I got to know David Fulmer when I reviewed his beautiful book The Dying Crapshooter’s Blues for Crimespree Magazine. He has received rave reviews from many publications and continues to write lovely, musical fiction. Welcome to the L’il Blog, David! Judy

For me, it’s always been the music, stupid.
Yes, I was a journalist for a long time - my first job that wasn’t pumping
gas was working at the local newspaper. I was probably born to put words on
paper; or tell stories in some other fashion. But not just any words, it
seems. A long time ago, two parts of my brain started to dance and my
infatuation with music swung with my love of the written word. Now it seems,
I can’t do one without the other.
I was a little radio dog with one of those GE transistors stuck to my ear
at all times. My older sister loved to dance and taught me. So I was ready,
ready Teddy to rock and roll when the British Invasion came on.
I loved the Beatles, still do, and believe there is no musical act to
compare in the 20th century for sheer gifted musical production. But I knew
it came from somewhere, and I was enamored very early on with the roots of
the tree, specifically early blues, early jazz, and early country. And by
early I mean way back of town where the polite people don’t go.
I started to play some, too. The requisite rock and roll band in high
school (The Dead End Kids, Shikellamy High School, Sunbury, PA) and then in
college went back in time with an acoustic guitar: Van Ronk, McTell,
McDowell, Davis, Johnson, Blake, and some others. Never cared much for
performing, but I kept playing with my National fingerpicks, wine
bottleneck, 12-string capo, the whole folkie bit.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was digging for the roots. Because when
it came to jazz, blues, and all the rest, starting points and turning points
intrigue me the most. It doesn’t get any wilder than the edge of space and
time, where the wild men (and women) go. By the same token, once it gets
co-opted and commercialized, I’m finished with it.
Still, I can’t see to shake it loose. My first novel was stepped in jazz
(actually, jass) with madman Buddy Bolden as a main character. The second
one was “Jass” and the third “Rampart Street,” which was where the music was
born.
Next came “The Dying Crapshooter’s Blues,” after the Blind Willie McTell
song. Mr. McTell gets a part in the story. The creation of the song is a
sub-plot; there really is a crapshooter dying in there. Next up is “The Blue
Door” set in South Philly just before the British Invasion washed a lot of
crap and unfortunately some great music aside.
What’s the big picture? I’m an American novelist and music is something so
deeply ingrained in our national DNA that we wouldn’t be the same place
without it. Surely, it’s our most potent export. Nobody has a problem with
that kind of invasion. It’s fascinating and meaningful and fun to work with
something that brings us all together.
Speaking of which - and of music - can we please save New Orleans?

David Fulmer
www.davidfulmer.com