We are all delicate flowers on rocky crags.

Writing is exciting sometimes. And so are so many things. I’m a writer so I write.

Confession: I don’t know what I’m doing. This in itself isn’t surprising. I’m a writer but I have absolutely zero aptitude for commercial considerations. But there’s nothing like trying, so here goes:  Be Safe is my debut novel. It’s pretty good. As a matter of fact it was reviewed like this:

“…Weaver’s adventures flow and burble like liquor taps, and ideas spill every which way, similar to the work of William Burroughs.” and “Weaver’s marriage of the high and the low—the classical music digressions and the dirty sex fantasies—will broaden most readers’ horizons” and finally, “Strong writing chops sculpt an odyssey from an addict’s raw life”…Kirkus Reviews

I’ve started a new novel. It’s really hard, harder than the first one, I think, for any number of reasons. I think it’s some kind of perceived responsibility that rests on my shoulders now, where in the first novel all I was concerned about was producing enough words.

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