E.A. Aymar has been described as “one of the most promising and talented hard-boiled crime writers of his generation.”
I’d like to add “hardest-working” to that description. In addition to recently launching his latest critically acclaimed crime thriller, The Unrepentant(Down & Out Books, March 2019), Aymar’s writes the monthly column “Decisions and Revisions” for the Washington Independent Review of Books, and serves as the Managing Editor of The Thrill Begins—the International Thriller Writers' online resource for aspiring and debut thriller authors.
Add to all that the fact that Aymar also runs the Noir at the Bar series in the Washington, D.C. area and is often invited to speak at a variety of crime fiction/writing events nationwide, and you begin to wonder how in the hell he had any time to speak to me for the following interview:
Welcome, E.A.—great to virtually speak to you!
Thank you for interviewing me, Greg! A few people have recommended I read your work, and I’ve since started (more on that later), and I’m really pleased we’ve had the chance to meet.
Cool, and ditto! Now let’s jump right in:
Many would consider humor and sex trafficking to be oxymoronic (trust me, I know), and yet your new novel, The Unrepentant, has garnered much critical acclaim in spite of—or perhaps dueto—it’s bold blending of humor with unspeakable crimes. What compelled you to write this book in such a way?
I think it needed the humor, you know? It was such a dark topic and, in the early drafts, a dark book. One of the early readers was the writer Alan Orloff, and his first note back to me was, “Well, that’s depressing.” Which is a very Alan Orloff thing to say.
But he was right, and that was helpful. Because I’d forgotten an important element of writing—the reader. I wanted to create a no-holds-barred story, and I included moments of graphic violence, but those instincts originally overwhelmed me. We don’t read fiction for an exhaustive portrayal of unforgivable actions—and, even if I’m wrong about that, it’s not what I want to write. You need to include hope.
I keep thinking of this book as a dark canvas, but one cut with moments of light. Humor offers light.
When someone in an elevator hears you have a new book out and asks you what The Unrepentant is about, what’s your quick pitch to get them hooked and to keep them from calling security?
“A young woman escapes a group of criminals and realizes, to fully free herself, she needs to kill them all. If you liked Kill Bill but didn’t think it went far enough, you’d like this book! …Wait, why are you getting out of the elevator here? This isn’t even your floor.”
Spending months researching and writing about dangerous topics can be emotionally and psychologically taxing. Do you, like me, self-medicate and watch rom-coms to cope with it all, or have you found healthier outlets (meditation? yoga? a sensory deprivation chamber?) to help you endure the darkness you put on pages?
What I wrote was nothing compared to what I read, or the experiences that were relayed to me. And that helped a great deal. My job was much easier than the men and women who work with victims of trauma, and I never forgot that.
But there are always the scarring images or stories, or the things you hear and realize you won’t forget. And that can be very tough to deal with. I can usually distance myself emotionally from that, but I know a lot of writers who can’t. Particularly if they’ve experienced a similar trauma in their lives.
But it does help to realize that the horrors you’re writing about are never as bad as the horrors people experienced. And it becomes a duty to relay them, as best as you can. I’ve said before that I think writers have a duty not to look away, but that depends on what you write about, of course. I managed to gaze at this issue steadily…even though there were times when my gaze broke.
I saw that one of the stops on your current book tour was your old high school. That’s pretty cool. But what kind of principal brings an author of a book like yours in to speak to an auditorium filled with raging hormones and not-yet fully-developed frontal lobes? More importantly, did the cool kids from the school invite you to sit at their cafeteria table afterward?
It was a lot of fun! And I invited myself—a teacher at the school is a friend, and I reached out to her about the idea. Joe Clifford had recommended it, and I took his advice…and it was bad advice. Why did I ever listen to Joe Clifford?
Actually, it wasn’t a bad experience at all, but it was an exhausting one. I talked to groups of about 60-80 kids for the entire day, and I was WORN when it was over. The thing that surprised me was that the kids actually asked questions afterward. I thought they’d sit there, kind of sullen and bored, but they were really engaged. And their questions were sharp! Do I worry about a likable protagonist? What were the steps I took to having a published book? How do you know when to curtail violence?
The principal actually did a show up for one of the talks, and she walked out. And I didn’t swear or anything! But that’s okay. It seems like a very “writer” thing for a figure of authority to disapprove of you, right?
And, no, the cool kids barely acknowledged me. Which, to be fair, is also a very writer thing.
