I’ve been so busy recovering from the holidays, working on novels, and teaching English to Chinese children via video, I haven’t had much time to create new content for my blog. It’s kind of like how a lot of you have been so busy doing all the things you do, you haven’t had time to read all of my books. So I figured I’d do us both a favor and create a blog post featuring the best bits from my three novels. This way, I get content to fill this space, and you get some of the greatest lines of neo-noir fiction ever written by anyone named Greg Levin.
Now I know what you’re all thinking: “Greg, that isn’t fair to you—it’s not an even trade, you deserve more!” Folks, please, don’t worry about it. It’s my pleasure to share my work.
Okay, fine, if you absolutely insist on not taking advantage of me, I guess you could purchase one of my novels. Actually, you couldn’t pick a better time do so—because for the first time EVER, ALL of my novels are available for JUST 99 CENTS! (Kindle version only.)
Never before haveIn Wolves’ Clothing,Sick to Death, andThe Exit Maneach been priced at under a buck at the same time. So why now, you ask? Because never before have I overestimated my net worth by so much or overspent so badly during the holidays—thus, I need to do everything I can to bring in some extra cash without having to endure the pain and inconvenience of getting a better-paying job or making any real sacrifices.
To help you decide which of my ridiculously low-priced novels you’d like to buy (or gift to a friend), have a look at the rest of this post. Below you’ll find a brief description of each novel, along with what I and three of my five fans believe to be the best lines from each book, as well as praise from renowned writers/reviewers I didn’t even have to bribe.
(Note: Click on any of the red title links above or below to be brought to the Amazon Kindle page for that book. Have I mentioned each book is currently just $0.99!? )
On his best days, Zero Slade is the worst man you can imagine.
After seven years on a team fighting international sex trafficking,
Zero's quite good at schmoozing with pimps, getting handcuffed by cops,
and pretending not to care about the young girls he liberates. But the
dangerous sting operations are starting to take a toll on his
marriage and health. Not to mention his sanity.
Some "killer" lines from IN WOLVES' CLOTHING:
“There’s nothing better than being the bad guy. Long enough to do some good.”
“I tell him I’ll be back to my old self once we’re getting handcuffed in Phnom Penh.”
“I can’t remember if I took an oxy during the flight, so I eat two. They pair nicely with the scotch. It’s good to be home.”
“That’s one of the drawbacks of good narcotics—they often cause you to say cheerful things.”
“Appear too confident and comfortable, and your cover is blown. You are a perverted coward with no shred of decency, so for God’s sake act like it.”
“To get into character, think about the biggest douchebag frat guy you’ve ever met, imagine him with several million dollars, multiply his money and demeanor by ten, and then act like that guy. Right up until the cops remove your handcuffs and thank you.”
“Before I joined Operation Emancipation, I was just like the dozens of people fuming at Gate A-11 right now. Flight delays would ruin my day. Now? Now I can smile and whistle while walking through a pediatric cancer ward.”
“Whenever out with others, I can do pleasant. I can do content. I’m even able to muster empathy and interest on occasion. It’s not as easy as doing conniving, creepy, sleazy and sinister, but sometimes you just have to leave work at the office.”
“Barrett and Malik just arrived. A former Navy Seal and recovering coke addict, and a former Secret Service agent who got fired for punching a senator in the throat. Finally, some people I can relate to.”
“Maybe Caleb really is the bright and shining star Fynn has described. Maybe he’s self-actualized and stable and moral. Maybe he’s undamaged goods. If so, he’ll never fit in.”
“Human trafficking has a tremendous future. Even brighter than drug trafficking. It’s why many big-time dealers are diversifying—dipping their toes into the sex trade.”
“The reaction I’m looking out for is anger, which is the natural reaction and thus unacceptable. I’m also looking out for sadness, especially tears. Tears are completely normal. This job is not.”
“It’s more serious than I suspected. Caleb isn’t an alcoholic or a drug addict or suffering from PTSD. He isn’t depressed or bipolar or a masochist. He’s a Buddhist. I can overlook a lot of shit in a Jump Team member, but total enlightenment is where I have to draw the line.”
“And here I am, toasting a silver and sapphire blue ceramic container, trusting that the Eden Funeral Home got things right. That there were no mix-ups in the crematorium. I don’t like drinking with strangers.”
