Few things are more gratifying than having thousands of fans tell you they’re dying to read your next book when it comes out.
Or so I imagine.
Rather than me sitting around and praying for such fervor to occur, I’m going to try to create it by sharing an excerpt from my work-in-progress (WIP) today. Who knows—maybe the excerpt will go viral and create the kind of frenzied buzz that results in tens of thousands of sales of my novel whenever it launches. At the very least, the excerpt will prove to my wife that I haven’t just been watching Netflix while locked away in my writing office these past several months.
Before we jump into the excerpt, I’d like to tell you just a little bit about my WIP. It’s an irreverent crime thriller tentatively titled Scott Free. Don’t bother memorizing the title because it’s likely I’ll change it or perish before the book comes out. Assuming I survive the entire writing and editing process, here’s the tentative blurb that will appear on the back of the book (for those of you who still hold actual physical books):
Fed up with society and stifled by mounting debt, artist Roxy Scott and her aging mother discover their one real shot at freedom.
Prison.
All they have to do is commit the perfect crime—an imperfect art forgery that’s sure to land them in a minimum security “Club Fed” correctional facility where they can finally relax.
There’s just one problem: They don’t get caught. Instead, they get rich.
That’s when the real problems start.
Since everything else I’ve mentioned thus far is tentative, I’m gonna go ahead and say the book will tentatively receive the following testimonials:
“I’m proud to call Levin one of my disciples, but what he does with this book is a prime example of the student surpassing the teacher.” —Chuck Palahniuk, author of Fight Club; president of the Greg Levin Fan Club
“It’s time for everybody to stop reading J.K. Rowling, George R.R. Martin and Stephen King, and start reading Greg Levin.” —J.K. Rowling, George R.R. Martin and Stephen King
“Not even being dead for twelve years could stop me from singing the praises of this electrifying novel. I’d buy Levin a drink, but my wallet decomposed.”—Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007)
Okay, back to reality. Here’s some fiction—an excerpt from the opening chapter of what will soon probably no longer be called Scott Free. If you like slow starts, you’re going to hate this. Enjoy!
Take away the two or five or ten cops tailing us. Take away their loaded Glock 19s and the pack of K-9s closing in. Take away the ninety-eight-pound septuagenarian lying limp in my arms and load-testing my muscles and ligaments every foot we move forward. Add a thousand sunflowers to the field we're halfway through. Add a bit more azure to the vast Texas sky.
Do all that, and this would still be terrifying.
Agoraphobia has a way of ruining even the most idyllic outings. Combine it with running for your life while carrying your broken mother, and it’s a wonder nothing inside implodes any more than it already has.
The dogs bark in the distance like a stranger just rang Hell’s doorbell. The only thing separating us from them is a matter of time.
"Odessa," groans Mama. I pretend not to hear it.
The back pocket of my blood- and mud-splattered jeans vibrates with yet another call or text from Griff or Big Gail, or perhaps from someone who knew someone who once had the same number as this burner phone. If I had a spare hand or second, I’d let them know we’re not going to make it and we’re sorry and we love them. Even if it is a wrong number.
But right now I’m all about making it out of this unbearably bucolic meadow and into the damp tangle of trees up ahead. It’s easier to breathe in tight spaces. Plus live oaks can stop hollow-points.
Mama groans again. Sounds similar to what birthing an eight-pound girl forty-five years ago without an epidural must have felt like. I glance at Mama’s ashen face and lie to it. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
She murmurs for me to hurry. My heart is earning time-and-a-half.
The trees we just reached greet us with stabs. Branches poke and tear at our clothes. Scratch my face, neck and hands, adding a few more drops of crimson to the picture. Mama murmurs what sounds like “please” but I keep moving, scanning the forest for a secret portal. A trap door. A chance in hell.
The dogs are still out of sight but getting louder. Not loud enough to keep me from trying to catch my breath though. Cradling Mama, I crouch and set her down not gently enough against the trunk of an oak about twice her age. She moans, and with one eye open, goes, “Why?”
Her neck gives out, sending her chin into her collarbone. I lift her head and use the bottom of what an hour ago was my favorite blouse to dab a speck of blood where a branch caught the corner of her mouth. Mama’s got two eyes open now and they’re both on me. She should be too exhausted to look that angry. But I get it. We have to hurry. The dogs tell me so.
“Go,” whispers Mama. “Find her.”