When not busy writing and traveling around corrupting young minds, you serve on the board of the International Thriller Writers (ITW), are the managing editor of The Thrill Begins (ITW’s awesome online resource), and run the Noir at the Bar series for the D.C. area. So my question is, do you rely on caffeine, amphetamines and/or some other performance-enhancing substance to get everything done?
You know, I do drink too much caffeine. I’m really trying to get better about that.
Right now it’s all fine. Everything I do is something I enjoy doing, and that helps a lot. If I didn’t like it, it’d truly be a burden. But I love writing columns for the Independent and working with ITW and running the N@Bs for D.C.
It took me a long time to get published. I started writing seriously in 1997, finished my first book in 2003, and my first book was published in 2013. And The Unrepentant is the first book I’ve written to be widely reviewed and read. So this is all wonderful for me. I’m forever grateful, and excited to call writers I long admired peers and friends. It’s never tiring.
What authors have been your biggest influences as a writer? In what ways, if any, has your Panamanian heritage informed your writing?
The two biggest influences are probably Anne Tyler and John Updike. They’re not the most likely candidates for crime fiction, but I loved their use of prose and domestic drama.
And then, for crime fiction, I love Lawrence Block and Megan Abbott. I can’t think of two other authors I have such urgency to read, or who continually put out wonderful work.
I was born in Panama, and half my family lives there. I went there a lot growing up, and it’s important for me that my son has those same experiences. But Panama as a country doesn’t factor into my writing; rather, the experience of being mixed, or a minority, does.
Because of my mixed race, I’ve always been cast just outside or barely inside social or racial circles, and that relationship has given me a good perspective on people…and I think good training as a writer. I’ve never really belonged somewhere, and that used to be an isolating feeling. That’s changed. I go to malls nowadays, and I see interracial couples everywhere. It’s lovely, and gives me hope that my son (himself Asian and Latin) will never feel that type of isolation.
But for me, that “outsider” status has never left, and it continually informs my characters. Often in ways I’m not conscious of, which I think is helpful.
Who are you currently reading? Are there any up-and-coming authors of crime/noir/thrillers you are especially excited about and see a big future for? What do you mean I’m not one of them?!
Right now I’m reading Jeffery Deaver because I’m moderating a panel he’s going to be on, and I need to get my shit together.
But there are a lot of writers nowadays that mean a lot to me. Gabino Iglesias, Nik Korpon, Sujata Massey, Eryk Pruitt, Jen Conley, Sarah M. Chen, Jennifer Hillier, Shannon Kirk, Tom Sweterlitsch, J.J. Hensley (really anyone who contributes to The Thrill Begins as one of our regular bloggers is a writer I hold in high regard, which is why I chose them)…I could easily go on.
And, honestly, as I mentioned earlier, I’m reading your novel In Wolves’ Clothing and digging it! I had to stop to read Deaver for this panel at the Washington Writers Conference, but I’m excited to come back to your work. The only reason I haven’t finished it is Deaver. Blame him.
Care to tell us a little about what you’re working on next?
I got a new thriller in the works, but my next thing will be a sequel (of sorts) to The Night of the Flood. Sarah M. Chen and I are working on the edits right now and it’s exhausting and, even worse, she doesn’t seem willing to do most of the work this time. But that will hopefully be out in 2020. It all depends on how much I can convince Sarah to do everything and give me all the credit. Fingers crossed!
Well, Sarah and I are virtual friends (and she was part of a feature on this blog a couple of years ago), so I’ll see if I can help convince her to carry all the weight again. But don’t get your hopes up—I’m not very convincing, plus Sarah’s too wise to ever listen to me.
Okay, time to wrap this up. Thank you very much, E.A., for taking time out of your insane schedule to chat. (It’s rare, and possibly even illegal, for two men who’ve written novels about sex trafficking to converse.) Here’s to the continued success of The Unrepentant, and to you claiming a seat at the cool kids table sometime soon!
To learn more about E.A. Aymar and his work, visit his website, or check him out on Amazon or Twitter.
I used to have anger management issues. I say “used to” only because I’m writing this post a week before it goes live and have been told I need to think more positively about the future.
In addition to my chronic grumpiness, I also “used to” drink too much. The good news is I do some of my best thinking and writing while drinking, and always drink when I’m grumpy.
Point is, I could have just titled this post “22 Writing Rules I Created While Awake.” Actually, the real point is I recently created some writing rules. I think they could be useful for aspiring writers, or anyone who gets pleasure from the insanity of others.
