
I first encountered Francis' work in 1989 while working for a string of small newspapers in Southern Ontario. I had dropped by the local library, looking for something good to read, and ran into a colleague from a rival newspaper. We got to talking about our favourite writers. After chatting for about a half hour, we realised we'd been trying to sell each other on our own faves so we agreed to a trade: I'd read his two favourites (Francis and some early 20th-Century English comic writer) and he'd read two of mine (I think at that point it was Raymond Chandler and F. Scott Fitzgerald).
I never really found out what he thought of Chandler and Fitzgerald but his suggestions proved to be a hit and a miss with me. The hit? Dick Francis. Francis was something special. I was enthralled from the first page. I wish I could remember which novel it was that I read first but, to be honest, I can't. I tore through one, then a second, then a third. Before I knew it, I was reading them at a rate of about one every two days, gobbling them up as quickly as I could find them at the library. When I had run through the holdings of all three branches of the local library, I finally had to suck it up and go to used book stores to buy them. I still own every one of them in paperback and, a couple of years ago, I found an autographed hard-cover edition of Twice Shy in a used book store: a real treasure.
I've read each novel at least twice. They are simply wonderful mysteries.
Francis' career, itself, sounds a bit like a dream. In the first part of his life (the time immediately following the Second World War), he was a champion jump jockey, eventually riding the Queen Mother's horses in races all over England and Europe. When a significant fall knocked him out of competitive racing in the mid-1950s, he went to work for a newspaper, covering the racing scene. Success came quickly for him.
He wrote his first novel, Dead Cert, in 1962 and it was an instant hit. With the research and editing help of his wife, Francis went on to write a novel a year until the late 1990s and, if I remember correctly, he's written a total of 42 mystery novels in all.
Every one of them is a thrill ride. His heroes are average people, his stories all have some sort of a horse-racing angle to them and you always find you learn something from each book.
I can't name a favourite among the 42 but I can tell you that certain scenes and certain characters stand out strongly in my memory. And I'll never be able to hear the phrase "torpid stumblebum" without thinking of Dick Francis.
I'm planning to go back and re-read his novels from first to last, now that he's gone. It's the least I can do for a writer who has given me so many hours of enjoyment and who has earned my respect and admiration. Goodbye, Dick Francis; you will be missed.
Challenging Times
09/02/10 08:37 Filed in: Writing
These are trying times.
And not just because it's winter. Yes, both Patti and I have been feeling under the weather recently (both literally, with New Brunswick in the grip of brutal cold combined with incessant wind, and figuratively, each of us dealing with a variety of illness as well as aches and pains) but then comes the bad news.
My brother-in-law lost his mother on the weekend, a difficult period in any one's life, made even more challenging by the fact that an ocean separates them. And I learned from a good friend and writing buddy back in Ontario that she has been diagnosed with an advanced case of cancer, that she's been told it's a battle she can't ultimately win.
I sit in awe of the grace and dignity with which both my brother-in-law and my friend are dealing with these difficult developments in their lives. I lost my mother to cancer just under a year ago and I believe I have some small idea of what each must be going through right now. I wish them both comfort and consolation as they move forward.
In the meantime, Patti has been kind enough to start a review of The Silent Goodbye, my latest completed Phillip Gold novel. She's an intense and intent reader, with amazing insight into the process of writing, and I value her comments immensely. I do find it hard, however, to sit in the same room with her while she's reading it: I find myself watching for any sort of positive response, for a nod or a smile or even an excited widening of her eyes. She's so intense, though, that I have no clue if she's loving it, hating it or bored (I was going to say "to tears" but, as I said, she's so intense she gives away nothing as she reads).
So far, she's made a number of comments that are very helpful, mostly on small points. I'm quite interested to read her comments in detail and to hear her overall assessment when she's done. I have already started considering rewrites I might make but I'll hear from Patti first and then take a close look.
To all my other trusted readers, be ready. The Silent Goodbye will be coming your way soon.
And not just because it's winter. Yes, both Patti and I have been feeling under the weather recently (both literally, with New Brunswick in the grip of brutal cold combined with incessant wind, and figuratively, each of us dealing with a variety of illness as well as aches and pains) but then comes the bad news.
My brother-in-law lost his mother on the weekend, a difficult period in any one's life, made even more challenging by the fact that an ocean separates them. And I learned from a good friend and writing buddy back in Ontario that she has been diagnosed with an advanced case of cancer, that she's been told it's a battle she can't ultimately win.
I sit in awe of the grace and dignity with which both my brother-in-law and my friend are dealing with these difficult developments in their lives. I lost my mother to cancer just under a year ago and I believe I have some small idea of what each must be going through right now. I wish them both comfort and consolation as they move forward.
In the meantime, Patti has been kind enough to start a review of The Silent Goodbye, my latest completed Phillip Gold novel. She's an intense and intent reader, with amazing insight into the process of writing, and I value her comments immensely. I do find it hard, however, to sit in the same room with her while she's reading it: I find myself watching for any sort of positive response, for a nod or a smile or even an excited widening of her eyes. She's so intense, though, that I have no clue if she's loving it, hating it or bored (I was going to say "to tears" but, as I said, she's so intense she gives away nothing as she reads).
So far, she's made a number of comments that are very helpful, mostly on small points. I'm quite interested to read her comments in detail and to hear her overall assessment when she's done. I have already started considering rewrites I might make but I'll hear from Patti first and then take a close look.
To all my other trusted readers, be ready. The Silent Goodbye will be coming your way soon.