D P Brown

The Poet D P Brown

"Help me... I've run out of words." This is what lies in reporter MacKinley Taft's IN Box on a Monday morning in December. A Tybee Island, Georgia postmark. Nothing else. A mystery. A cry for help. A writer, poet, author, mired in the worst case of Writer's block imaginable. John David Kane, won a Pulitzer Prize. His name is mentioned among the great authors of the 20th century: Hemingway, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, Mailor, and Faulkner. Even the great commercial writers such as King, Grisham, Koontz, Patterson and Connelley, John David Kane is counted among them as well. He is an artist who paints with words. But one lonely morning in December, Kane's typewriter, an old Royal manual, falls silent. Reams of paper remain blank. The ideas are there but the words won't come. MacKinley Taft wrote a college thesis on the writing of John David Kane. Critical, insightful, praising, she uncovered his craft layer by layer, saying he was a lonely, reclusive man who preferred to communicate to the rest of the world through his writing. And now, he has reached out to her. More than just a love story, this is a story about guiding a lost soul home. "I need a muse," Kane said. "I have no one to write for." "Then, write for me," MacKinley replies.