Enjoy!
1) Never use an exclamation point unless the scene you’re writing is about a broken traffic signal or putting a child to bed.
2) Whenever you’re unsure of whether to end your novel with a line of dialogue or a line of narrative, just trash the whole manuscript and start writing an entirely different book.
3) Use semicolons like they’re going out of style. Forget what the writing “experts” say; what the hell do they know? Semicolons are cool. Just be sure you; know how to use them properly.
4) Whenever you sense the pace of a scene is too slow, introduce a rabid llama into the story, or, at the very least, switch the POV of the story to that of a rabid llama.
5) Use ADHD as an excuse for everything wrong with your writing process and career—whether it’s your struggle to meet daily word-count goals or to fill gaping plot holes, or … look, squirrels!
6) Whenever someone asks why you don’t write more like [name of famous author], ask them what’s with the brackets and make fun of them for not being able to come up with the name of a single famous author.
7) Having your novel stand out takes more than just writing a great story. It takes sneaking under police tape and placing a copy of the book next to a body. A good cover also helps. (Yes, I realize this isn’t exactly a rule—nor are some of the others—but keep in mind I’m grumpy and drunk and thus can’t be expected to clearly distinguish the difference between rules, guidelines and suggestions.)
8) Keep dialogue tags simple. Try to stick with ‘she/he said’—except when the person speaking is dead, in which case use ‘he/she groaned like the wailing wind.’ (But only italicize the dialogue tags on odd-numbered pages. Don’t ask why. Just do it.)
9) Once you find you’re totally satisfied with every scene and chapter of your manuscript during the editing process, you’ve had too much to drink.
10) To write truly effective vampire erotica, don’t.
11) If you want to become a bigger writer, stand on several boxes of your unsold paperbacks.
12) Do whatever it takes to write 3,000 words each day. Even if it means scrawling “What’s the use?” a thousand times on the wall of your writing nook and spending all night removing paint and drywall from under your fingernails.
13) In writing workshops, never let negative feedback get you down, unless you’re the one receiving it.
14) Don’t think of it as writer’s block. Think of it as mindfulness meditation in front of a laptop—only without the slow, calm breathing or any feelings of inner peace.
15) You needn’t be a shut-in with no friends and a fevered mind to write a compelling novel. But it helps.
16) Write drunk. Edit sober. Look at book sales on psilocybin.
17) You may not earn a great living as a writer, but at least you won’t live up to your parents’ expectations.
18) Whenever someone asks how you can write fiction considering what's happening in the real world, ask them how can they NOT.
19) Fight tooth and nail to protect your writing time. But just be aware your significant other will fight tooth and nail to protect their brunch plans—and might have much longer nails.
20) If you have trouble sleeping, feel out of touch with reality, and often hear voices in your head, congratulations! Most writers would kill for all that, so embrace your good fortune.
21) Whenever someone leaves a negative comment on one of your blog posts, just laugh because the joke’s on them—nobody reads your blog.
22) Never be mean to readers or fellow writers. Save that sh*t for your characters. (The only exception is if a reader or fellow writer upsets you.)
Thanks for reading, or for at least skipping to the end before leaving. Please note that all of the above writing “rules” make for great tweets. I ask only that you credit me with a tag—and that you delete that tag if the tweet doesn’t get at least ten likes/retweets within the first thirty seconds.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling grumpy and have been drinking, so it’s time to work on my novel.
Back in January, I posted a list of my writing-related resolutions for this year. I’d provide a link to that piece right now, but giving you such easy access to it would increase the chances of you holding me to account on all the overzealous objectives I set for myself. So, nah. (In fact, I should probably hide that post.)
That said, there is one resolution I’ve already started making good on in 2019: “Supporting indie authors who are great writers and good people.” So far this has taken the form of tweets whenever a fellow writer launches a badass book, as well as quick mentions of (and links to) them via my blog. But I’d like to do more. Thus, starting today, I’ll be posting occasional interviews with some of my favorite fellow indie authors of crime thrillers—writers who really hustle and whom I feel deserve more than just a little exposure to awesome readers like you.
So without further ado, I’m super-excited to introduce you to my first guest—Elisabeth Elo! Elisabeth’s first suspense novel, North of Boston, was chosen by Booklist as the Best Crime Novel Debut of the Year in 2014. And her gripping new novel, Finding Katarina M., just launched yesterday!
