Years ago, I stumbled across a quote by Franz Kafka that instantly became my favorite writing quote of all time:
“A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.”
I found the quote to be brilliant, witty, dark yet relatable. You see, I’d always been the kind of writer who, after going more than a few days without writing, would start to lose his mind. I never became homicidal or anything like that; just a little moody on busy weekends and maybe a teensy bit psychotic during family vacations. In other words, quirky and fun!
I’d joke with my wife and friends, saying things like, “Wow, if I get like this after just a couple of days away from my manuscript, imagine how dangerous I’d be if I ever experienced an extended bout of writer’s block.”
And then something hilarious happened: I experienced an extended bout of writer’s block.
Actually, what I’ve been dealing with for the past year and a half is less a bout of writer’s block and more a bout of writer’s blah. That is, I’ve simply lost—or perhaps just badly misplaced—my passion for crafting fiction.
It all started around the time I moved from Austin, Texas to Sydney, Australia roughly two years ago. I initially chalked up my decreased writing mojo to the huge cultural and geographic change that came with the move. The way the toilet water down here in the Southern Hemisphere flushes in the opposite direction, I thought maybe the same thing was happening with my creative juices. I just needed to give them time to recalibrate, to get used to them flowing clockwise.
Adding to my problems was the stunning natural beauty here in Sydney. It didn’t exactly help restore my creativity or desire to write. I mean, c’mon—how in the hell can anyone be expected to crank out compelling stories filled with murder and violence and unspeakable cruelty when surrounded by breathtaking beaches and sea cliffs? Every morning I’d open my window shades, exposing all the sunlight and tropical birds and magnificent gum trees, then mutter to myself, “I’m f*cked.”
The longer I went without writing, the more I could feel the crazy creeping in. And I soon realized that, if I didn’t start putting up a fight, I was going to become a total cliché—just another writer who lost his mind and allowed himself to waste away to nothing.
As much as I had always loved the Kafka quote cited earlier, I was determined to not let it define me, to not allow it to run my life, to keep it from ruining the remainder of my days.
Yeah, that didn’t work.
The more I tried to convince myself that I could set writing aside and still live a normal, fulfilling, even happy life, the more evident it became that I might need to start wearing a helmet at all times and move into a ground-floor apartment with padded walls and dull cutlery.
Still, I persisted. I viewed every day as a new opportunity to prove Franz wrong, to show his ghost and the world that I could continue my sabbatical from fiction without succumbing to insanity.
How naïve of me.
Below are three key actions I took that serve to highlight my failure to fend off the CRAZY:
1) I started embracing the present moment.All the mental health websites and experts and Instagram hippies are always highlighting the importance of being present, of paying attention to and appreciating what’s going on in each moment you have the good fortune to be alive.
Huge mistake. Especially if you are a fiction writer—and double-especially if you are non-writing fiction writer.Yousee, embracing the present is the opposite of escape, and escape is the dream of all fictionistas. By focusing on present reality—on the people and things all around you at any given moment—you are quickly reminded that the world is a giant dumpster fire filled with chaos and mattress commercials and an utter lack of punctuation. The only way to emerge with your sanity intact is to create alternative realities and build imaginary worlds. And the only thing worse than being conscious of that fact is being conscious of the fact that you’ve lost your will or ability to do such building and creating.
Thus, the more I meditated and showed gratitude for my time on this planet, the more I spiraled—pining for the days when I used to be able to effortlessly spend hours immersed in a well thought-out murder scene.
2) I started focusing on others.They say the happiest people are those who make their lives about others and not just themselves. In my experience, that is true only if the other people you make your life about are imaginary.
Back when my life revolved around creating characters and helping them overcome tremendous conflict involving life-or-death stakes, I was in heaven. So, naturally, when my creativity and passion for writing suddenly went poof, so did my contentment, my zest for life, my reason for bathing. But rather than just wallow in misery and emotional anguish, I decided to embrace what Buddha and Jesus and other notable motivational speakers have been yammering on about for centuries: I decided to make my life about other people besides just myself and the despicable criminals I’ve lovingly brought into existence.
The trouble is, almost all of the “other people” I know are also writers and, unfortunately, they are productive and mentally stable ones at that. So, while I tried to put them first and offer them support and cheer them on, those bastards ended up being a constant reminder of just how much I’d fallen off as a writer, just how lost I was as an artist, just how many dozens of dollars a year more than me they were earning from their books.
