The problem with books on writing is that they are often difficult to read. Does that sound right? Shouldn't good writing be easy to read? And if we are trying to teach easy reading writing, shouldn't our books on writing be easy reading?

Ninety percent of the federal laws, resolutions, and appropriations pass or fail by a handful of votes. This means a small dedicated group of Congressmen, from both parties, in both Houses, joined in a secret society, could, by their patronage, influence, committee decisions, or floor votes, control the flow of America's monies. And by parceling the votes among its members, leave no footprint behind. When Alexander Judd stumbles upon the possibility of such a society, and sets out to investigate it, he quickly finds himself staring into the barrel of a gun locked in the hands of a naked...

....James P. Dandy and Dodee Swisher are reunited again on a hiking and whitewater rafting Elderhostel(r) in North Carolina. Jim's not too crazy about either the hiking in the woods or the whitewater rafting, but Dodee is really up for it, and he is really up for Dodee in their continuing love affair. ....Plus there's an added bonus. ....Considering Dodee's proclivity for turning up bodies and getting in into hassles with the coppers, he welcomes the idea as a respite from past troubles. ....After all, how many killers lurk about in the woods for passersby to bump off? And who ever heard of a...

When Chance Dugan found himself locked out of a public garage, with his car inside, and his wallet in the car, he accepted the invitation of a lovely policewomen, Natti Moon, to spend the night in her Georgetown apartment. What's not to like? Except it wasn't Natti Moon's apartment. And she wasn't a cop. And when he was forced to hide under a bed to keep from getting shot, he found he had a corpse for a companion. Just great. When he finally got back to the garage the next day, the body-under-the-bed had become the body-in-the-trunk-of-his-car. And the police were on their way. To save...

"The Faltese Malcom?" The fat man laughed. "I hardly think so, Mr. Spaid. Another one of Miss O'Shaughnessy's little fictions I fear. What we are looking for is the Maltese Falcon." But that was in San Francisco of 1927. In everyday Washington, the Falcon they were trying to hang around Josh's neck was a guided missile stolen from the Patuxent Naval Base. And what mattered in the end, was, indeed, the Faltese Malcom.

Chance Dugan-retired at 33 and living on board Chicago, a derelict boat-and his buddy, Snack McGhee, keep getting innocently embroiled in other people's problems without even trying. Like Jinx, whose boyfriend sails off in her catamaran and in finding it gets Chance and Snack involved in a drug bust. Or how about the two old-time gangsters showing up to reclaim a treasure stashed years ago on board Chicago? Only it ain't there. There is the drunk woman at a library celebration who claims her feet were stolen, but the guy who stole them lounges in the children's section with a knife in his...