Praise for IN WOLVES' CLOTHING
“Levin movingly conveys the horrors of child sex trafficking in this effective thriller. He provides a window into one of the world's darkest underbellies, while somehow managing to insert appropriate lighter moments. This author deserves a wide audience.” —Publishers Weekly
“A riveting, fast-paced thriller. In Wolves' Clothing is an immensely satisfying read by an author with a genuine flair for originality and narrative-driven action. Unabashedly recommended.” —Midwest Book Review
“I highly recommend In Wolves' Clothing to those who love dark crime fiction and thrillers, as well as edgy literary and transgressive fiction— especially Chuck Palahniuk fans.” Lauren Sapala, author of Between the Shadow and Lo and The INFJ Writer
“Truly original and enthralling. Levin's blazing prose and acerbic wit capture the madness and the humanity of working undercover in the darkest corners.” —Radd Berrett, former Jump Team member, Operation Underground Railroad
“A sharp novel, both in action and in style, with fabulous dialogue and a flawed hero you'll love.” —Olga Núñez Miret, Rosie's Book Review Team
“There’s no escaping the adrenaline-packed punch of emotions that conclude with a thrilling ending. An unforgettable novel.” —Paul Falk, NetGalley reviewer
When Gage Adder finds out he has inoperable cancer,
things really start to look up for him. He leaves his
soul-crushing job, joins a nice terminal illness support group,
and takes up an exciting new hobby: serial killing.
Some "killer" lines from SICK TO DEATH:
“Over the previous six months, there was only one thing Gage had become more efficient at than killing… and that was dying.”
“Gage had never cared much for dark comic books. He was simply becoming the main character in one.”
“He never praised me whenever I’d hit a home run in little league, but I kill a few people and all of the sudden I’m his idol.”
“That’s the problem. They potentially have decades and decades ahead of them. A long and bright future. Too much life is getting in the way.”
“It was like picking teams for kickball at recess, only there were three team captains instead of two doing the picking. And getting picked meant you’d soon be dead.”
“Dying was the least of Gage’s problems.”
“Prison? You’re worried about prison? You’re already on death row, my friend.”
“It’s best to discuss mass murder behind closed doors, and Jenna lived the closest.”
“Learning he might not be dying really threw a wrench into Gage’s plans. He didn’t see how he could go on killing if there was a chance he’d go on living.”
“The problem with celebrating a birthday in a hospice center is all the oxygen.”
“Sitting in a hospice room staring at three uncommon zombies, the sickly triplets behind the most popular murder spree of the century.”
“That’s one way to lose your religion. Watching your deity vomit next to some road kill.”
"We’d be dead. Big deal. Death’s not such a long drop these days. Not for us."
Praise for SICK TO DEATH
“A tour de force dark comedy.”—Craig Clevenger, author of cult classics The Contortionist's Handbook and Dermaphoria
“A satirical thriller that says serious things as well as telling a stonking story. It'll appeal to readers who enjoy Dexter's adventures. For me, it ranks alongside Josh Bazell's Beat The Reaper.”—Rowena Hoseason of Murder, Mayhem & More
“Uniquely entertaining and captivating. Levin's prose is playful yet ominous, and the negotiation of this unique spectrum produces some truly great dialog and passages. He takes this story in bold directions that keep the pages turning. Definitely worth checking out!” —Bryce Allen, author of The Spartak Trigger and Idol Threat
“Darkly funny, with literary undertones. Look past the sharp wit and clever turns of phrase to find a novel that speaks to man's purpose in life, escalated by his impending death. When the third act begins to spin out of control, the author clinches it with a clever twist that leaves a very satisfying ending. I'd highly recommend this book to anyone ... except maybe the terminally ill.”—Scott Kelly, author of [sic] and the Keep the Ghost Trilogy
“Greg Levin has done it again with Sick to Death. As in his previous books, Levin weaves dark humor and a human touch into every chapter of this transgressive tale. Highly recommended.”—J.R. Hardenburgh, hard-to-please reader
Suicide should come with a warning label: “Do not try this alone.”
Eli Edelmann never intended on taking over his father's party supply store.
Nor did he ever intend on making a living through mercy killing.
But life doesn't always go according to plan.
Some "killer" lines from THE EXIT MAN:
“I wasn't some monster looking to feast on the weaknesses of salvageable souls. I saw myself as a noble purveyor, a humanist catering to the completely vanquished.”
“I was an equal opportunity executioner.”
“After a year or so of helping people die, I was really starting to reach my full potential.”
“The weekend had been interesting and eventful, but it was time for me to return to my normal life of selling party supplies and lining up suicides.”
“It’s hard enough meeting someone you find beguiling enough to want their contact information. Start nitpicking about a few past indiscretions or a police record and you’ll end up dying sad and alone.”
“A team was forming. And what a pair we were. Collectively we represented multiple consecutive life sentences—me for my illicit side job; her for a single mistake.”
“You get used to offering condolences and shaking hands with family members of the person you helped put in the casket or urn before you.”
“It wasn’t enough sneaking around helping sick people disguise their suicide as natural death. I needed some excitement in my life.”