I thought about making some new friends and trying to make them the focus of my life, but then I realized something very important, something Buddha and Jesus forgot to put at the forefront of their teachings: People are the worst.
3) I started looking for a full-time job.It wasn’t until I decided to seek gainful employment and try to carve out a nice career for myself outside of writing that I realized just how mentally ill I’d become. Sure, in the past I had toyed around with the idea of a traditional full-time job to replace the odd little side hustles that helped to bolster my fiction income, but I was never crazy enough to actually work on my resume or think a reputable company would ever look at it and go, “Now here’s a strong candidate!”
In theory, it made sense why a crime fiction writer who’d seemingly lost the will to write crime fiction would start thinking about ways to pay the bills without resorting to actual crime. But in reality, people whose top three areas of knowledge are poison methods, body disposal, and poison methods tend not to get invited in or back for interviews by a hiring manager whose name isn’t Lefty or Crusher or Trump.
So, there I was—unable to write crime fiction, and unable to see just how un-hirable years of only writing crime fiction had made me. Even worse, months and months of not writing had evidently left me too insane to remember just how crazy someone has to be to want to be hirable.
The good (or maybe the bad) news: I’ve slowly started to get my writing groove back.
The bad (or maybe the good) news: I recently landed a full-time job. (One that centers around my second biggest passion in life—skiing. More specifically, helping Australians plan ski/snowboard trips to Japan, North America, and New Zealand. I always knew I’d someday build a career in the snow travel industry while living in a city surrounded by beaches inside a giant sunburnt country.)
The (Rock) Bottom Line
So what does this all mean? It means Kafka wasn’t kidding around when he said what he said about non-writing writers and insanity. Now, I’m not saying writers should never quit or never take an extended break from writing; but just know that if you are a writer and you ever do stop writing—whether by choice or otherwise—you risk going so far off your rocker you’ll end up doing such dangerous and nonsensical things as embracing reality, putting others before yourself, and sending out resumes.
And I wouldn’t wish any of that on anyone—not even my worst enemy, or a good friend who sells more books than I do.
The one-star book review. For some authors, a single star from a reader is enough to send them into a downward emotional spiral from which they never recover. For more self-assured and experienced authors, such a hateful review is a sign they’ve arrived, a cause for celebration, a reason to hire a security team.
They say a one-star book review says much more about the reviewer than about the actual book—especially if the book is, by wide consensus, very good or great. When a reader flings a single star at a novel that averages four-plus, it generally indicates the reader just got dumped by a lover or is trying to quit smoking. Sometimes, a giver of one-star is simply an illiterate Internet troll incapable of elaborating on the teribullness of the buuk they found so unreedabull. Occasionally, however, a one-star review of a great book is well-written, even convincing—delivered by a self-described literary genius who refuses to conform to popular opinion and instead feels compelled to point out how and why the book in question is not only highly overrated but complete drivel.
Regardless of the accuracy of or motivations behind one-star book reviews, they are an absolute joy to read. And since we can all use a little more joy in our lives, today I’d like to share the most scathing, sardonic as well as idiotic reviews of some of the most critically acclaimed and beloved books in the crime fiction world. (To enhance your reading pleasure, I’ve kept all the reviewers’ typos intact.)
Enjoy!
And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie
"Don't buy. Nothing special. Another waste of time like the books of Charles Dickens. I gave Agatha's best book a chance and it disappointed big time."
The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler
"I kept hoping I find the reason it's so well liked, but NO I would not recommend it to anyone. It was way too long & wordy with descriptions & geesh I guess maybe some folks just like all of the in my opinion long drawn out descriptions of it."
The Day of the Jackal by Frederick Forsyth
"Too much unnecessary detail makes reading it quite difficult. I really don't want to know, for example, how someone's flatulence sounded and lasted for how long and whether they lifted their leg to do it or sat on the potty. The details in the book are in similar tones.
Bluebird, Bluebird by Attica Locke
"Liberal fiction, no thanks. I tried enjoying the book but the constant cheap shots at Republicans like Ted Cruz got old and I stopped. BTW, having owned a farm in East Texas, I can say the book certainly takes liberties with the way East Texas really is. Fiction, this book certainly is."
