About the Author
A stint in the Special Forces cut short by a jump training mission accident that claimed the lives of his brother and several members of his unit. After discovering creative writing in college, joined the Peace Corps in Costa Rica. Introduced to Latin American fiction, developed a new genre of fiction called Mystic Realism. Unable to interest major publishers, eked out a living playing on the tennis tour, becoming a club pro and later a college instructor. Now living in Ohio, working on my fiction, recently completing three screenplays, including an adaptation of The Prodigy. The Prodigy reached the quarterfinals of the Page International Screenwriting Contest in 2005. The hardcover, promoted by Tennis Week, sold out in first edition and published in paperback twelve years later. Has finished in the quarterfinals of Francis Ford Coppola's screenwriting contest at American Zoetrope twice, in 2008 and 2010.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
It was dark. He was unable to comprehend where he was, only that it was another hotel room. It made him feel cold. He hated cold. Sleep was useless. His body couldn't get enough rest and his mind wouldn't stop dreaming. Over and over he dreamed ironic dreams. He kept thinking he shouldn't think about the dreams so much, but he never stopped. Mornings wouldn't come quickly enough, and he awakened often, staring at the ceiling for endless hours it seemed. Time toyed with him. Time was only supposed to matter when he picked up the racket again.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.