“She had become an integral part of my life—just not the part with all the death.”
“There’s nothing quite like a perfectly executed suicide to get you feeling right again.”
Praise for THE EXIT MAN
“The sharpest, funniest voice in U.S. literature since Carl Hiaasen. Greg Levin's second novel is a corker.”—If These Books Could Talk
“Imagination-capturing and fresh. I highly recommend reading The Exit Man, but strongly advise: Do not try this at home!” —TNT Reviews
"The Exit Man is black humor at its best. If you like dark humor, buy it now." —D.E. Haggerty, author of Life Discarded and Buried Appearances
“A surprisingly delightful and exciting read. Levin’s deft wrangling of the language lifts the subject matter from macabre to entertaining, from WTF to LOL, from “you’ve got to be kidding me” to “I’m sticking around for the ride.”—Michael Smart, author of the Dead Reckoning, Deadeye, and Deadlight
“Smart dark humor wrapped in an inventive story. Levin handles the topic of assisted suicide with respect while busting conventional thinking with clever humor and quirky characterization. A unique, inventive, and well-written novel.” —Lisa Haneberg, author of the Spy Shop Mysteries
Thank you very much for stopping by. I’m truly humbled by you letting me show you how amazing my books are. Don’t forget to take advantage of the very limited time offer—just 99 cents for each of my three novels! Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.
DO IT!
(For those of you in the UK, you can take advantage of the book sale by clicking here.)
Oh, and tune in next time, when I (expect to) share some exciting news about my upcoming novel, INTO A CORNER.
If you’re into mysteries featuring macho-man private investigators and familiar tropes that have crowded the crime fiction genre for decades, don’t read anything by Cheryl A. Head. If, however, you dig mysteries that steer clear of clichés and delve into more intriguing territory, you’re going to want to pick up one of Head’s novels.
Which one? Doesn’t matter—they’re all damn good, damn entertaining, and damn fearless. Sorry for all the swearing; it’s just, Head is a badass. She takes her mysteries where most mysteries fear to tread—presenting a highly diverse cast of characters and exploring challenging social issues that grab you as a reader without knocking you over the head.
Book 4 of Head’s riveting Charlie Mack Motown Mystery series—Judge Me When I'm Wrong—just launched in October (via Bywater Books). Book 5 of the series—Find Me When I’m Lost—is due out in mid-April and already available for pre-order.
As busy as Head has been knocking out great novels, she was kind enough to let me bug her with a bunch of interview questions … and took the time to provide me with some very insightful, thought-provoking responses. So let's get to it!
Welcome, Cheryl, and congrats on your latest: Judge Me When I'm Wrong.This book—along with the three others in the Charlie Mack series—is excellent. I get that this isn’t actually a question, but I figured you wouldn’t hate receiving the praise.
Writers always love every bit of praise, so thank you!
The deeper you get into the Charlie Mack series, have you found it easier to keep things compelling—since you’re “in the groove”—or do you find it harder because readers are always expecting more excitement, twists, and surprises?
I’m finding it a bit harder to come up with overall case plots. The big ideas. I’m always my first reader, and I want to keep myself amused, engaged and learning something new. The concept for Book 5, Find Me When I’m Lost, was already in the back of my mind, but as I think of Book 6 and beyond, I have momentary panic about not having fresh material. In actuality, I know that won’t be the case because I have more ideas than Prince had songs in the vault. For instance, I know I want to explore more about the fight Charlie’s mother undertakes with Alzheimer’s. I know I want to focus on Don Rutkowski’s (Charlie’s business partner) internal machinations with racism. I want to introduce a new partner into the Mack Private Investigation firm. I just have to figure out how to seamlessly incorporate those ideas within one of Charlie’s investigations.
One of the many reasons readers (including myself) enjoy your novels is how deftly they rep the diversity that makes America America today. Your stories don’t shy away from important and often challenging themes and issues around diversity—while simultaneously keeping readers riveted and entertained. Who have been the biggest influences on you and your ability to write such real, daring, and captivating fiction?
Wow. Thank you for getting what I do and enjoying it. I’m jazzed by that.
I have to say I see myself as a bit of a race woman. By that I mean I think all the time about our country’s ongoing wrestle around diversity issues. In my opinion, we won’t live up to the potential we have as a country unless we confront the systemic issues of race which include class, public policy, religion, public education, poverty, etc.). I’m taking a small bite out of the apple to write about some of these issues through the prism of protagonist who is African American and lesbian. I feel compelled to do that. I want the kernels of truth I present to be ideas that build up our empathy for each other. I know, without a doubt, that people across the globe have many of the same aspirations, hopes and goals. These universal desires, at a very primal level, connect us as human beings.