The Spy Who Came in from the Cold by John le Carré
"Yes, it's complicated. You never know who are the good guys and who the bad. Even after you've be read the last word and in introspection it's not at all clear what has happened, why, or how you could have so foolishly wasted your time reading this trash."
The Black Dahlia by James Ellroy
"I know its set in a different era, but I found the content difficult to cope with. The way characters were described, it was just too negative. I love to read and usually finish all books I start, but I had to stop reading this. It made me feel uncomfortable. I don't like to be negative, but I felt I needed to express my opinion on this one."
In the Woods by Tana French
"This author needs a editor. The information says its 612 pages long, that's 400 more pages than necessary to tell the tale. I'm sorry I wasted so much time. I would have appreciated and ending to the detective's story. I won't be reading anything else by this author."
Still Life by Louise Penny
"The author did not do adequate research to understand either hunting or archery, both of which are critical parts of the plot line. When a supposed character that hunts butchered the description of what a "recurve" bow is I almost gave up. I probably should have. If you are uninformed about, or prejudiced against, hunting then you won't mind the general tone of the book. Just don't use it to learn about archery."
Mystic River by Dennis Lehane
"Not grrat. Had to buy this from a class. It wasn't good at all, so I wouldn't buy this unless it is required for you."
The Turn of the Key by Ruth Ware
"The reader is way, way over the top with her drama."
Devil in a Blue Dress by Walter Mosley
"BORING I IT WAS POORLY WRITTEN, DID NOT LIKE CHARACTER, FILTHY WOULD NOT TRY TO FINISH WHAT A WASTE OF MONEY AND MORE IMPORTANT TIME"
Along Came a Spider by James Patterson
"i wanted the paperback not the kindle"
The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith
"the problem is in those stupid covers where they have to mention that this is now a major motion picture staring this and that stupid actor/actress. its just dumb. really anoying. book is great."
Pronto by Elmore Leonard
"I finally finished the book. So glad it's over. I'll never buy another in this series. Liked the television show."
A Judgement in Stone by Ruth Rendell
"Dear Lord! What an absolutely dreadful book. I just wanted those poor characters to be killed quickly so the book would be over. This was chosen by someone in my book club. The bad people in the story are mousy, the good characters in the story are mousy. The community at large is mousy. It never gets better and could only get over and done with. I hate to complain about things these days but this miserable story's highlight is the title. Once you open up the book it's all downhill from there."
The Snowman by Jo Nesbø
"Save yourself! Mow the grass! First and definitely last time I will spend money on this author. I'm scratching my head wondering why anyone would ever bother buying a book that this fellow wrote; disconnected, slow, boring, and far too easy to determine who the "bad" guy was - If you find yourself tempted to buy a book written by this author, take a deep breath, get control of yourself, and buy one written by Michael Connelly or Lee Childs - I know you want to give me a big hug but maybe not."
The Poet by Michael Connelly
"Too many stupid people. What is going on with all those stupid policemen, FBI, and the whole lot of civilians? It seems that one cannot find a book where the hero is not an appalling individual that you just cannot bring yourself to sympathize with? This particular one - total A-hole. And on the top of it all, I really do not want to read about his love/sex life. Ugh!."
Killing Floor by Lee Child
"Several instances where God's Name is misused. If it wasn't for this I would have loved reading the rest of the series."
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
"Not like Gillian Flynn. I didn’t like it."
Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn
"I'm reviewing the book not the movie. I might be alone here, but I hated it. My friend kept recommending it, so I thought why not? I kept reading it to the end because it was interesting"
Mr. Mercedes by Stephen King
"Not a normal stephen king book. I was 30 mins from end and knew it had to take a twist....nope the psycho talked, that's it :( disappointed!"
Resurrection Men by Ian Rankin
"haven't read it yet so leave me alone"
Tell No One by Harlan Coben
"Trash! This book bears the same relationship to a good crime novel as does news in the Tabloid you pick up at your grocery check out the quality of news in New York times and the WSJ"
Pretty Girls by Karin Slaughter
"The most disturbing book I have ever read. It started off so good then it went down a very dark path and kept getting worse. I wish I had never read this book, it was so disturbing. Do not recommend."
The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris
"Misleading. Not a single lamb"
Feel free to share some of your favorite one-star book reviews in the comments section below. Also, have YOU ever written a one-star review of a book? If so, was the book one of MINE? If so, what’s your address?
