Daniel (Danny) Lance Wright, Author

Thursday, August 31, 2017


Sunday, June 11, 2017

Defining Family - Young Adult Novel

"Defining Family", a young adult novel for the times in which we live.
"I could not stop reading this from the first page. How can anyone write about something with all of the kids in this story that is so accurate... ...A real definition about what the family is about outside of the box." -Gabrielle Hatton, Florida
I invite you to enjoy the download or a print copy today. And, I would appreciate a "share" of this.

Sunday, January 1, 2017

My Wife's New Year Shock

Once a year I let my wife share thoughts on my blog. Here's her New Year thing for 2017:

Started my New Year with a quick workout at the gym. The gym just happens to be located behind the emergency room at the hospital with a good view through the front window. I hit the point I wished my exercise routine was over but, alas, I had to keep going for a while longer. Suddenly, I looked up from my exercise bike and saw a hearse drive in and park near the back of the emergency room entrance. My eagerness to end my workout and go home, just as suddenly, went away and I began peddling a little faster. Happy New Year!,

Friday, October 7, 2016

When Does Old Officially Begin?

It seems as though that all too frequently I’m getting abrupt reminders of the aging process. I speak of my own, of course. Sometimes these reminders are subtle but other times they come at me like a brutal slap in the face. Something happened yesterday that, to most folks, would not seem like a big thing at all. But, to me, it was that brutal slap I just mentioned.
It was a comfortably warm day—sun shining, winds calm. I got in the car to run a simple errand. My destination took me out on a scenic and winding farm-to-market highway for a few miles and the drive was pleasant—so pleasant that I began to daydream, both hands draped over the top of the steering wheel. I was suddenly yanked back to the moment by a feeling of closeness. I looked in the rear-view mirror and noticed a car tailgating me dangerously close. Following that vehicle were a number of others, looking much like a slithering snake. I was the head. A quick check of the speedometer told me everything I need to know as to the reason. The speed limit was sixty-five. I was going forty. It was a simple fix. I sped up to the speed limit and the cars began to loosen behind me. That should have been the end of it. Right?
Well, it wasn’t.
The episode brought to mind a time many years ago that I was riding along with my aging father on our way to town from the farm we lived on. He, too, had his arms draped over the steering wheel, seemingly oblivious. He smoked a pipe and had it clenched between his teeth, puffing methodically, having no concerns whatsoever . . . apparently. We were in a highway construction zone where no passing was allowed. The old rattle-trap of a pickup we were in rolled along at about thirty miles per hour. I turned to see a long string of cars behind us. Well, I figured that he just hadn’t noticed how slow he was driving. So, I offered a gentle reminder, “Dad, you might want to speed up a little. It seems we’re holding up traffic.”
In a way that only another farmer would understand, Dad stopped puffing on that pipe and turned his head slowly to face me. I couldn’t determine if he wanted to slap me or offer fatherly advice. In that moment, I could see it going either way.
He turned back to again look down the highway and resumed puffing on his pipe. I said nothing more. After a few seconds, “If they wanted to get there sooner, they should have left earlier,” he said in an uncanny calm manner. He didn’t vary his speed at all.
I remember becoming quietly angry at his total lack of highway etiquette and stewed over it the rest of that day.
Now, in my case, I did accelerate once I noticed how slowly I was going but I thought, as I finished my short drive, that all those people following me should have left earlier if they wanted to get there sooner. That thought gave me an age-reminding shiver.


If you enjoy novels, especially in the romantic thriller genre, please take a look at “Call Me Mikki”. It’s newly released and available now at,, and other fine booksellers.

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Plausible Deniability

Something interesting happened the other day. It concerns a dynamic that has been consistent over a forty-six-year marriage that, for the first time, I saw from a different angle, or, through fresh eyes, if you will. It started as a simple question from my wife in the kitchen. She asked, “Does your clock show the day and date?”
My first thought was: What does she mean by ‘my clock?’ I glanced around the kitchen at the wall oven clock, the coffeemaker clock, and the clock behind me on the wall. So, I asked what I thought was a reasonable follow-up question, “Do you mean my wristwatch?”
“Your clock,” she replied in raised voice tinged with frustration, as if repeating the same words louder would somehow magically add clarity to the question. I began to smile and nod at her, and then I asked as gently as I could, “I just need you to define ‘my clock’. Would you do that for me, and maybe I can answer your question?”
My smile may have been closely akin to a George W. Bush smirk, so I’ll accept blame here when I tell you that she rolled her eyes, tossed her hands into the air and became louder still. “Your clock! Your clock! For God’s sake how many times do I have to say it?”
A boisterous laugh came out of me so fast that I couldn’t stop it. Of course, that aggravated her even more and she whirled around and marched away, which gave me time to think. The only other clocks in the house that I could think of were the wall clock above the television in the living room and the alarm clock next to the bed. Neither showed day nor date. I let the question go unanswered because I didn’t know which clock she was referring to. Maybe I’d forgotten one and, clearly, asking again would probably lead to a divorce.
I thought about her question and wondered why she didn’t simply offer a location for the clock she was asking about. It would have been simple, quick and not at all memorable. That led me to analyze previous contentious conversations when I would press her for more details, just so I could develop an understanding of whatever it was she happened to be talking about. Some of those conversations were important but most were as inane as the exchange I’ve described here. I usually just give up after a couple of shots at getting additional details, nod stupidly and go back to what I was doing.
And then I remembered how often she’ll toss out tidbits of information about one of those conversations days or even weeks later. Of course I’ll deny awareness of it because it usually leaves my mind in a matter of seconds afterward. Her responses are always fairly consistent. They go something like these: “We just talked about that last week,” or “I told you about it yesterday,” or “You never listen to anything I say, do you?”
It occurred to me like a lightning bolt, that she is reserving spin potential for later conversations or arguments, or plausible deniability, because she can later take anything she says and spin it if necessary to win a later argument because she will never button down a statement or question with irrefutable facts. Pretty smart, I’d say. She should have been a politician.