I guess my best inspiration for writing about tough subjects is being a wide-eyed, open-eared observer. I also believe I’m very empathetic person. I try to pour a lot of that awareness into my writing. However, I haven’t yet surrendered myself to that process. If I do, I know I’ll write a very good book. I say “if” rather than “when” because to do so, I’ll have to give up my emotional control. I don’t do that very easily.
A little while back, author (and our mutual Twitter pal) Matt Coleman wrote a piece for Book Riot in which he opined that the best crime fiction authors today are women writers, writers of color, and writers from the LGBTQ community. Would you agree? Care to comment? And please, don’t let the fact that I’m a straight white male with thin skin influence your response! Bring it!
You asked for it, so I’m going to bring it. LOL.
Of course, Matt is a genius and a super-nice person. I totally agree with him. The glimpses of brilliance in literature, and in the arts in general, often come from creatives on the margins. There is something about being held back, unseen, discounted, pigeonholed, and ignored that makes one write with furious, truthful, authority. These stories are born of passion, pain, promises, perversion, perspective, pathology, pensiveness, pleasure, proximity, and purpose. They come from LGBTQ writers, writers of color, women writers, any group really outside of the privileged status of white, cis, male, straightness, and enrich our literary canon. There are so many contemporary mystery writers to point to as an example of this brilliance: Attica Locke, Steph Cha, Walter Mosley, Sujata Massey, Tracy Clark, Joe Ide, Penny Mickelbury, Shawn Cosby. I could go on for another ten minutes. And these are only the names of one group–writers of color, and in one literary genre–crime/mystery.
A lot has been written and said recently about the strides the publishing world’s making in terms of diversity. Do you feel enough is being done to bring new voices to crime fiction, or is there still a long way to go?
There is a lot being done to bring new voices to crime fiction, and still a lot to do. 2019 was a bad year for the crime writing community in terms of navigating diversity issues. There were just too many head-in-the-sand, tone deaf, bull-in-the-china shop bungling of things. We’ve all heard, and read, about the acts of commission and omission this year with some of our major conferences, and organizations in our community. Hopefully, 2020 will be smoother. Notice has been given, and I believe the community understands more precisely that embracing diversity as a bona fide value within a system is hard work. Not surface work. I could say more, but I’ll save it for a conference panel. LOL. On a positive note, I’ll point to the formation of the Crime Writers of Color group by Walter Mosley, Kellye Garret, and Gigi Pandian. It is a wonderfully effective support group.
When did you first realize you wanted to be a crime fiction author? What do you like most about writing in this genre? What do you find most challenging?
I guess I didn’t know I wanted to be a crime fiction writer until maybe after reading both Barbara Neely’s Blanche series, and early installments of Sue Grafton’s alphabet series. I’ve always been a fan of the genre. The bulk of my work as an adult (before taking an early retirement) was in television production, so I’ve always visualized mystery/crime stories and been a fan of the movie/TV versions of the genre. I’ve also been acutely aware of the diversity—or lack thereof—in those offerings.
I wrote my first mystery in four months. It was a cathartic exercise after a particularly grueling experience writing historical fiction. That first mystery novel (which I self-published) connected me to my current publisher and eventually became Book 1 of the Charlie Mack Motown Mystery series.
My only challenge is carving out the time to write. I love writing crime fiction. It gives me the opportunity to opine about the dark side of human nature, present the perspectives of the underdog, point to mankind’s shared commonalities, poke at power, celebrate those who are inherently heroic, and murder people who need to be killed.
Who are a few of your favorite authors? What was the last novel you read? What are you currently reading?
I’ve already mentioned some of my favorites. I read, and enjoy, the works of a lot of male authors because I really do like the tough protagonists; the archetypal noir loners with a code of honor. It’s the reason I love westerns so much. Some of the novels I’ve read recently include: Sarah Paretsky’s Shell Game—V.I. Warshawski is one likeable, kick-ass P.I.; Tara Laskowski’s One Night Gone—wonderful imagery; and one of the books in Alex Segura’s Pete Fernandez mystery series. On my bedside table—on rotation—is a Joe Ide novel and Loren Estleman’s Black and White Ball. My reading for the last month has been short stories, so I’m sort of behind on novels.
What can we look forward to in Book 5 of the Charlie Mack series? Do you have any plans to write something outside of that very popular and successful series?
Book 5 (out in April) is a complex story of family betrayal and murder, but there’s some fun, catty, fireworks between Charlie and her ex-husband’s new wife; and there’s been a change of personnel in Charlie’s P.I. firm, which adds additional intrigue.