One of the absolute best experiences for any fiction fanatic is discovering a character who’s the absolute worst. There’s just something so delightful about a well-conceived psycho- or sociopath hell-bent on ruining a protagonist’s life. Call me a romantic.
It’s not exactly clear what drives our fascination with villains and anti-heroes. Perhaps it’s that we like to meet people—even if imaginary—who make our own flaws, issues and neuroses seem like commendable virtues in comparison. Or it could be that deep down we are just as sick and disturbed as the dangerous antagonists we hate to love and love to hate.
Whatever the reason, “bad guys” are the best. Here are eight that none of us would be caught dead with though can’t seem to get enough of.
Annie Wilkes from Misery by Stephen King.Annie Wilkes both terrifies me as a reader and gives me something to strive for as an author. I mean, what writer wouldn’t want a reader devoted enough to a character to abduct and very nearly kill its creator?
That said, Annie is not somebody you want to upset and definitely not somebody you want to complain to about missing typewriter keys. Not since my grandfather four scotches in on Thanksgiving several decades ago has anyone handled an electric carving knife as creatively and brutally as Annie.
Judge Holden from Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy. No character has given me more nightmares, caused me more physical and mental distress, than Judge Holden. And for that I’m eternally grateful. Standing seven feet tall and completely lacking any hair, pigment or remorse, Judge Holden makes Cormac McCarthy’s other renowned antagonist—the terrifying Anton Chigurh from No Country for Old Men—look like Mary Poppins. The former is evil personified—perhaps even Satan himself, as some literary scholars have suggested—and yet he makes it nearly impossible for readers to stop turning pages.
So, if any of your reader friends ever say, “If only there were a novel featuring an immense, murderous albino man as adept at killing and torture as he is at languages, dancing and diplomacy,” be sure to whip out a copy of Blood Meridan and exclaim, “Have I got the book for you!”
Alex from A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. You know how when a friend charms you with such elegant, poetic, lyrical language you almost fail to realize what they’re describing are terrible acts of violence they’ve carried out? No? Well then, allow me to introduce you to Alex from A Clockwork Orange. He’ll have you at, “And, my brothers, it was real satisfaction for me to waltz—left two three, right two three—and carve left cheeky and right cheeky, so that like two curtains of blood seemed to pour out at the same time, one on either side of his fat filthy oily snout in the winter starlight.”
It’s hard to imagine ever having sympathy for a nihilistic teenager whose favorite hobby is ultra-violence. Until you read this book. As horrific and despicable as Alex is, I dare you not to feel for him at least a little once you get to the part where he’s imprisoned and forced to undergo aversion therapy that strips him of free will and any sense of self. I mean, c’mon—what’s sadder than a psychopath who lacks agency?
Villanelle from Codename Villanelle by Luke Jennings.That’s right, the irresistibly sadistic cold-blooded assassin from the smash TV series Killing Eve was a literary character before wowing and terrifying us on the small screen. (Author Luke Jenning’s novel Codename Villanelle is actually a compilation of four novellas published between 2014-2016.)
Villanelle is vicious, duplicitous, psychotic, incapable of remorse, and highly skilled in the art of ending lives. She’s got it all! And even though we know how incredibly dangerous and deadly she is, we still can’t help falling in love with the idea of her and Eve (the story’s protagonist and Villanelle’s arch nemesis) falling in love.
We’re SICK, I tell ya.
Tyler Durden from Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk.I almost didn’t include Tyler Durden in this list because it’s hard for me to call one of my favorite characters of all time a “villain.” But yeah, technically he is the antagonist to the book’s protagonist, even though he’s also the protagonist’s best pal, and also lives inside the protagonist’s mind.
Hey, we’ve all had difficult friends.
As far as villains go, Tyler Durden is arguably one of the most passionate and heroic, and one that millions of readers (male readers, anyway) secretly long to be just like. Sure, he’s volatile and violent and dead-set on breaking the world, but in a good way. Sort of. If you take away his penchant for explosives and underground melees and compound fractures—and you discount the fact that he’s merely a figment of a highly unstable fictional person’s mind—Tyler’s the kind of guy you’d want as your best man. Or pallbearer.
Patrick Bateman from American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis.He is far and away the most despicable and unlikeable character on this list, which is why I know you’re going to keep reading.
