I recently read a book that was beautifully written, yet thinly reported.
In other words—no good.
I’ve written five books, which hardly makes me the ultimate expert. But one thing I know—like, know, know, know, know—is that the great biographers always make the next call. They don’t just settle for teammates and coaches. They want mothers, uncles, cousins, friends, enemies. I certainly aspire to this, and while it’s not easy, it’s of utmost important. Or, as I often tell the wife, you just never know where the next great informational nugget i coming from. One might assume that a book about, say, the 1980s San Antonio Spurs would depend upon the words of George Gervin and Johnny Moore. Truth be told, it depends on 1,000 levels beyond those two. It’s always seeking out more and more and more and more until an editor grabs your ear and says, “Stop! We! Need! The! Book!”
OK, night night …