I squat down to scoop Mama up in my arms. A grunt more like a growl escapes me as I hoist her over my shoulder and fireman-carry her toward hopefully what and who we’re looking for.
Fighting through a couple of heart attacks, we get to the top of a ridge. Going down is going to be even worse, but I see a rocky outcrop splitting two oaks about a football field ahead. Closer, and all there is between the overhang of the outcrop and the ground right below it is darkness.
Not a cave, but close enough.
Not a chance in hell, but I’ll take it.
That’s it—that’s all I’m going to share for now. The good news is there’s plenty more where that came from. Or, if you hated it, the good news is it will still be quite a while before the book is available. I’ll keep you all posted on the progress, and will likely share a couple more excerpts between now and the day I give birth to the book—which I’m hoping will be no later than the apocalypse.
I’ve done some dumb things in my writing career. Even dumber than choosing writing as a career. I'm not proud of my mistakes, but they say admitting to them is a sign of integrity and humility. Or in my case, a sign that I’ve been drinking.
So, before I go pour my third bourbon of the morning and continue working on my next novel, here are five of the dumbest things I’ve done as an author:
5) I wrote my first novel for myself rather than for the reader. A teacher once told me writing is about self-expression and creativity, not about having lots of people read what you’ve written. And I was stupid enough to believe him.
This helps to explain why I opted to write my first novel (Notes on an Orange Burial) about an unpublished poet. It’s also why 99.99 percent of you have never heard of it. (Still, it was a big hit with some people—namely my parents, and three librarians in England.) It’s quirky and literary and has some funny scenes derived from experiences I had in my twenties, so I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s a bad book.
But you would.
4) I didn’t focus on the marketing-side of publishing until my third novel. This may seem the same as #5 above, but it’s not. It’s worse. After all, when you write a bad book and fail to market it properly, you’re doing yourself and the world a favor. But when you write a good book and fail to market it properly, you miss big opportunities to attract readers and meet Oprah.
Today, many consider my second novel—The Exit Man—my best (or at least my most enjoyable) book to date. However, it didn’t make much of a splash when it first came out because I hadn’t taken the time to learn the ins and outs of publicity, promotion and platform-building. It wasn’t until a TV producer tripped over a copy (while looking at bigger and better-promoted books) months later that The Exit Man started to pick up a little steam, and even then I failed to do a lot of what I should have done from a marketing standpoint.
Which leads directly to my next big mistake. …
3) I assumed getting optioned by HBO meant I’d hit the big-time. See that guy over there, the one strutting around like he owns the place? That’s me at the 2015 Writers’ League of Texas conference in Austin. The Exit Man had recently been optioned by HBO for development into a TV series, but I went to the conference anyway despite having nothing left to prove or to learn as an author. [Feel free to pause here and gag. I just did.] I skipped most of the sessions at the conference but spent plenty of time at the cocktail reception, where I mentioned my option deal to all the other attendees and held my hand out for them to kiss. (I'm exaggerating of course—both of my hands had drinks in them and thus weren't available to be kissed.)
And see that guy over there, the one lounging poolside at the trendy Mondrian hotel on Sunset Boulevard reading a copy of his own novel? That’s me the day after flying out to LA to take the producer (who got me the HBO option) out for dinner to show my appreciation—but really just to show off.
Oh, and see this guy over here, the one muttering curse words while cancelling his HBO Now subscription out of spite? That’s me in 2016 after hearing HBO decided not to renew its option of The Exit Man.
2) I waited too long to start forming alliances with other authors. No man is an island, but I used to think good authors were. I had it that, to be successful, I needed to spend as much time as possible holed up in a small, quiet room and just let my imagination and words run wild. I stayed away from writing workshops and critique groups. (“I had enough of that in college,” I’d tell myself.) I wasn’t active in writing organizations or communities. And, worst of all, I viewed other authors in my genre as the competition rather than as brothers and sisters with whom I shared a rare and wondrous disease.
It wasn’t until relatively recently that I realized isolation, while good for writing, is awful for a writing career. For the latter, you need to connect with and share ideas with like-minded—and even unlike-minded—authors. Doing so not only keeps you almost sane in a maddening field, but also provides you with invaluable feedback and advice to better your craft. And, if you join forces with “the competition,” it can open the door to a whole new world of readers who might have otherwise never heard of you or your disease. (NOTE: I recently teamed up with author RD Ronald to create a unique new website for readers and fellow writers of transgressive fiction. If you like novels and short stories about good people doing bad things—or bad people doing good things—you’re going to LOVE the site. I’ll be announcing its official launch via my blog soon. Stay tuned!)