Throughout the controversial and infamous novel, Patrick Bateman commits unspeakable acts of violence, misogyny and, perhaps worst of all, investment banking. But there’s something, dare I say, oddly satisfying about being inside the mind of a psychotic homicidal narcissistic yuppie killing it in New York City in the late 1980s.
Humbert Humbert from Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. On second thought, this guy—not Patrick Bateman above—is the most despicable villain on this list. But here’s what’s terrifying: He’s also perhaps the most likeable.
That’s the paradox of Humbert Humbert. You’ll never encounter a main character more educated and erudite, more cultured and refined, more romantic and charming and full of wit. It’s all almost enough to distract you from the fact that he’s a pedophile. For every page that readers find themselves rooting for and riveted by him, there’s one that leaves them repulsed—not only by Humbert but also by themselves for traveling with him.
Absolute enchantment and severe self-loathing—what more could you hope to get from a book?
Hannibal Lecter from the “Hannibal” series (Red Dragon, Silence of the Lambs, et. al.) by Thomas Harris. A brilliant and successful psychiatrist who just can’t seem to kick his pesky serial killing and cannibalism habit. Um, YES please.
Like Humbert Humbert from Lolita, Hannibal Lecter wins us over with his eloquence and charm. But where Humbert is a human consumed by illicit love, Hannibal loves to illicitly consume humans.
Boom!
mic drop
Who are some of YOUR favorite villains and anti-heroes from literature? Or even better, from your own family?
I’m as big a sucker for Christmas and the holidays as the next guy. Maybe even bigger. Just ask the neighbors in my apartment building here in Sydney—they’ll confirm I’ve been listening and singing along to carols since, like, August. (I’m surely the only Jew on the planet to do so.) Still, as much as l love getting caught up in the merriment and joy and love so prevalent this time of year, sometimes I can’t keep my criminal mind from wandering over to the dark side during the holiday season.
The good news is I’ve managed to curb my more sinister side enough to keep me from writing an entire novel featuring Christmastime crime and murder. The bad news is I couldn’t stop myself from taking a beloved Christmas carol and turning it into a tale of thievery and revenge.
I’m sorry and you’re welcome.
Santa Claus Is Robbing the Town
You better watch out
You better not snitch
The last guy who did is dead in a ditch
Santa Claus is robbing the town
He’s making a list
He’s checking it twice
He’s pulling off one huge holiday heist
Santa Claus is robbing the town
He sees you when you’re sleeping
And he knows when you’re awake
He’s pissed you don’t believe in him
So your life is now at stake
Hey!
You better watch out
You better not try
To call the damn cops or you’re gonna die
Santa Claus is robbing the town
He sees you when you’re sleeping
And he knows when you’re awake
He says if you stand in his way
He’ll bury you by the lake.
Yay!
You better watch out
You better give thanks
Santa just came to rob houses and banks
Santa Claus is robbing the town!
BONUSCAROL!
(I had planned on writing/posting just one cri-fi carol, but hey, Christmas is a time for giving… readers serious concerns about my mental stability.)
Frosty the Hitman
Frosty the hitman
Was a deadly, icy pro
With his chilly name and his killer aim
Frosty made a lot of dough
Frosty the hitman
Is a fairytale they say
But I know the truth—damn the man could shoot
And he’d take your life for pay
There must have been some magic in that rifle scope he used
For even from 500 yards every bullet would come through
Oh!
Frosty the hitman
Knew the Feds were on his tail
So he took his gun and went on the run
Cause he knew he’d melt in jail
Frosty the hitman
Had a blast while off he sped
But the cops were fast and they shot his ass
Frosty’s snow could not stop lead.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL, AND TO ALL
A GOOD HEIST!
*No beloved giant elves or snowmen were harmed in the making of these carols
The title of this post may seem a tad self-serving, a bit heavy on the ME, but hey, when you’re an author during a pandemic and you haven’t had a novel out in nearly four years, you desperately look for ways to celebrate your work.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to be tooting my horn too loudly or pressuring any of you to buy my existing books. I’m merely going to be presenting myself with numerous arbitrary, self-created awards to show you what you’re missing out on if you’ve never read any of my novels. This is totally normal behavior for an author … named Greg Levin.
