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Jose Saramago, who quickly became one of my favorite authors after I read Blindness just last year, has died. But damn, he had a fine run, producing some of the most amazing novels I've ever read. There truly is no writing like Saramago writing. I am lucky enough, however, to still have a robust back catalog of his work to dive into. In fact, just yesterday, I started The Stone Raft, and already, just 10 pages in, I'm hooked. Even stranger is that I began work on a novella a few weeks ago, that contains some Saramago-inspired passages. Now, I suppose, I'll be giving even more time to these sections to ensure they are worthy of their heritage.

(This interview is cross-posted at Outsider Writers Collective) Full disclosure: I’m writing this intro after having imbibed a few pints of Guinness at a downtown KC Irish pub called O’Dowds, which, as a nod to authenticity, has been given my grandmother-in-law’s seal of approval, all the way from Ballyshannon, Ireland. The inebriation is all the more fitting, considering Alan Kelly's Dublin area connections. Alan first contacted me, years ago, by the invitation in one of my first publication author bios: "He welcomes conversation via email." I intended the trailing line to garner no more than a grin from the few who read it. But Alan's willingness to contact a stranger should have clued me in early on to what a true individual he is. We have been communicating online and following each others work since. When I first heard about his novella, Let Me Die a Woman, I was quite…

Most of you probably don't know this, but secretly, I am not the cunning stallion that I appear to be. Sure, I am a sexy reader, I can do the robot worm electric slide, and I dress in the finest clothes straight from snazzy street (Snazzy and 14th Avenue is where the local Salvation Army clothing depot is located; they always have the hippest fanny packs). But underneath all of this slathered-upon cool, I carry a potentially social-life threatening secret. I like signed books. Sure, it's not the most embarrassing collection out there. I know a kindergartner who collects rocks. Seriously. And not even cool rocks, either. Regular, gravel-style gray lumps of compressed sediment nonsense. I drove him down a country road once and his head exploded. But this post isn't about dumb kids. It's about dumb adults. Here's my collection for all of you to pick through and criticize.…

Writing fiction is not a rich man’s game. Though some authors are able to attain and sustain luxury by writing novels, that club is quite exclusive. In fact, most of the authors whose books you see even in national bookstore chains (Barnes & Noble, Borders, etc.) have day jobs. Fiction is usually a supplement their better life decisions. Did you know Jim Lehrer has published 17 novels? No, you didn't. John Lithgow, Alan Arkin, Jimmy Buffet, Wes Craven, and so many others also wrote fiction. But they were smart enough to go to celebrity school instead of author college. But, fiction writing is not without its fringe benefits. Here's a few I've discovered: I change into my pajamas at around 5:00pm, not out of laziness, but as a mimetic character channeling method. It’s entirely coincidental that I write about lazy characters. Nobody expects me to be socially comfortable. Conversely, I…

Things need to change. I need to blog more. I need to have interesting things to say. Yes, that is the correct order for those last two items. Blogs, generally, are dumb. So many of them tend to be self-infatuated messes. The argument that this egotism is their exact purpose stands, true. So perhaps my contempt is like me at an orgy: so many people doing it must mean it’s fun, but every time I try one, I leave with a bad taste in my mouth. Gross. I read plenty of industry blogs, which I see as more an evolution of the commercial print world (magazines, trades, etc.) than as an evolution of the private world (diaries, journals, bathroom stalls). So, maybe I am meant simply to avoid the diaries and try to make this blog more about the industry. Problem: I don’t know much about “the industry.” I don’t even know what industry that would be. Publishing? Authoring? Is drinking an industry? [pullshow]I want to be useful. I want to provide valuable content to my 2.5 readers (I call them nuclear readers; when they comment on my posts, I call them nuclear reactors…get it…anyone…). A Platform is becoming an increasingly important part of a writer’s business arsenal. Think of a platform as a retarded term for group of buyers. Essentially, publishers want writers to have a market before a book is even contracted. Strange, I know. If I already had an audience, I would print and sell the book myself. (Already, I’ve stream-of-conscious-ing this thing; next step: decorate with Lisa Frank stickers and catch my older sister reading it). [pullthis]So my question is, what is useful? What is my unique knowledge?[/pullthis] Or if not that, what is the unique perspective I can offer? Here’s a list of possibilities:

  • I edit the OWC site, so I know some about small presses and “outsider” authors
  • I write fiction, so I know about lying
  • I have a lot of concepts for niche products, so I could give away million-dollar product ideas for free
  • I’m really good at eating pop-tarts. The trick is to turn them upside-down before eating, so that the icing touches your taste buds directly. Shit, there goes that blog post.
  • I know a little about podcasting
  • I once helped nurse a bird back to health after nearly hitting it with a lawn mower (yes, “nearly.” The bird was emotionally traumatized)
  • I marketed my debut story collection, Charactered Pieces, with a zero-dollar budget, so I know how to spend a lot of time not writing constructive fiction. Related: I blog
Any of these sound good. Why do you, dear reader, come back to a blog? What would bring you back to me?

@ UnRonic, Stephen Krauska offers some truly amazing words about Charactered Pieces. There's so much more than I deserve in the full review, so I urge you to click over the UnRonic to read everything. But here's a snippet: Between his spectacular characters, interesting stories, excellent metaphors all held together with great imagery and vivid description, Ross is a must read. He's young, fresh and down to earth enough to admittedly "steal" lyrics and write an "Acknowledgment" section that sounds more like a bonus story than a Hollywood awards speech. Keep an eye on him, he is bound to turn up more great work in the future. @Outsider Writers Collective - on the above note, there are only 23 copies of Charactered Pieces left of the entire 150 copy print run. I don't think there are any plans to go into another print run anytime in the near future. Of…

Jim Gaffigan is right (and is the source of this post's title). We admire beauty above most else in this country (this world?), despite all that's been taught by teachers (probably ugly teachers) and parents. Beauty shouldn't be all that matters. As ethical beings, we should be able to look beyond physical appeal when evaluating our various options. But the one outlet that has for so long stood strong against the ravages of superficiality has come under attack as of late. Ugly people, you are no longer royalty in the world of novels. Katie Price, Courtney Thorne Smith, Lauren Conrad, Meg Tilly, Pamela Anderson, the list goes on. It's only a matter of time before "chapters" will become a breast synonym and asking someone if they've read any good books lately will initiate locker-room tales of "creasing her spine until even used bookstores wouldn't take her." Bookselling is a business.…

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