I’ve been slowly working on a stand-alone set in Washington, DC with a new, male P.I. I’ll finish it sometime this spring. The one thing I came to grips with in writing the new piece is I don’t have the same affinity and affection for DC that I have for Detroit. So, Go Lions! And boo to the football team whose racist name I don’t speak aloud. Is that too much information? LOL
Is there anything you were hoping I’d ask but didn’t?
No. But I can tell you that I’ve decided 2020 will be my year to say “no.” I overcommitted in 2019 to work that was fun, like conferences and award-judging, and to things I believed in, like panels and presentations about diversity, but I didn’t have as much time this year to just think and write. In 2020, I’ll be thinking and writing and reading for pleasure. Maybe I’ll look for a writing retreat to facilitate meeting those goals.
That being said, thank you so much for the opportunity to respond to these thoughtful questions. And let me say, I admire your work—so keep on doing it! I look forward to reading your new novel in 2020.
Well, thank YOU, Cheryl—for the kind words, and for your time and candor. I wish you continued success with your writing and life, and look forward to reading everything you have coming down the pike!
I know what you’re all thinking: “Really, Greg, you’re going to co-opt a beloved Christmas song and turn it into an anthem that celebrates criminal activity—all just to help promote the types of books you write?”
In my defense, YES.
Okay, maybe not all of you are thinking what I’ve assumed above. My parents, for instance, are probably thinking, “Greg, what the hell are you even doing with a beloved Christmas song? We’re Jewish!”
I guess the point I’m trying to make is, enjoy!
Here’s my version of The Twelve Days of Christmas—with a heavy twist of crime fiction added in for good measure:
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
An hour every day to just read.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read.
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Three dead bodies
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Four red herrings
Three dead bodies
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Fiiiiive anti-heroes
Four red herrings
Three dead bodies
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Six snitches snitching
Fiiiiive anti-heroes
Four red herrings
Three dead bodies
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Seven villains killing
Six snitches snitching
Fiiiiive anti-heroes
Four red herrings
Three dead bodies
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Eight perps escaping
Seven villains killing
Six snitches snitching
Fiiiiive anti-heroes
Four red herrings
Three dead bodies
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read.
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Nine narrators lying
Eight perps escaping
Seven villains killing
Six snitches snitching
Fiiiiive anti-heroes
Four red herrings
Three dead bodies
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read.
On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Ten gangs uniting
Nine narrators lying
Eight perps escaping
Seven villains killing
Six snitches snitching
Fiiiiive anti-heroes
Four red herrings
Three dead bodies
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Eleven PIs peeping
Ten gangs uniting
Nine narrators lying
Eight perps escaping
Seven villains killing
Six snitches snitching
Fiiiiive anti-heroes
Four red herrings
Three dead bodies
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Twelve cases closing
Eleven PIs peeping
Ten gangs uniting
Nine narrators lying
Eight perps escaping
Seven villains killing
Six snitches snitching
Fiiiiive anti-heroes
Four red herrings
Three dead bodies
Two alibis
And an hour every day to just read!!!
There, see—that wasn’t so bad or disrespectful or inappropriate or sacrilegious or blasphemous, right?
I don’t know what's gotten into me lately. Something's wrong—I’ve been experiencing an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Sure, there are worse things than gratitude to come along and suddenly start ruling your life, but for someone who’s been sarcastic and cynical and annoying since birth, becoming immensely grateful out of the blue can be a real shock to the system.
Imagine waking up one morning and instead of your first thought being, “I wonder how the universe is going to punk me today” or “People who change lanes without signaling should be executed,” it’s more along the lines of “Being alive is a wondrous gift!” or “Hugs aren’t so bad!” Honestly, I don’t even know who I am anymore. Oddly enough, my family and friends hope my existential crisis continues.
Maybe it's because Thanksgiving's right around the corner. Maybe it’s the meditation I’ve been doing daily. Or my long walks through the woods behind my house. Or the strange magical powder made from a Southeast Asian plant I recently started ingesting to help with my anxiety. (Don’t worry, it’s legal—the powder I mean, not my anxiety.) All I know for sure is I’m more grateful than ever.
While I hope this whole gratitude thing doesn’t hinder my ability to write dark, disturbing novels, I can't help but mention the people and things I'm most grateful for with regard to my fictional—er, I mean fiction—career.
Readers/followers/subscribers. People have extremely busy lives. There are so many other things they must do and could be doing that don’t involve reading a single word I write. So whenever someone lets me in—even if it’s through the tiniest sliver and for only a few minutes here and there, I don’t take it for granted.
I realize “readers/followers/subscribers” is a bit of a clunky term to be used by someone who is supposed to be good with words, but I’m not yet comfortable using the term “fans”—mainly because I once used that term when referring to a friend who has read all my books, and she said, “Fan? Don’t get carried away, Greg.” I’m actually glad she said it. I am. No, really, I’m grateful to her for keeping my ego in check, even if I’ve yet to fully recover from that crushing blow.