Okay, let’s get to the interview:
First off, Elisabeth, huge congrats on the release and early success of Finding Katarina M. What sparked the idea for this novel? Was writing it a total joy, complete torture, or both?
The impulse for Finding Katarina M. came out my earlier novel, North of Boston, in which the main character’s parents have an interesting background. Her father is from Russia, her mother is from Estonia, and the marriage is about as conflicted as you’d expect. So years ago, well before I started writing Katarina, I was thinking about that Estonian family and wondering what happened to the grandmother.
Was the writing joy or torture? Both. The joy comes from getting lost in the work for hours and forgetting about my real problems. Being “in the flow” contributes to my psychological health, which is constantly in need of stabilization. The torture comes from two sources. First, the chronic uncertainty that attends large projects with no particular boundaries. Creative freedom is what we all want, but it’s also a terrible burden when literally every word is a choice you alone have to make. Second, you’re investing years of your life in a project that may never see the light of day. A person has to be crazy to do that, and I’m aware of the insanity of that choice every single day.
Russia factors largely into the plot of FKM. Was there a lot of research and/or travel involved in the making of the book? Did you drink a lot of vodka to help you capture Russia’s essence?
I was naturally concerned that my complete ignorance of Russia would hamper my writing a novel set in Russia. A saner person would have seen this yawning chasm as a clear warning not to proceed. As I am not a saner person (see above), I ventured forth. You can get a lot of information online, and I am a hungry reader of nonfiction, so I educated myself as best I could with what I could lay my hands on. But I knew I couldn’t write about Siberia without going there. Siberia is its own unique place—different from Russia, different from Asia. I was drawn to its utter vastness, its many ethnic groups, its frightening history, its possible future, and so on. The region is largely unknown to most westerners, and I thought of it as a sort of cultural and geographic frontier. I love novels that take me places I haven’t been and show me things I haven’t seen, and as I believe writers should write the books they want to read, the Siberian setting was a good fit for me.
Your first thriller, North of Boston, earned wide critical acclaim and was named “Best Crime Novel Debut of the Year” by Booklist in 2014. So my question is, can we be best friends? Also, while writing the new novel, were you affected by any fears of a “sophomore slump,” or did you refuse to view prior success as a burden and just write?
I would love to be best friends! Yay!
My problem writing a second novel was pretty simple. Everyone loved the main character of my first novel. They loved her comic, melancholic cynicism. The book had a lot going for it, but the main character was the main attraction. The publisher started advertising a sequel before notifying me. I didn’t really want to write a sequel. I think of each book as a world unto itself and when I’m done plumbing that world’s depths, I’m done.
However, I am not totally stupid. I do realize that a publisher who is ready and eager to publish your work is not someone to sneeze at. So, despite some misgivings, I set to work on a sequel. It was awful. Everything about it was forced and bad. I started disliking the main character because I could feel her inauthenticity. I had liked her a lot in the first book, so I felt like I was actually destroying something good I had made. I was cannibalizing myself.
Part of the reason it’s been five years between books—besides the time involved in writing a research-heavy second novel, and the time involved in having to find a new publisher, and the year it takes to actually publish a book—is that before any of those things could happen, I had to do a major systems reset. I had to completely clean the slate. The result, Finding Katarina M., is its own thing. It has its own reason for being. It’s darker than its predecessor. It’s also more grown-up in that it relies less on an appealing voice and more on plot and setting. What’s the same is its genre-bending nature, the sense of adventure, and its unusual plot twists.
I’ll keep this one short and simple: Why crime fiction?
I honestly don’t know. My first published novel was a humorous literary novel called Save Your Own, written under the name Elisabeth Brink. I didn’t make a conscious decision to switch genres. I just wrote the next book, North of Boston, and was a little surprised when it was categorized as crime. Now Katarina has come along, and it’s considered a thriller. My current work-in-progress could easily cross back into the general fiction category. Mostly what I care about is having a good story to tell.
I often wear an orange prison jumpsuit while working on my crime novels (no joke), but we’re not here to talk about me. Do you have any unique or peculiar writing habits you’d care to share? Do you have any you’d rather NOT share? (If so, tell us those.)
The need for total silence. The tendency to scribble on index cards, which I throw away without reading. Poor writing posture.
Prior to writing crime thrillers and suspense novels, you worked as a halfway house counselor. Did that job impact or inform your fiction in any profound way?
