Chet The Dog : Robbie Forester

Posts Tagged ‘Robbie Forester’

Sneak Peek: Robbie Forester and the Outlaws of Sherwood St.

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October 23rd, 2011 Posted 8:34 am

My dad was between agents right now, exactly how and why not too clear in my head. But I knew agents were important from conversations I’d overheard my dad having with other writers. They talked about agents a lot, way more than the stories they were dreaming up. “How’s the novella going?” I said.

“It’s actually more of a memoir, but with a fictional interface, clearly distinguishable, of course.”

I failed, one hundred percent, to understand. My dad was a brilliant writer, had already published two books. The first one, All But the Shouting, had come out the year I was in kindergarten, and . . . what was the expression? Made a splash? So books that failed made no splash, just sank to the bottom? And books that succeeded made a splash and then sank to the bottom? My dad’s second book, published last year, was On/Off, a huge novel, over a thousand pages, that I’d heard him calling “kind of an experiment, in retrospect” on the phone not too long ago.

Memoir was about memories, right? “Memories of what, Dad?” I said.

He smiled. My dad had a very nice smile, except lately there’d been some question about tooth grinding in his sleep, and now he needed some implants. And wasn’t he supposed to go easy on those late-afternoon espressos?

“That’s what I’m working on now,” he said.

Welcome Johnny from Virginia, Lucy, Paula the hunter.

Tonight at 6, Spencer Quinn 0r possibly Peter Abrahams, but almost certainly not Albert Pujols, at the Courthouse Center for the Arts, 3481 Kingstown Rd., W. Kingston RI.

Tags: Albert Pujols, Robbie Forester, Robbie Forester and the Outlaws of Sherwood St.
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Ridiculously Early Sneak Peek: Robbie Forester (Opening)

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August 21st, 2011 Posted 8:41 am

At first I thought it all began with a foul—if an elbow to the head’s not a foul, then what is?— but I figured out, maybe not as soon as I should have, that the beginning had come a little earlier. Just five or six hours, in fact, with me on my way to school and no time to lose. The second the doors of the subway car slid open, I jumped out, hurried along the platform, and took the stairs to street level two at a time. At the top, I was turning left, all set to run the block and a half to school, when I noticed something not right in front

of the newsstand by the subway entrance. A homeless woman who’d been sitting outside for the past few weeks—homeless, please help read the writing on the coffee cup she always held—was out there again, only now she’d tipped over and lay on her side. It must have

just happened, because none of the people around—and there were lots—had gone to her yet. So I did.

I leaned over her. The woman was old, with white hair and a lined face, but maybe because her eyes were closed, I suddenly had this vision of how she’d looked as a young girl. She’d been really pretty. Something about that took away the fear I’d normally have had at such a moment.

“Are you all right?” I said.

Her eyes opened—blue eyes, but so faded there was hardly any color at all, except for the whites, which were crisscrossed with red veins. “Do I look all right?” she said, her voice surprisingly strong and not at all friendly.

I didn’t know what to say.

From Robbie Forester and the Outlaws of Sherwood St. (Jan. 19, 2012, Philomel). Conclusion of this scene next Sunday.

Welcome Opal K9 OTJ.

Tags: Robbie Forester, Robbie Forester and the Outlaws of Sherwood St.
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