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"Why here, why tonight?" he demanded, putting a fresh unfiltered cigarette between his full lips. He tapped the face of his watch. "I got ten minutes."He caught a glint off the knife blade from the bright coal of his cigarette. The hair on his neck stood away from his skin, but that was the only reflex Peter O'Shea had time for. The silver blade plunged into the flesh of his throat. He staggered back against the cold steel dumpster and the stench of garbage filled his nostrils. He tried to scream, but had no air to scream with. He looked down at the blood spurting out of his neck and tried desperately to clasp the wound shut in his hands. He watched helplessly as the knife punched hole after hole in his chest. Music blared from inside the nightclub. The coarse alley slapped his cheek. The Type Of People I Write AboutThere are many reasons a person will pick up a book. They're looking for something, it could be anything. So let me give some idea of what you'll find when you open a book of mine. But first let me tell you what you won't find. None of my characters are innocent. They are not finding love for the first time. They are not stunning symbols of ideal beauty or intelligence. They may be jaded or naïve but they are not brand new. None of my characters are capable of turning into bats, wolves or anything requiring a special uniform, especially a cape. They can't leap over tall things, least of all buildings. They don't wear masks or have faithful Indian companions. They don't dress like they're in Sherwood Forest and they don't have a shapely fairy with dragon-fly wings who can sprinkle them with pixy dust and make their dreams come true. No ruby slippers, no magic Lamps. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with characters like that or people who write about them, it just that I don't.What you will find are people, ordinary average people who find themselves in extra-ordinary circumstances. People who have gotten themselves into a position that's completely new to them and they have to figure out how to get out of it. If they don't find a way the consequences will be severe and most likely fatal.There's a spiritual song called The Lonesome Valley. It says, `Nobody can go there for you'. While that's true, there are many people willing to help them find the path to it, if they're not careful. My characters can't buy their way out, they can't wish their way out. They can't hope for the best, they can't pretend it isn't happening. They can't say it's all someone else's fault. It's their time in life to face the facts.E.M. Forster said the only way to end a work of fiction in a satisfying way is with death or marriage. Both satisfactorily signal the end of the adventure. My writing never ends with all the questions neatly answered. Some of the conclusion is left to the reader to ponder. Some readers think this isn't the way books should be but some books are, mine for example.About MeWhenever I'm faced with the prompt to say something about myself I'm stumped. Maybe it's because when I read how other people have responded to that, with dates of birth, schools attended, jobs held, marriages tried, children raised, accomplishments they're proud of, I'm a little to a lot bored by it....