Absolutely. There was a period in my life when I was totally surrounded by people who had been through, or were going through, hard times. My own life had presented serious challenges as well. I learned a lot about the good and bad of human nature, and the very tenuous position that most people are in. Luck plays a far greater role in outward success and inner peace than the lucky are ever likely to admit.
If you could have a conversation with younger you about writing, what one piece of advice would you give her?
Here’s what I’d tell her: “Don’t do it. I’m serious. Don’t. But if you HAVE to, then take yourself much more seriously, honor your talent, make shrewd choices. DO consider the marketplace because you are not writing for yourself alone. If possible, choose a genre and stick with it. Give yourself a ten-year apprenticeship to figure out what writing really means to you and what you may have to offer. Ignore the insufferable prigs who say you must never give up. Writing is not a cross you must bear, and it is perfectly fine to take one year, five years, or the rest of your life off if you feel like it. Be careful who you hang out with. Talk mostly to people you truly admire and respect.”
Who are a few of your favorite authors? What are you currently reading?
I have two favorite authors. The first, Edna O’Brien, writes the most gorgeous prose about her childhood in rural Ireland and her grown-up life as an Irish ex-patriot in London. Her trilogy, The Country Girls, is a work I constantly recommend. My second favorite author, Edward St. Aubyn, writes fictionalized autobiography about growing up in the English aristocracy as an abused child and, later, trying to function in that same society as an adult drug addict. Both of these writers were badly damaged as children and, almost as a defensive strategy, became acute observers of their respective worlds. Their salvation is their gut honesty and their brilliant, startling books. They don’t shy away from any issues, least of all their own. Sometimes their work is too painful to read; other times it’s actually funny. I think we’ve all experienced times when things are so screwed up, the best you can do is laugh.
I’m reading two books at the moment. The first is The Riddle of the Labyrinth by Margalit Fox. It’s about Alice Kober, an archeology professor back in the 1940s who attempted to solve one of the most challenging linguistic riddles in history—the hieroglyphic symbols on a bunch of engraved tablets from the Aegean Bronze Age. She got almost all the way to the solution before her untimely death. In the end someone else took credit for cracking the code, but she had set the painstaking groundwork, all while more famous archeologists (men, of course) were getting her to do their copyediting and other grunt work.
The second book I’m reading is Nora Ephron’s I Feel Bad About My Neck. No explanation needed.
Is there anything you were hoping I’d ask but didn’t?
Not a thing. I usually don’t like to talk about myself. It’s not that I’m shy; I just crave novelty and, to the extent that I am not new to me, I don’t find myself to be that interesting. I couldn’t possibly write a memoir.
But I do want to thank you for inviting me to your blog. I appreciate the time you are taking out of your busy day to support fellow writers.
The pleasure was all mine, Elisabeth—though I think everyone who just read your candid, eloquent and witty responses would argue the pleasure was all theirs. Thank YOU for being such a captivating guest. And not that you need it, but best of luck with the new book!
Back in October I posted the first excerpt from my upcoming novel, and hopefully you were so dazzled by the gripping narrative and dialogue, you forgot the title of the book.
Because the title of the book has changed.
In that post I did mention I’d likely be changing the title, so nothing about this announcement should come as a huge surprise. Still, that shouldn’t stop you from exploding with anticipation right now as I prepare to reveal the official title of my next novel.
[insert pause here to allow for maximum build-up of anticipation, tension and excitement]
Ladies and gentlemen, the title of my upcoming novel—due out this summer—is…
[insert another pause, but shorter to avoid annoying everyone]
INTO A CORNER
Okay, now that that’s over with, below is an excerpt from Chapter 2 of the book. I’m having a blast writing it, by the way. And if you like crime fiction with plenty of grit, heart and dark humor, I think you'll have a blast reading it. (Note: In addition to changing the title, I changed the name of the main character. From Roxy Scott to Odessa Scott. Why? Because Odessa told me to, and she’s not somebody you want to upset.)
From Chapter 2 of INTO A CORNER
There isn’t a color or brushstroke in the world that can fix what’s about to burn.
My saliva slides down the canvas, bringing with it some of the blue and black paint I applied just before spitting. This isn’t a technique. It’s a termination. It’s another ten hours of work and eighty bucks of stretched Belgian linen down the drain. Scratch that. Up in smoke.
The concrete floor practically cracks as I stomp toward the welding torch hanging on the far wall of my studio. My studio is my garage. Especially today.
