New Look

I'm experimenting with a new look for my Web site once again. The white on black was starting to tax my eyes, and probably yours, too. Let me know what you think of this new layout. Personally, I don't think it's as striking as the old layout, but it's definitely much easier to read.

Busy, busy busy!

Attention Dave Cripe: I'm coming to your hometown.

You see his name on the blog nearly as much as you do mine. He is Dave Cripe and he's one of my very dearest friends. Dave grew up in Glen Ellyn, Illinois, in Chicago's western suburbia. I don't know a whole lot about Glen Ellyn, but I'll surely learn a lot when I stop by there on Saturday, November 12 to sign my book, Lost in the Ivy, at The Bookstore, 475 North Main Street. I'll be setting up shop there at 1 p.m., so please do stop by and say hello.

Also, I'll be one of 30 Illinois authors signing books the following weekend, Saturday, November 19 at the Illinois Woman's Press Association's annual book fair. This year's event will be from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. at the Chicago Cultural Center at North Michigan Avenue and Randolph Street. Hope to see you there!

A Stroll in the Park

A stroll in the park; it sounds nice, doesn’t it? It connotes a pleasant, relaxing experience.

And that’s what it once was. Fondly I look upon those days when I would buckle The Toddler into the stroller and head out onto the neighborhood sidewalks on a nice, sunny day, stopping at a park along the way.

In all other categories of parenting Mommy was No. 1. But stroller rides to the park, well, that’s where Daddy ruled.

I would strut like a king, head held high, nodding at passersby with glowing pride in my eyes. Me, my son, the open air – this, I thought, was what fatherhood was all about. Sure there would still be nasty diapers, midnight awakenings and tantrums to contend with. But bonding times like these, between me and my son, made being a father, well, significant. When it came time for stroller rides, in The Toddler’s world, I wasn’t just playing second fiddle to Mommy.

But then one day I began to really look at the other strollers around us and it hit me like a left hook to the jaw. Ours, in comparison, appeared worn and old, like it was ready for the scrap heap. Like a dated car, it even had a partially scraped off political bumper sticker on it and a seat cushion that kept slipping off. It looked, well, inferior.

There were all these new luxury models out on the sidewalks that were, both literally and figuratively, passing us by. I began to suffer from a severe case of stroller envy.

The Toddler was riding in the Pinto of strollers compared to the Ferraris out there now. Truth be told, the stroller, to me, had become an embarrassment. I was ashamed to even take it out of the garage, let alone pushing it and having my son be seen in it.

That’s when I knew my son had grown up. That once brand-new stroller was now a little over two years old, just like my son.

The Toddler didn’t really need that stroller any more. He could walk on his own two feet.

And that’s what we do now. We walk, hand-in-hand, to the park. Occasionally he says, “Up-up,” meaning “Pick me up, Daddy. My legs are smaller than yours and get tired pretty quickly.”

We still have that 2003 model stroller. Mostly it sits in the garage now, taking up space. And holding a part of my son that he’s walked away from.

Hear Randy talk about "Lost in the Ivy"

Hearing your voice is a strange experience. You know you have one, but rarely do you really hear it.

This morning I heard it. On Saturday, I taped an interview for Global Talk Radio's "A Story to Tell" program. That interview is now posted on the Internet for all to hear. I heard it for the first time this morning.

Do I really sound like that?

Well, you tell me. Anyone with a computer and a media player can listen in to that interview. To do so, simply click here. My segment is the second on the broadcast, nearly 13 minutes into the program. I'm sandwiched between a fantasy writer and the author of The King of Bombs, a book about the threat of nuclear terrorism in America.

That leaves only one question: How did I become the lead-in for The King of Bombs?

"Lost" gets a thumbs up...and the ride gets a lot more fun

A writer has to believe in what he writes. Otherwise he would never have the courage to put it out there for others to read.

But there's always that flicker of doubt. You wonder if you're just fooling yourself and, in turn, making a fool of yourself.

Just last week I wrote of the wonderful customer reviews that had been coming in on Amazon.com's sales site for my fiction debut, Lost in the Ivy. As I noted in that piece, it is incredibly flattering that there are people out there who are not only taking the time to read my book, but also to write their own words about it. The thing is, you're still left to wonder: Are those reviewers just being kind? They're your friends, or friends of friends, or friends of family. They aren't truly objective reviewers.

But when a review comes from an objective source, like a newspaper, your belief is put to its ultimate test. You just hope that those flickers of doubt aren't turned on permanently.

So it was a welcome relief when I learned that my first newspaper review was a good one. The review, in Thursday's edition of The Star newspapers, came under a headline that alone was enough to make this rookie novelist dance a jig. "Former Homewood resident not lost as a fiction writer," it read.

As for what came under the headline, I'll let reviewer Joanne Zerkel's words speak for themselves. Here then is an excerpt of the first newspaper review of Lost in the Ivy:

Randy Richardson tells a great story in his book "Lost in the Ivy," especially for Chicago readers. Not only is the story itself complex and filled with interesting characters, the fictional story is set in Wrigleyville.

Baseball fans, as well as lovers of a good mystery, will find themselves lost in the story of one man's search for self.

Charley Hubbs wanders into Chicago because of the Cubs and stays. He meets new people, gets an apartment and finds a job as a reporter for the Northside Beat.

Charley does have a few problems early on in the story, mostly caused by drinking too much and/or blackouts caused by an accident in his former life.

He also stumbles into situations he simply cannot control, including one with a woman bartender who goes to bat for him several times.

Die-hard Cub fans will note the Wrigleyville Charley calls home is the neighborhood of yesteryear, but that does not change the storyline, filled with dead bodies and plot twists.

The flickers are still there. Probably they'll always be there. You know that bad reviews could be just around the corner. But that's the nature of the beast. Everyone has an opinion about art. And everyone's is a little bit different.

But I now know that the roller-coaster ride I took to get a fledgling manuscript published was worth taking. So pardon me if I raise my arms and let out a scream of pure joy for just a little while. This ride just got a lot more fun.