My goal is really just to have a little fun and elicit a little laughter during these turbulent times. In other words, please buy my books.
So, without further ado or any more poorly veiled attempts at marketing, let’s get started with the First Annual Greg Levin Writing Awards (Recognizing Outstanding Achievements in Fiction by an Author Named Greg Levin).
Best Line in a Scene Featuring Voluntary Euthanasia:
“The trick to looking excited when children are presented to you for sex is to remember you are saving their lives. If you don’t look excited, the pimps will get suspicious. Show your anger and disgust, and you ruin everything. For help getting 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 for your service.”
Best Conversation Among a Group of Terminally Ill Vigilante Serial Killers:
Ellison’s eyes opened almost as wide as his mouth. “Wait, you mean you guys are behind the two cyanide incidents that were just in the news?”
“Yes, that would be us,” Jenna replied.
“Jesus Christ. I thought maybe you had gotten the idea from the news, I didn’t realize you were the news.”
“Neither does anyone else,” said Jenna.
“How long do you think THAT will last?” Ellison asked.
“We don’t know, but considering our health, it doesn’t have to last too long.”
“Yeah, fear of getting caught isn’t much of an inhibitor with us,” said Gage, who’d been sitting at the table waiting for an opening. “We aim to keep this up as long as we’re still standing.”
Ellison glared at Gage. “Jenna mentioned you ‘succeeded’ in your lone attempt, so I suppose that means I’m talking to a murderer right now?”
"Can you please stop behaving like we're going to be alive in two years, Ellison?” Jenna asked, rolling her eyes. “You have to put these poisonings into context. You're not seeing the big picture."
“Yeah, you're making it sound like we're the bad guys,” said Gage. "We're in a unique position. I mean, think about it, we have an extraordinary opportunity here. Becoming killers could have a real positive impact in the community.”
Best Scene Featuring a Buddhist Getting Trained for an Undercover Sex Trafficking Sting Operation:
And the winner is…
In Wolves’ Clothing—for the following scene:
Three minutes into the video, I glance at Caleb. He’s fully engrossed in what he’s watching. And what he’s watching is a nine-year-old from Myanmar lying in a hospital cot a day after having her dislocated jaw wired shut.
Five minutes in, Caleb is quietly jotting down notes as a pimp caught on a hidden phone camera is bragging about how many virgins he’s able to bring to the next night’s party.
At the ten-minute mark, as the video is ending, Caleb closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths.
I’ve seen this before with trainees.
“It’s okay, man,” I say as I pat him on the back. “Should I grab the trash bin?”
With his eyes still shut, Caleb says, “I’m good” and continues breathing deeply.
“It’s okay, man. No shame. What you just watched is too much for most people.”
Caleb says nothing. Just long inhales followed by longer exhales. Hands in his lap. He looks too serene to vomit, but I get up and grab the bin from the corner anyway and place it by his chair.
“Do you need anything else?” I ask, wondering how I’m going to break it to Fynn that her golden boy isn’t cut out for the job.
Caleb takes a couple more deep breaths, and opens his eyes. He says, “My apologies, I was just—”
“No need to apologize,” I say. “We can take a break if you want.”
He shakes his head and goes, “That won’t be necessary. I just needed to get that little meditation out of the way. You know, send my intention out into the universe.”
Now it’s me who might need the trash bin.
Caleb points at my laptop screen and says, “Those traffickers are in pain, and they haven’t learned how to respond to that pain with mercy and empathy.”
He says, “The intention I sent out was for them to recognize this. To help them ease their suffering, and that of the girls.”
Oh shit.
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 may be where I have to draw the line.
Best Author of a Novel by Greg Levin:
And the winner is…
No way—ME?! I’m shocked and honored. I’m humbled and grateful. Most importantly, I’m calling to make an appointment with a psychiatrist.
Best Protagonist of a Novel by Greg Levin:
And the winner is…
It’s a three-way tie! Eli Edelmann from The Exit Man; Gage Adder from Sick to Death; Zero Slade from In Wolves’ Clothing.
Best Novel by Greg Levin:
And the winner is…
Get outa town—another three-way tie! The Exit Man, Sick to Death, and In Wolves’ Clothing.
Wow! I’ve never been so honored or so proud or so concerned about my mental health. These awards truly are an embarrassment of riches—or as my father is probably thinking, just an embarrassment.