“Having so much fun, all through the skin-frying day and into the mosquito-ridden night.”

I don’t know where “Breaking on the Wheel” came from, but I do know the source of the emotional core of the story.  When I was younger I knew a man who put his children into all kinds of slightly inappropriate work roles:  roofer, farmer, ditch digger, berry picker, construction assistant, mechanic’s helper.  I’m sure they were grateful for the experience and the memories, but I always had the feeling none of it was for the benefit of the children.  The father needed bodies, and bodies were around.  There is nothing unusual or sinister about children helping in the family business or around the house, but it turned dark when the little ones slowly realized that their needs, wants, and general safety were irrelevant to the goals of a driven boss.

This video clip of me reading from “Breaking on the Wheel” includes the aftermath of a violent tantrum, paint chips, morning dew, a welder, and a whole lot of suspicion.

Just a reminder to the remaining 7.6 billion who have not put in their orders yet:  this thing isn’t going to buy itself.  Throw your cell phone into the toilet, or smash it to pieces with a hammer, and rediscover the printed book, a pandemic-friendly source of entertainment.  It will never require an update or a charge.  You can drop it from the ninth floor balcony and still read it. The version you have will always be the most recent one.  You can advertise your fine taste by holding it up as you read, exposing the handsome cover for all to see.  And if you prefer the ebook version, forget everything I just said.