Charles Willeford didn't like Indians.
He stopped for gas on the Tamiami Trail
and an Indian was sullen. When a man feels sorry for
himself, kick him. How else will he get up? Willeford learned this
being a career enlisted man in the service. Suck it up. Soldier on.
Nobody wants to hear about your unpublished play. Cockfighter and
The Burnt Orange Heresy should have been break-out books for him.
They weren't. He stayed in the paperback-original ghetto. Wild Wives
and Pick-Up. Go ahead and write Swamp Hoyden.

Nobody told you to be a writer.
What are you-a smart-ass?
Did you outgrow your raisin'?