A Long Way Home
Copyright© 2026 by Asa Strong
Epilogue – June 18, 2006
“Good morning, Mr. Wring. I’m Carl Wright, the producer for the interview.”
“Hi there. Any idea how long this is going to take?” I responded.
He looked at me with a somewhat sour look. “Diane is a very good interviewer, and I would guess that the interview will be at least a couple of hours.”
“Sounds like a lot of time for a half-hour show?”
“We won’t use all of it,” a feminine voice from behind me said.
I turned and immediately recognized her, so would most of you, since she is a known news anchor.
“Well,” I said, removing my cowboy hat, “that’s what concerns me.”
“In what way?” she asked?
“I’m no expert, mind you, but it’s my understanding that you can edit just about anything to slant it whichever way you want it to appear.”
Diane looked at me strangely. “Sounds like you’re not too keen on this interview.”
“Yup, but my publisher won’t let it go. He says it’s necessary, or some bullshit like that.”
“It seems you have the impression that I’m going to assassinate your reputation, or something along that line.” She said, with a twinkle in her eye.
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
“Let me assure Mr. Wring that is the last thing I want to do. I’ve read your two books and really enjoyed them. I’ll be honest with you. I want to find out who this man is that can write so wonderfully. You keep your private life secret from everything I can find out, and I and our viewers would like to know more about the person who takes a simple story; one that most people would think is mundane, and can capture our hearts with the beauty of his words.
“Well,” I said, scratching my head, “I don’t know if I can help you much there. I just kind of write what comes into my head.”
From down the hall, a voice sounded, “Diane, we’re ready to start!”
When we walked into the room, I guess it’s really called a studio, there were two chairs separated by a coffee table with a lamp on it.
The producer pointed to the left chair and asked me to sit there. Diane took the other and sat facing me.
The studio crew spent the next ten minutes running around measuring distances and, I guess, taking light readings. They even had some lady brush some kind of makeup on my face. Finally, they shut some of the lights, and we were ready to start.
Diane was instructed that we were filming and started.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, it is a pleasure to talk with Hoyt Wring. His first two novels have captured the imagination of many of you, and his last book, ‘Sunrise Comes Again,’ is currently at the top of the best-seller list.”
She turned to me, “Thank you for agreeing to this interview, Mr. Wring, and do you mind if I call you Hoyt?”
“I’m happy to be here, and sure, Hoyt is fine.”
Diane took a breath and then continued, “Hoyt, you burst onto the literary scene with your first book. What made you decide to be a writer?”
I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts, “I’m not all that sure, but I think it was just a matter of me finally reaching the point that I had things inside of me I wanted to say, and writing a novel was the way I did it.
“You mean, that your becoming a novelist was just a stroke of luck?”
“No, I think that is too simple an explanation. I’ve always liked to read, and in school, I was excellent in my English classes. But I just felt there were a lot of stories inside me that needed to be let out.”
“You’re originally from North Carolina. How did you end up in Colorado?”
“Oh, you’d have to thank my Uncle Cecil for that.”
“I see, is he still in North Carolina?”
I laughed, “In a manner of speaking, I guess he is. He died a number of years ago.”
“And he is the reason you moved to where you now live?”
I thought about how to answer this question; I really didn’t want to open up a new can of worms here. “When he died, he left me some property, and I built a house there. I ended up liking the place, so I never saw any reason to move.”
Thankfully, she let it lie there and moved on. “Hoyt, you have written two novels, both of which have reached the top of the best-seller list. How do you explain this? Most new authors struggle for many years before reaching that kind of prominence.”
“Damn if I know ... oops, sorry, I’m not used to having to watch what I say.”
She ignored my remark and continued, “Your books seem to be centered on the lives of simple, everyday people. Where do you get the inspiration for your characters?”
“I’m not sure; I banged around a lot when I was out of high school, even spent time in the navy. I guess it’s just a compilation of a lot of people I’ve met one time or another.”
She paused a moment and looked at her notes. “You seem to lead a very secluded life. Is this by design?”
“I guess I don’t know what you mean by secluded. I live close to a small town in Eastern Colorado, and there sure isn’t much there. But it’s not like I’m trying to hide out or anything; I just like living there.”
“I see,” she said. “Then how do you explain that not much is known about you? I know when we were preparing for this story, we sent a background crew to Cope, the town where you live, and they weren’t very successful in getting much information from your neighbors.”
I laughed; this was a riot. “Well, I’d have to believe it was more of a case of preserving their own sense of privacy than protecting mine. People there tend to mind their own business and don’t take too well to people they don’t know asking questions.”
“You were married recently, and I see your wife is in the studio with you. Would you mind if we included her in the interview?”
Now I hadn’t considered that they would have asked Rachel to be a part of this thing, but I had no problems with including her.
“Not if she’s willing,” I answered.
Diane turned towards where Rachel was sitting and asked, “Mrs. Wring, would you mind?”
“Sure, why not?” She responded, while one of the crew pulled another chair onto the set.