I snatch the torch from the wall, then grab the handle of the metal cart that holds everything else and rattle it back across the garage. En route, I stop to kick out of the way a cardboard box filled with who the hell cares and continue on toward my oil-based mishap, my abstract attempt at capturing the latest school shooting.
Worst part is, the worthless mess on the canvas is the only thing of value in the room. My garage that doubles as a studio triples as storage space for my dead husband, Wayne. Maybe after torching the painting I’ll torch Wayne’s broken Kawasaki and his socket wrenches. Torch his golf bag and his Astros cap. His flannel shirts and his wedding suit. And all the rest of the crap he didn’t and can’t come back for. All the junk that should be for sale on eBay or Craigslist but isn’t.
Of course, if I did torch Wayne’s stuff, there’d be nothing left in the studio to inspire me. Without all these reminders of abandonment and betrayal and tragedy around, I’d likely end up painting something bright and cheerful. Something light and hopeful. Something so awful it would sell.
Besides, all this clutter is good for my nerves.
Standing a few feet from the canvas, I take one last look at everything that went wrong. The reds and greens and blues that escaped my control. The black flashes I splattered last-minute out of spite. This is the third piece in a row that didn’t turn out as I’d pictured. Didn’t measure up. Can’t be saved.
Used to be my art career wasn’t such a fire hazard. Luckily my side job writing last words for dead people keeps me alive. Almost.
In loving memory of when things weren’t a total shit-show.
From the cart I grab the green gas hose that’s still attached to an oxygen cylinder from the last time I shot flames at my failure. I screw the other end of the green hose to the torch’s oxygen connection. Next comes the red hose. Red as in stop, but I don’t. I take the free end of the hose—the end that’s not attached to a cylinder of explosive fuel—and screw it into the torch’s acetylene connection. You’re supposed to check each hose for any debris before starting up. It’s a safety precaution, but safety has lost its luster of late.
So no protective goggles or respirator or dust mask for me as I open the various valves. And ah, there’s that hiss I love. And hate. The exhale of oxidization. The breath of destruction.
A white flame shoots from the tip of the torch, stopping just short of its target. The heat alone chars a goodbye kiss into the canvas. I take a step closer. Purple-black smoke plumes from the dead painting, summons tears from the corners of my sockets.
We have ignition. The smell, like a bomb’s been dropped on Fine Art 101. Like someone streaked through the Louvre leaking gasoline and lit a match. Like nothing and everything is under control.
Watching my work on fire reminds me of my potential.
I kill the oxygen and the acetylene, then set the torch on the concrete floor. There’s more smoke coming off the canvas than last time. Also bigger flames, but it’s too early to reach for the extinguisher. That would be quitting.
The side pocket of my paint-smeared smock buzzes and buzzes. Probably my neighbor Clark or my neighbor Lucia checking just to make sure the garage is on fire on purpose. Again. Clark and Lucia are good people, but I wish they’d learn to mind their own business whenever I’m cremating remains in the privacy of my own garage. You’d think they’d be used to this by now.
Part of me is tempted to just walk away and let this turn into a major insurance claim, but Mama’s napping inside. Besides, a major insurance claim would surely become a closed arson investigation faster than these here flames are devouring my talent.
Also, the painting is starting to look more like what I was originally going for. That’s the thing with abstract expressionism—sometimes all it takes is a little disfigurement to turn a massacre into a masterpiece.
From the metal cart I grab the extinguisher and blow its load all over what’s burning. My pursed lips keep out all the hot specks of cancer dancing in the air. But that doesn’t keep me from coughing through my nose as I blast my sanctuary with white foam. If someone were videoing any of this, it would go viral.
Here lies the last ounce of my patience and possibility.
My smock buzzes again. My overly concerned neighbors can go to hell.
I set the almost-empty extinguisher down next to the dormant welding torch, then stand up to take everything in. The corner of my garage looks like a studio again. The corner of my studio looks like a cumulus cloud threw up on a mill town. Smells nice, though. Campfires and chemistry sets.
The only thing better than the high you get from creating good art is the high you get from destroying bad art. Especially in an enclosed and poorly ventilated space.
What was a failed painting a week ago and a day ago and a minute ago is now the scorched surface of a strange new planet. A land of boiling blue streams snaking burnt red hills and black craters. A world too beautiful to have ever been inhabited by humans.
Looks like I may have found my new medium.