And now, for the absolute dumbest thing I've done as an author ...
1) I put my characters ahead of my family and friends. I’ve touched on this in previous posts, mostly in a joking manner to downplay my fiction addiction and lessen my shame. But the truth is, I have put my characters ahead of my family and friends in the past.
Actually, the real truth is … I still do.
That “disease” I hinted at in #2 above, it’s not always fun. For anyone. And particularly not for my wife Miranda and my daughter Leah, whom I’ve shooed away from my writing space countless times in order to give all my care and attention to imaginary people instead. In fact, I’ve gotten so good at shooing, I rarely even have to anymore. Miranda and Leah have learned to keep their distance whenever my office door’s closed. Come to think of it, they’ve started doing so even when the door’s open and the writing day’s done. Go figure.
I’ve apologized multiple times to them, as well as to my parents and brother and the small handful of friends I somehow still have. I’ve promised each that I’d make more time for them and be more attentive and present whenever we’re together. They can tell by the look in my eyes and the sound of my voice that these apologies and promises are sincere. And they all want to believe me, but deep down they suspect something.
People familiar with my books assume I must be at least a little insane. But the truth is, my wife's the crazy one.
After all, she (Miranda) has chosen to spend her life and share a dwelling with a man who writes entire novels about things like party supply storeowners who dabble in euthanasia, terminally ill serial killers looking to make their city safer before they die, and fake pedophiles who schmooze with child sex traffickers to put them away.
I’m telling you, this lady is nuts.
Still, folks always want to know what it’s like for “poor” Miranda to live with me, the “crazy” writer. In fact, many of them ask her that question right in front of me, which I find just plain rude.
Nevertheless, I like to give the people what they want—provided what they want is not for me to put down my drink or behave myself. So, in an effort to appease all my imaginary fans, I’ve opted to give Miranda the keys to my blog for today’s post, which features several questions people and the police commonly ask Miranda, followed by Miranda’s (mostly) unedited responses.
What is it like being married to an author of dark, disturbing fiction?
It’s fun! And absurd. And intriguing! And unnerving. Just like Greg’s books! And marriage.
I knew a long time ago that I didn’t want to marry one of those doctor/lawyer types—the type who are married to their job and whom you never see again after the wedding. Because both Greg and I work from home, I often get to bump into him in the kitchen whenever he takes a break from killing a character in his office. I also get to take afternoon walks with him and hear about the cleanest murder methods and how to get away with them. Sometimes I’ll walk into his office to sneak a few kisses while he’s busy putting his protagonist through living hell. Greg absolutely hates it when I do that and usually tells me to get out. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.
While reading any of Greg’s books, have you ever become concerned over the fact you sleep in the same bed with this guy? (Assuming you haven’t already opted for separate rooms.)
Absolutely. I tell all my friends and family that if I were to die, Greg did it. But I can take comfort in the fact that my death will be epic. A story to be passed down for generations. And I will haunt Greg forever.
Which of Greg’s characters is your favorite, and why? Which is your least favorite?
It’s so hard to pick a favorite. I think if I had to choose, I’d have to go with Eli Edelmann, as The Exit Man is still my favorite novel. No, wait, Zero Slade from In Wolves’ Clothing, because he’s a hero—albeit a seriously flawed one—with such a big heart. No, wait, Fynn, who’s Zero’s boss. She’s an intriguing sideline character I want to know more about … and maybe want to be just like when I grow up.
My least favorite of Greg’s characters? Greg won’t let me have any. So just email or DM me and I’ll tell you.
Does Greg usually pass his novel ideas by you before starting to write the book? Does he allow you to read his works-in-progress?
I wish. One of my favorite things to do with Greg is brainstorm novel ideas and have him read me sneak-peeks of his works-in-progress. But these occasions are rare. For some reason he views my “feedback” as an act of aggression. Writers—they're sooo sensitive.
What is Greg’s most peculiar habit as a writer?
Oh my, where do I start? First off, Greg writes his books chronologically from beginning to end. This is a sure sign of a psychopath. Also, writing is never a painful, agonizing process for him—he never gets stuck or suffers from writer’s block. Instead he bounces out of bed every morning and writes joyfully about horrific topics for hours at a time. There is something very wrong with him.