I need to ask her someday if that conversational style is intentional or just a happy accident. But, that’s an argument for another day.  

Saturday, March 5, 2016

Sorry. What Did You Say?

Attention deficit disorder is a common, and commonly discussed, problem these days. I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t know what it is, at least peripherally so. It, like phobias, sort of has become the punch line of many jokes. And, it’s certainly nothing I have ever deeply considered and, as it applies to me, never—until recently.
Allow me to relate a quick story that began this thought process. My wife and I were having breakfast with a dear friend and she was telling us everything that had been going on in her life since our last conversation. And, let me say this right now, I was indeed interested. Heck, she was simply responding to my question, so why wouldn’t I be interested? But, as I listened, here’s what happened inside my head: She said something that triggered a thought. I don’t remember what it was. What it related to, I can’t remember that either. I just know the thought was like the cue ball hitting the eight ball and smacking my attention directly into some other universe. It triggered a splay of alternate ways something might play out with various outcomes. When my attention returned to what she was saying, there was about a thirty second gap in what she was telling me. Of course, I embarrassed myself when I asked a question that did not at all pertain to what she had just said.
At first, I blamed it on being a novelist—dreaming up story concepts, plot and sub-plot arcs, characterizations, and all that sort of stuff. It does take a fair amount of concentration, often to the exclusion of things going on around me. But, over the next several days after that breakfast episode, I became aware of all the times in my life that this has happened and continues to happen, up to several times each day. Many of the episodes end with me being mortified by my rude, but inadvertent, loss of attention. I now know this is the reason I became the class clown all the way through elementary, middle, and high school. When the teacher asked a question about what she had just talked about, I had to laugh off not knowing what was going on somehow. Acting goofy was the preferred diversionary tactic. Needless to say, I was in the Principal's office a lot.
I have to admit, though, there is a bit of comfort coming to terms with it. I’ve always had it. I just never thought to give it a name—attention deficit disorder.
But that sounds too clinical. I prefer to call it daydreaming. And, now that my work and my world are wrapped up in writing the best novels I possibly can, the episodes are becoming more frequent and longer lasting.

So, I will take this opportunity to go ahead and apologize to all my friends and family. If you find yourself in a conversation with me and see my eyes glaze over, just know it’s not that I think you’re boring. You just happened to say something that I seized on and, without trying, my thoughts shot off in a different direction. No matter what it is, it will likely wind up written into a story. Now, that’s pretty cool. Don’t you think?   

Sunday, February 14, 2016

We Are Them. We are?

Just as there is a specific number of years placed on an item before it is referred to as an antique, is there, or should there be, a specific period of time pass before we use the word history? Or, is anything past this current moment fair game?
As of late, I’ve had a well-worn quote circling my thoughts: “Those who cannot remember or do not study history are doomed to repeat it.” I don’t think it’s a mystery why it’s currently floating without tether in my head. Every major election year we hear it or think about it in some fashion.
And then, this past week a really good Ray Bradbury quote began circulating on Facebook that I’ve since printed and taped to my office wall. It goes:  “The problem in our country isn’t with books being banned, but with people no longer reading. You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.”
 Those two quotes began doing a harmonious dance between my ears. But, my thoughts are going far beyond politics to our present state of cultural change and how rapidly it’s doing so. It has become a way of life that moves so quickly for many that taking time to read a book simply does not happen often and even that number seems to be shrinking. I’m not sure many folks under forty (let’s say) even read newspapers any longer, online or in hand. Even affording the time to read articles takes too long.
It seems we are electronically spoon-fed everything we know and come to develop opinions in sound bites, snippets, and cherry-picked Bible verses. Unfortunately, those totally inadequate pieces of information, which are sometimes no more than slogans, become not simply opinions but hard facts to many.
We only need to look at the tech savvy generation to realize that most everyone has access to what is happening globally and know it instantly but, just as quickly, set information aside and move on to the next tantalizing tidbit of information after mere minutes, maybe seconds, later. So, flooding the consciousness with dibs and dabs of information that history, to them, becomes fifteen minutes ago. I’m really beginning to believe that we, all of us, are taking this living-in-the-moment thing too far. Taking time for reflection (a bit farther back than fifteen minutes) is more than simply healthy for a way of life, but vitally necessary to its survival.
It would behoove us all greatly to know and understand all the major cultures that preceded this current one. We should want, and definitely need, to know how empires, kingdoms, and entire civilizations rose and fell—more importantly, why? And, please believe me, I’m not pointing an accusatory finger at anyone more than at myself. It’s a shared responsibility.

If we cannot know, as intimately as possible, the origins and demise of Sumer, Egypt, Rome, Aztecs, Olmecs, Incas—where they came from, what they believed, how they lived, and why they went away—we are destined to travel the same path. And from what I’m seeing, thanks to the speed of global communication and technology, we are on that path at an accelerated speed. Do you really want power hungry people and ideologues—politicians and religious leaders—dictate what you believe? I thought not. Me neither.