That’s it. I hope you enjoyed the excerpt and are itching to read more. (Oh, and don’t worry, the book does actually contain dialogue—just not the above clip.)
‘Tis the season for giving, and after spending much of last week shamelessly promoting one of my novels that was on sale, I’m ready to get into the true holiday spirit and focus on my fellow woman and man. Trouble is, I earned less than a dollar for every copy sold during the aforementioned sale, and thus can afford to give gifts only to imaginary people. (My family isn’t thrilled about this, but in my defense, they’re used to me disappointing them.)
So let’s get this merry freakin’ party started. Below are the names of some of my all-time favorite fictional characters, along with what I feel is the perfect present for each.
NOTE: Included in this list are the protagonists from my own novels. I did this not to be self-promotional, but rather because these characters would surely murder me if I didn’t list them and get them gifts. (They’re all still a bit upset with me for nearly getting each of them killed while writing their story.)
Tyler Durden(Fight Club)
Perfect gift: A hospital-grade first-aid kit.
I thought about getting Tyler a prescription for extra-strength Ambien or an elephant tranquilizer to help with his insomnia, but then realized that he, if well-rested, might be a bit of a snooze. I believe one of the greatest gifts in life is the ability to be fully self-expressed. And for someone whose full self-expression is repeatedly punching others and himself in the face until unconscious—one of the greatest gifts you can give is a portable pack containing smelling salts, surgical gloves, hydrogen peroxide, Dermabond, sterile gauze, adhesive tape, bandages, scissors, a splint, fentanyl patches, and, of course, soap made from human fat.
Lisbeth Salander (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)
Perfect gift: Access to Larry Nassar, Jerry Sandusky, Bill Cosby, et. al.
For those of you who are familiar with Lisbeth Salander, the above gift needs no explanation. For those of you who aren’t, she’s everyone’s favorite vigilante rape-survivor hell-bent on destroying men guilty of sexual assault.
Now, I’m not saying violence is ever the answer. Of course, as a man, I don’t get to say what the answer is when it comes to what women like Lisbeth have been through. What I can say, however, is, “Enjoy the gift, girl!”
We all have that one friend who runs a party supply store and lives a secret double-life as a mercy killer helping terminally ill individuals end their lives with dignity. My friend like that is Eli Edelmann, and boy is he going to be tickled when he unwraps a set of helium tanks that can’t be tracked to his own store, and that are each just small enough to fit inside the duffle bag he brings on house calls. I just hope he didn’t get me the same gift.
Celie (The Color Purple)
Perfect gift: A tabono tattoo.
A tabono is an African symbol representing strength, perseverance, persistence and purposefulness. Sure, I could get Celie a tabono pendant instead of a tabono tattoo, but pendants can be easily broken. Tattoos—just like Celie—cannot.
Whether you’ve read the book or seen the movie, or both, you know Celie embodies the strength of the human spirit and the power of forgiveness. You see her transform from a wounded, mercilessly abused woman to a strong, independent and loving individual. Granted, there’s that one really gross scene where she spits in Mister's father's glass of water, but that scene reveals how Celie—even when terrified—simply won’t stand for anyone messing with the people she loves. We should all strive to be as deserving of having a tabono carved into our flesh as Celie is.
Offred (The Handmaid's Tale)
Perfect gift: Membership to a “rage room.”
What do you get the girl who has everything … taken from her by a dystopian totalitarian patriarchal state? Well, the top two gift items that pop up when you Google this question are 1) a cyanide pill, and 2) the opportunity to smash solid objects to smithereens with little risk of getting publicly hanged by theonomic dictators. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think cyanide says “happy holidays” quite like taking a baseball bat to glass does.
Rage rooms started popping up around the globe about four or five years ago, and have really spiked in popularity since around November 8, 2016. And while most rage-room patrons report that five to ten minutes of obliterating old TV sets and dinnerware is enough to get rid of years of pent-up fury, I feel that ten minutes wouldn’t be enough for Offred to get rid of even one morning of pent-up fury. Thus, I’ll be gifting her a rage room Platinum Membership, which includes unlimited visits as well as super-secret transportation to and from the venue in a camouflaged Tesla.
After all that’s happened to Gage Adder—his divorce, his stage-IV pancreatic cancer diagnosis, his having no other choice but to murder a friend—he could really use a victory. And while Lisbeth is not exactly the type of woman to allow a man to set her up on a blind date, once I tell her about Gage’s affinity for poisoning rapists and other miscreants, she’ll at least be down for a coffee with the guy. Granted, Gage’s inoperable cancer is likely to put a damper on any long-term romance, but even if he and Lisbeth end up just being friends for a few months, it could result in some truly beautiful and meaningful executions. And isn’t that really what the holidays are all about?
