Sean Beaudoin

Enough excellent writing to fill a large tube sock

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Wooded Unibomber-like Retreat

I am headed up North this weekend to my usual wooded retreat to finish off the last of the manuscript of SOUR WHITE, the rabidly awaited follow-up to GNF. Sadly, Sour White has nothing at all to do with Stan Smith. It does have a lot to do with the Afterlife, though, which is mostly a cynical ploy to get in on Mitch Albom's coat-tails and suck in all those readers/dollars still hankering to find out exactly who you meet in heaven. Hint: Not seventy-two virgins. Not even five virgins. What if you get up there and who you get to meet is Bob Sagat and a bunch of sweaty plumbers? Do you get a do-over? Or at least Mitch's autograph to take away a little of the sting of disappointment?

These and other questions will be answered by Sunday. At the very latest.



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“The pool was packed, full of moms and dads and screaming kids with melty popsicles. It was a perfect day. Except something bad was coming. Soon. I could smell it in the chlorine.”

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