Do you ever fear Greg will write a memoir and share way too much about your life together? Do events/situations from your marriage ever show up in his novels?
Not really. I don’t believe Greg would ever steer away from writing fiction—regardless of what our tax returns tell him. Certainly there are hints of our married life sprinkled throughout his books, but as long as he continues writing novels, I can deny everything.
If Greg weren’t a writer, what would you say would be the best profession for him?
If Greg had a real job, I imagine it would be something in the medical profession. Or perhaps he’d be a crime-scene investigator. Or a hitman. In case you haven’t noticed it in his books, Greg has a bit of a fascination with sickness and death. Who knows, maybe he’d even become a real-life Exit Man, though I don’t think I was supposed to say that out loud.
What book would you most want Greg to write next?
I must say I’m pretty intrigued by Greg’s next book, which features a strong female protagonist. It’s a mother-daughter tale of two badass women who commit a crime to intentionally land them in jail... mainly for the free rent and healthcare. There’s just one problem—they don’t caught. Instead they get rich. And that’s when the real problems begin.
Now, that all said, we just returned from an Alaskan cruise and I’ve been trying to convince Greg that his next book needs to be set on a cruise ship. He’s thinking about it—or so he says to get me to leave him alone to write.
Should we be worried? Are you in any immediate danger?
No. No. Everything is fine. Everything is juuuust fine. I've been told I’m happy. Very, very happy.
Looks like I may be going to jail. With any luck, it will happen very soon. My sentence? Sentences.
Allow me to explain.
A few weeks ago, an idea tapped me on the shoulder and then refused to shut up. It just kept repeating itself over and over: “Teach creative writing in prison. Teach creative writing in prison.” I was all, “Who, me?” And the idea was all, “YES, you—do you see anyone else around here you idiot?”
While I didn’t much appreciate the idea’s attitude, I admired its gumption, its grit, its determination. “Ya got moxie, kid,” I told the idea. The idea shushed me and said, “I’m not here to make friends. Now get to work.”
I listened.
The next day I came up with a name—The “Write to Be Free” Project—and then researched best practices in teaching creative writing to incarcerated individuals. (One expert recommends to “always be a little afraid.” I think I can manage that.) A few days later I reached out to the Texas Department of Criminal Justice (TDCJ) to explore the feasibility of the whole “Write to Be Free” thing. The TDCJ put me in touch with Dr. Latreace Craig of The Windham School, a non-geographical school that provides educational services to offenders in the custody of the State of Texas. During my phone call with Dr. Craig, she told me she loved the idea—and encouraged me to go for it.
Following her instructions, I filled out a volunteer application and mailed it to the Huntsville address that was provided. Yes, that Huntsville—the city whose prison houses the State of Texas’ execution chamber … the most active execution chamber in the country. No, I won't be teaching creative writing at the Huntsville unit. That wouldn’t be practical, as it’s too far a drive from Austin. (Who are you calling scared? I’m not scared. YOU’RE scared.) It’s more likely I’ll be assigned to a unit like Travis State Jail (in Austin) or Dominguez State Jail (in San Antonio).
But first, my application has to be accepted. That should be easy-peasy. Also, I have to pass a background check. I don’t foresee any problems there, either. I mean, what correctional facility wouldn’t want its inmates learning from an author whose last three novels centered, respectively, around mercy killing, serial killing and sex trafficking? I’m practically a shoo-in. Once I pass the background check, I merely need to complete a mandatory training program designed to increase my chances of success as a volunteer. Or, more to the point, to minimize my chances of getting shanked.
I’m very excited about what hopefully lies ahead. That’s why I’m here blogging about The “Write to Be Free” Project before everything (or anything, really) has been finalized. But excitement isn’t the only reason for this premature post. I feel that, by declaring my proposed plan publicly, I’m more likely to bust my butt to make it happen. To not give up after encountering obstacles or resistance. To hold myself to account.
Good ideas and noble intentions don’t mean squat without execution. (Okay, perhaps “execution” wasn’t the best term to use here, considering the context.) People always say, “It’s the thought that counts.” Well, not in this case. In this case, what counts is action. What counts is commitment. What counts is stopping at nothing until something gets going. Because the something I’m getting going stands to impact a group of people in ways they’ve yet to imagine. A group of people who, because of their circumstances, may have forgotten how to imagine.
I’ve never been incarcerated, but I’m friends with several people who have. A couple of these people have written novels—damn good ones. And neither of them were writers when they first entered prison.