Amy Dunne (Gone Girl)
Perfect gift: A ride-along with a crime scene investigator.
Brilliant sociopaths are often forgotten about during Christmas, and that’s sad. When I think of the joy—well, maybe not joy, considering she is a sociopath—that Amy will experience upon discovering that someone cared enough to get her a present that taps her most dangerous strengths, it gives me goosebumps.
I really did put a lot of thought into this gift. Amy will be totally in her element, and the CSI agent she rides along with will be shocked by her natural aptitude. After all, Amy is always three steps ahead of everyone—and devious enough to get away with planting fake evidence to catch those for whom there isn’t sufficient real evidence. Just ask her husband.
Humbert Humbert (Lolita)
Perfect gift: Androgen deprivation therapy (ADT).
I had to think long and hard about what to get Humbert for the holidays—just like I’ve had to think long and hard about why I and so many other people root for such a dangerous malcontent whenever we read Lolita.
A little about my choice of gift for Humbert: ADT is a drug treatment that involves the reduction of male hormones—especially testosterone—in a sexual deviant’s system. A sort of chemical castration, if you will. Perhaps I’m being a little too sympathetic toward Humbert, but I feel it would be overly barbaric to physically castrate him, and a shame to drug him out of his brilliant mind with heavy doses of anti-depressants. I mean, c’mon—Humbert is witty, charming, cultured, refined. Once you remove his pathological obsession for prepubescent girls, he’s a helluva guy.
Two years traveling the world posing as a pedophile to catch sex traffickers and rescue young girls can really take its toll on one’s body and mind. And marriage. Zero Slade is living fictional proof of that. Add in the stress of trying to beat an opioid addiction following a recent overdose and getting shot during a recent sting operation, and I think you’ll agree Zero deserves a day of pampering—almost as much as his tough yet devoted wife Neda does. After a full six hours of deluxe spa treatment that includes Swedish massages, organic double-exfoliation facials and warm agave nectar pedicures, Zero and Neda are going to feel so rejuvenated, they just might stay married for another year or two.
To help ensure an ideal spa experience and keep Zero’s mind off of work, I told the spa manager that no female staff from Asia, South America, Central America or Africa who are young enough to possibly be mistaken for minors are to come anywhere near the couple during their visit. Thus, the manager has arranged for all the treatments to be provided by two former Ukrainian weightlifters. Each of these women will be given special instructions on how to carefully work around Zero’s entry and exit wounds.
Jean Louise "Scout" Finch (To Kill a Mockingbird)
Perfect gift: Two rocking chairs and a large bouquet of flowers.
Such items may seem like odd gift choices for a young girl like Scout. That’s because they’re not actually for her. Scout being one of the most sensitive and thoughtful children in all of fiction (and all of nonfiction, for that matter), there’s nothing she’d want more for the holidays than to do something for others less fortunate than her.
The two rocking chairs? They’re for Scout to give to the severely misunderstood recluse Arthur “Boo” Radley, so that she and Boo can sit together regularly on his porch—where she’ll no doubt talk his ear off apologizing to him on behalf of the entire town. As for the bouquet of flowers, those are for Scout to set on Tom Robinson’s grave—where she’ll no doubt talk his ear off apologizing on behalf of humanity.
Odessa Scott: (title classified) [Sorry, can’t share the name of my upcoming book—coming soon to an Amazon near you!]
Perfect gift: A very secluded tiny-house and art studio.
Who here doesn’t struggle each year to come up with the ideal holiday present for the agoraphobic artist in their life who’s wanted in several states for forgery and murder? And yet, despite the hassle, we always seem to find ourselves going the extra mile for these troublesome, creative felons we know and love.
Man, I can’t wait to see the look on Odessa’s face after I blindfold her and drive her out to the tiny-house and separate tiny-studio I bought for her in a remote area of the Davis Mountains in West Texas. Hopefully Odessa will enjoy many years hiding out there, painting abstract expressionistic masterpieces before the law catches up to her. And hopefully she’ll keep my name out of her mouth when they do. Because unlike Odessa, I can’t imagine myself in prison.
Who are some of YOUR favorite literary characters, and what's the perfect gift for them? Share in the comments section below.