My Launch Team. For those of you who don’t know what a launch team is, you must not love my writing enough to be on mine. A launch team is a group of people who not only enjoy reading an author’s work, they're also are eager to help spread the word about each new book that author puts out so that many other people can enjoy reading the author’s work. And man, I can’t tell you how grateful I am to the dozens of people on my Launch Team. I’m especially grateful that none of them jumped ship when I ended up not launching my upcoming novel (Into a Corner) when I said I was going to—even though many of them had already taken the time to read an advanced reader copy (ARC) of the book and prepared an early review to help build buzz around it.
As somebody with minimal patience, I don’t deserve much of it in return. So, to each member of my Launch Team (and you know who you are, seeing as how you’ve received plenty of weird emails from me in recent months)—a huge THANK YOU for all of your continued support, encouragement, and enthusiasm around my writing efforts. And don’t worry, Into a Corner will (almost) definitely be published in 2020. (2021 at the latest.)
Kind, generous colleagues in the writing community.Emphasis on “community.” This year—more than any other in my writing career—I’ve had the great privilege of meeting and gaining invaluable insight and support from a whole host of authors who write the same kinds of books I write but who have sold many more copies. Some of these authors I’ve met only virtually; others in person. All of them, however, have been extremely generous with their time and, more importantly, their assistance in putting me on a path toward literary fame and fortune. (Mind you, it’s a long and crooked path inhabited by giant scorpions, plus I keep misplacing my compass.)
The internet. I met my wife through it. I found my cats through it. Most importantly, I learned the absolute best way to dispose of a dead body through it.
As instrumental as the internet has been in my real life, it’s been positively indispensable to me with regard to my writing life. Were it not for the worldwide web and its dark second cousins, I wouldn’t have a fraction of the readers/followers/subscribers I have, wouldn’t be able to work in just my underwear most days, and wouldn’t be a subject matter expert on such fun topics as euthanasia, sex trafficking, poison, or minimizing your carbon footprint when you murder someone. It has truly made me a better person.
My agent (on the TV side). I still don’t really know how I lucked into getting a TV/film agent at CAA a few years ago, but I’m not here to over-think things—I’m here to express how freakin’ grateful I am that my agent’s on the brink of sealing yet another option deal with a major TV studio/network for my novel The Exit Man. (Sorry, can’t disclose the studio’s name yet.) I’ve been here before—with HBO in 2015, and with Showtime in 2017—unfortunately neither of those option deals resulted in a TV show. Here’s hoping the third time’s a charm. Regardless, it’s an absolute honor just to have one of my books be in the position for a TV adaptation to happen.
(Some of you may have noticed I didn’t mention my literary agent here. It’s not because I’m ungrateful to my literary agent; it’s because I don’t have one. Yet. Working on it, and it’s not as easy as you might think. Well, either that, or my books aren’t good enough for NYC despite being good enough for Hollywood—which is sort of the writing-world equivalent of telling an actor they have a face for radio.)
My physical and mental health. Not a day goes by where I don’t thank my brain and body for continuing to allow me to write novels. You’d be surprised how taxing it can be to sit on your ass and make stuff up. Seriously, it takes a lot of back and wrist and finger muscles to keep words flowing onto a screen day after day for hours on end. And it takes a lot of brain muscles to ensure that the words flowing onto the screen make some semblance of sense and tell a story that doesn’t suck. Oh, and don’t even get me started on how many heart and mind and gut muscles it takes to deal with all the rejection and sales slumps—not to mention all the demands of imaginary people.
So yeah, I’m super-grateful for my physical and mental/emotional) health. That’s why I exercise and meditate every day, and why I limit my use of alcohol and drugs to when I’m awake.
My wife and daughter’s support and patience.This isn’t the first time I’ve used this blog to express how grateful I am to my wife and daughter for not having left me or murdered me or worse. And it won’t be the last, as I would very much like to stay married and loved and alive. Living with any fiction writer isn’t easy. Living with an HSP (Highly Sensitive Person) fiction writer like me is next to impossible. (“Would you people three rooms over please stop breathing so much—I’m trying to write a novel in here!”) Think I’m exaggerating? I once yelled at my daughter for feeding the cats too loudly while I was busy trying to dispose of an imaginary body.
The hell that writers like me put our characters through is a warm bubble bath compared to the hell we put our loved ones through. Because the hell we put our loved ones through is real, despite the fact that we do it in the name of fiction. Fiction that in most cases relatively few people will read. Fiction that rarely pays the bills—or even a bill. Fiction that … is fiction.
