Dear Reader,

Each year on June 23 I take a moment to reflect. I'm not good at remembering names; too many fall through the cracks. I'm not observant enough to remember places. For some reason, though, dates stick in my mind, most of them anyway.

On June 23, 1989, my first novel, A Time To Kill, was published. It was a big day around our house but went unnoticed elsewhere. My publisher was a small, unknown start-up that went broke soon after my big day. The company barely had enough money for a modest advance, and not a penny for promotion. I was on my own and the launch was a dud.

But getting it published was an accomplishment in itself. When I finished the first draft in 1987 and decided to share it with the publishers in New York, I thought I needed an endorsement from another writer. I wanted a big splashy blurb that would get someone's attention and give me instant, though undeserved, credibility. However, there was one problem - I didn't know anyone who'd ever published a book.

At the time, Willie Morris was the writer in residence at Ole Miss and I had seen him here and there, usually on campus or in Jackson at some legislative affair. Through a friend I managed to get myself invited to dinner one night in Oxford with half a dozen others. It was a Chinese restaurant with a private room where Willie often held court until the early hours of the morning. He knew I was stalking him. Our mutual friend had alerted him that I had finished my first novel and needed a favor. Willie thought: "Great, just what I need. Another pesky writer with an awful manuscript." My peskiness back then still embarrasses me now.

After several hours of food, wine, and hilarious stories, Willie said to me: "Look, son, I'm going to tell you what another writer once told William Faulkner: 'I'll blurb your damned book if I don't have to read it.'"

That was fine with me.

He went on: "In fact, I'll go one step further. You write the damned blurb and I'll sign it."

And so I wrote: "A Stunning Debut." "A Powerful Courtroom Drama." And so on. Willie never saw the blurbs and never read the first chapter.

A year later I had an agent and a contract for the book, but no title. I had always called it Deathknell, the origin of which escaped me years ago. Neither my agent nor my new editor liked it, so I was searching for something new. By then I had become friends with Willie and we arranged dinner at our favorite Jackson hangout, Hal & Mal's. He loved the challenge of creating a great title. (He still hadn't read it.) Over another very long dinner, we kicked around dozens of possibilities. I remember he was hung up on the words "blood" and "dust," and was determined to work them into an unforgettable title. He loved to scribble on paper napkins and we went through an entire dispenser. There were napkins all over the table and some on the floor. At midnight they turned off the lights and told us to leave. No problem. Willie had a key. We walked to the side of the building, re-entered through the kitchen, and returned to our table, where the owner, Malcolm White, arrived with two tall mugs of Irish coffee.

I don't know what time we finally left. There was no title. By noon the following day Willie had forgotten everything. And I've wished a thousand times I'd kept the napkins.

A week or so later I ran across the famous Bible verse from the book of Ecclesiastes: "For everything there is a season ..... A time to kill, a time to heal. ... "

Titles are always a challenge. Every writer dreams of a brilliant title, something unique and catchy that makes buying the book irresistible. Think of the great ones: In Cold Blood, The Grapes of Wrath, Gone With The Wind, The Sound And The Fury, The Sun Also Rises, The Executioners Song, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Little Drummer Girl.

Obviously they've already been used. An author cannot copyright a title, so I could call my next book Gone With The Wind, but that wouldn't feel right. I'm sure someone would sue.

A Time To Kill did not sell back in 1989. Two years later, The Firm sold in record numbers. So, I decided to stick with the short, workmanlike titles. But I still dream of the great one, something with the words "blood" and "dust."

And every year on June 23, I think of my dear friend Willie, and lift a glass.

John Grisham
June 23, 2026