After visiting my hometown of Thomaston, Georgia, in summer of 1991, I took a train back to New York and met two guys whom I started conversing with about our various lives. One guy was into artwork, and all I remember is that his name was Maurice. The other guy, our token white guys, was an author named Philip Lee Williams (Perfect Timing, All the Western Stars, The Song of Daniel). As we spoke, I told Philip about my desire to write a bio, and he offered me advice about the publishing business.