So, if you’re a writer who lives with other people, and you’re still married and loved and alive, you’d better thank whatever god or gods you believe in. Thank heaven. Thank your lucky stars. And, most importantly, thank those people—the ones three rooms over who are breathing too much and feeding the cats too loudly and putting up with your crazy bullshit but still letting you write since they know how big a part of you it is. Thank them right now. Thank them tomorrow. Thank them every damn day. Because even if you never sell a single copy of whatever you’re working on, you, my friend, have hit the jackpot.
Just like I have.
Your turn. Feel free to share what you're most grateful for—either as a writer or as a normal human being.
Oh, and Happy early Thanksgiving for those who celebrate it!
Long before I became a novelist, I used to imagine being one. I thought about how cool it must be to write all day and roam the night. I thought about the freedom of having no boss, nobody telling you what to do on the page or off it. Just infinite creativity, full expression, pure human experience.
So, yeah, I used to daydream about life—particularly nightlife—as a fiction writer.
And then sh*t got real.
Here’s how I imagined a typical night in a novelist’s life before I started writing long fiction fifteen years ago:
You sidle up to the bar and nod at Charlie. You needn’t utter a word—Charlie knows your drink. Has known it for years. Knew it before your first novel changed the landscape. Knew it before you declined the National Book Award because you wanted to stay hungry. Knew it before the signed photo of you hanging on the wall behind the bar was hung on the wall behind the bar.
Bourbon, neat.
The beautiful woman you’ve pretended not to notice sitting on the barstool to your left, babysitting a martini, glances at you, then at the photo, then at you again. “Hey, isn’t that you up there?” she asks, pointing at your framed black-and-white smugness.
You shake your head. “It was.”
The woman knits her brow, then turns her attention back to her martini.
Charlie hands you a lowball filled too high. You hand him a twenty—you try to, anyway. He shakes his head and says it’s on the house. You shake your head and say he’s an enabler, then drop the twenty into the tip jar.
Charlie tells you he just finished your latest book. Says it’s your best one yet. You tell him you didn’t tip him to lie to you. He laughs, then asks what you’re working on now.
“Just this bourbon,” you say.
The martini woman scoffs. “You know, being so clever all the time actually isn’t.”
You nod and tell her you’re going to borrow that line.
“Be my guest,” she says. “You could use some new lines—I’ve read your last two novels.” She then knocks back her martini, grabs her bag from a hook below the bar, and leaves without another word.
And just like that, you’re smitten. But you’re not going to let falling in love ruin your mood.
The air. It’s thick with booze. Broken hearts. Bad intentions.
It’s going to be a good night.
And here’s how a typical night in a novelist’s life (mine, anyway) ACTUALLY looks:
“What the hell are you doing in there?” your wife shouts from the living room. “You said you were just going to your writing office to grab your phone. Come back here and watch this show with me.”
“Sorry baby, still looking for my phone,” you say as you continue typing ferociously yet as quietly as possible. “Be right there—didn’t realize the commercials were over already.”
Your wife reminds you that Netflix doesn’t show commercials and that you yourself had asked her to pause the show. And that you had promised you wouldn’t sneak off to write tonight.
“I’m not writing,” you say, your fingers tapping as fast as lightning and as light as a feather on the keyboard. You haven’t had a creative spurt like this in weeks. What’s flying onto the screen might be the best thing you’ve written in years.
“Then why do I hear tapping?” your wife shouts from three rooms away.
You stop typing and take a swig from one of the cans of Monster you keep hidden in your writing office and say, “That was just my fingertips drumming on the desk to help me think where I left the darn phone.” You then take a swig from the flask of vodka you keep hidden behind the cans of Monster.
Your wife says don’t worry, she’ll call your phone to help you find it.
“Wait! I think I know where it is now,” you say while an idea for an amazing plot twist for Chapter 16 pops into your head and has you frothing at the mouth, though the frothing may just be from the energy drink. “Yup, here it is—it had slid under the printer.” You take another swig of Monster, and two more swigs of vodka.
“Finally,” your wife says. “Now get back here so we can finish watch—”
“Ohhh nooo,” you call out slowly, stalling to give you time to finish your notes for the killer scene you just thought of. “There are a bunch of text messages from Ted. He says Janet just dumped him and he’s in a really dark place. Says to please call him. Says he needs someone to talk to or he might do something crazy.”
“Oh my god, call him!” your wife cries out. “Poor Ted!”
“Okay, calling him now. Thanks for understanding, baby. So sorry—I promise we’ll finish that episode later tonight.”
You feel awful and you don’t deserve her but more importantly you just bought yourself at least an hour of uninterrupted writing time, fueled by your unstoppable creative spirit and your Monster.
But first you need to tweet something witty about #writerslife and #amwriting. Lucky for you, your wife doesn’t have a Twitter account.
