John Baird
John Baird recently returned to his childhood home of Cosby, in rural eastern Tennessee, to look after his elderly grandparents. There he began to write with perseverance and soon produced “a massive novel of a quarter-million words, which made publishers recoil in horror at its size.”
— From August 1993
Fiction
Uncle Ruff
I was not hallucinating. Here was time incarnate, bareheaded, wrapped in heavy bib overalls and flannel, and moving in a lithe, short-stepping dance about the concrete ramp.
August 1993
What Do You Think?
Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We'd love to hear about it.
Send Us A Letter