THE DEAD DON'T BITCH is perhaps an odd title for a collection of shorts (plus one novella) ranging from a children's Christmas story (set in Manhattan) to an apocalyptic vision of that same NYC on the decline.The title occurred to me one afternoon while I was working as a gardener in Brooklyn, New York's Green-wood Cemetery. The title made perfectly good sense to me at the time. It still does, as only the dead -- at least the dead of Brooklyn -- don't bitch.Everyone else? Fuggedaboutit!While I won't pretend that I have any particular handle on what it takes "to find one's voice" (as writers like to say), the vast majority of these stories have been published either on the Web or in print. This may mean something. At the same time, I believe aspiring and emerging writers might benefit from seeing how this particular writer experimented over several years with finding his voice -- the final stage of which can also be seen and read in TROMPE-l'OEIL (fiction) or in LETTERS TO MY CHILDREN (non-fiction).