You send out a tweet about how nothing stands between you and your novel, and the tweet already has two likes from hardworking, dedicated writers just like you who are busy browsing Twitter instead of writing. Time to get back to your manuscript. But first, you take another quick peek at your tweet to make sure it doesn’t contain any typos or anything and … SWEET—another like!
Okay, no more screwing around. This novel isn’t going to write itself, and you can’t risk falling out of the zone you’re in right now. You click back to the manuscript and … damn it. You just realized the amazing plot twist you came up with a few minutes ago has a huge hole in it and will never work.
No biggie. You know you’ll come up with an even better twist by the time you get to Chapter 16. In the meantime, you’ll just keep working on Chapter 2, moving the story forward, building tension, increasing the stakes—basically creating a gritty crime thriller that will be impossible for readers to put down. You’ve got this! But first, you check your email.
In your inbox is a message from an agent who a month ago asked to see the manuscript for the novel you finished six months ago but have yet to get published. Before, opening the email, you pray to God this is “the one,” then apologize to God about you being agnostic up until now. You remind God you gave five dollars to a homeless man the other day, then click on the email to open the message. The agent says she’s really glad you gave her a chance to read your manuscript (cool, cool) and says she really enjoyed it (yeah?!) and thinks the book will have no problem finding a publisher (YES!), but that she doesn’t feel she’s the right person to champion it and thus cannot offer you representation at this time.
You shout a string of obscenities, and your wife asks if everything’s okay. “Yes, sorry,” you say. “Just letting Ted know how upset I am about him and Janet splitting up.” Your wife tells you to try to exhibit a more positive vibe for Ted. You say sure thing, then cover your mouth with your mouse pad and scream the rest of the obscenities you know into it.
You take a few deep breaths and start to calm down. You convince yourself there are plenty of agents out there who’d kill to rep you, and that the book in question is your breakout novel. You slap yourself in the face, tell yourself to toughen up, and vow to keep plugging away at the new manuscript no matter what as soon as you check to see how your tweet is doing.
Your tweet has no new likes. Also, you just received another rejection notification via email. And worst of all, your flask is empty. You decide to use all this frustration and dejection as fuel, to have it ignite your soul and elicit from you the most harrowing and gripping set of chapters you’ve ever written. Halfway through the first sentence, you realize you haven’t checked the sales of your existing books since dinner. You check. You haven’t sold any books since last week when your mother bought yet another copy and forced it on a friend.
You start crying a little—partly due to your failures as a writer, and partly due to Ted and Janet breaking up. Then you remember Ted and Janet didn’t actually break up, but this doesn’t cheer you up because you’ve never really liked Janet.
You pop one of the Xanax you keep hidden behind the Monster and the vodka in your office.
Your wife knocks on your office door. “You still talking to Ted?” she asks.
“Hold on a second, Ted,” you say into your pretend phone, which you then pretend to cover even though your office door is closed and your wife can't see you. “Yeah," you say to her. "Poor guy’s a mess.”
Your wife says she thought she heard you crying. You say that was actually Ted— that you accidentally put him on speaker for a moment there. She asks why she hasn’t heard you say anything besides several curse words since you started talking to Ted. You tell her Ted just needs someone to listen to him right now.
Another plot twist idea pops into your head. You tell your wife you feel bad for making Ted hold like this and need to get back to lending him your ear.
“Sorry about that, Ted,” you say into your pretend phone loud enough for your wife to hear. “Please continue. Yeah, you were saying you don’t know how you’re going to get through this, and I was telling you I know you will, and that I’m here for you, and that you have so much to live for.”
Through the door, your wife says you’re a good friend. A good man. A great husband. Says she’s lucky to have you in her life.
You take a break from staring at your manuscript to cover your pretend phone, then tell your wife, “Ditto.”
“Oh, and by the way,” your wife says, a little bite in her voice, “I have your phone.”
She pauses for your heart attack, then says, “You left it on the couch before running to your writing office to find it.”
Says she was just on a real phone call—with Janet. Says Janet’s doing great. Ted too.
Says she’s going to stay with them for the next few days, maybe longer.
Says, “That ought to give you plenty of time to write. Jackass.”
Before any of you unsubscribe, un-follow, un-friend me, and/or urge my wife to divorce me, please note that what you just read is full of hyperbole and over-dramatizations for the sake of entertainment. I assure you I would never cover my mouth with my mouse pad—that thing has mold growing on it from all the vodka and Monster I’ve spilled on it. Also, I don’t have any friends named Ted, or in general.
If you would like to contribute funds to help pay for the therapy Greg needs, you can do so by going to his Amazon author page, clicking on one (or all) of the books featured, then clicking the “Buy Now” icon.