Point is, when you lose the right to be free, you can still write to be free.
We all make mistakes. Some folks make big ones—big enough to end up in an institution that can strip them of their identity, their humanity. These are the people I'm eager to work with. These are the people with stories and poems that can cut to the bone. These are the people who can remind us—and themselves—what it means to be alive.
They don’t have social media or text messages or online shopping to distract them. They don’t have endless blue skies or Sunday picnics or carefree walks in the park to enjoy. What they have are strongly reinforced ceilings, floors, walls and bars. What they have is their own mind playing an endless loop of what they did wrong.
All I want is a chance to help them discover what they can do. Write.
This is not a one-and-done type of post. I promise to share any progress made on The “Write to Be Free” Project here on this very blog. And who knows—maybe I'll even get to share a few powerful pieces written by some of the incarcerated individuals I (hopefully) get the honor and privilege to work with.
Few things bring me more pleasure than asking fellow authors questions about their life and their writing process. Every once in a while, a fellow author will even respond to my questions.
Like R.D. Ronald, for instance. If his name seems familiar to you, it’s likely because he’s written two very cool novels within the past decade (one of which—The Elephant Tree—was among the titles featured in the big book giveaway I hosted a few months ago). R.D. writes transgressive fiction—in the same vein as authors like Chuck Palahniuk (Fight Club), Bret Easton Ellis (American Psycho), Irvine Welsh (Trainspotting) and, last and certainly least, me.
Below is my interview with R.D., who’s from England but who may soon be moving to Cyprus in order to dodge British authorities. Thus, to experience the full effect of the interview, it’s absolutely essential you read R.D.’s responses in a thick Newcastle accent while sounding a bit suspicious.
Hello, R.D. It’s an honor to have you here. You describe yourself as a “transgressive novelist for all and none.” I love that! What the hell does it mean?
The “for all and none” quote is from Thus Spoke Zarathustra by Nietzsche. I loved it when I first read it, and thought it so aptly applied to my books—and to transgressive fiction in general. For those unfamiliar with what exactly transgressive fiction is, Wikipedia hits the nail on the head with this definition: “A genre of literature that focusses on characters who feel confined by the norms and expectations of society and who break free of those confines in unusual or illicit ways. Because they are rebelling against the basic norms of society, protagonists of transgressive fiction may seem mentally ill, anti-social or nihilistic.”
You’re one of the biggest proponents of transgressive fiction, and have worked tirelessly to make the term/genre all the rage again. Why so passionate about this type of writing? More importantly, please hurry up and make it all the rage again so we can both sell more books.
I've always been passionate about transgressive fiction—long before I knew the term existed or, indeed, what it even was. If you're someone who has found yourself on the outside of things your whole life, never really fitting in here or there, then the voices and stories in transgressive books really feel they can be a mouthpiece for individuals you relate to. The problem was that there was no easy way to discover similar books, and most of my favorites from the genre I discovered completely by accident. I think generalizing the “ungeneralizeable” gives like-minded readers a way to connect with some amazing authors and books that otherwise they may never hear about.
Based on the photos of you I’ve seen, it looks like you work out every day with steel girders in an abandoned warehouse and have murdered many people with your bare hands. So my question is, how much can you bench-press? Less importantly, how many people have you killed?
Ha! Well I can't put a number on how many people I've killed, or I could well find myself behind bars again. I do like to work out but lift surprisingly little. I think I've just discovered a way to make fat look like muscle from a distance.
When did you know you wanted to be a writer? Or were you—like me and so many others—forced to start writing at gunpoint after being kidnapped by an insane-asylum escapee who insisted you ghostwrite his children’s book?
Fortunately I seem to have evaded this asylum escapee so far, but I do get pitched biographies all of the time from people who have lived "fascinating" lives. Like many people, I always felt I did have a good book deep within me somewhere, but it wasn't until my first stint in prison that I seriously considered it, and then committed myself to writing.
Based on months of intensive research as well as your response to my previous question, I know you’ve spent some time in prison. Do you mind me asking what you were in for? How long? What did you use to bust out?
My crime against humanity was growing weed. Shocking, I know. For my first sentence, I spent only six months inside. I say only, but as each day feels like a month, it seemed a phenomenally long time. Obviously I didn't learn my lesson and was imprisoned again around five years later, and served 18 months. Again it might not seem a huge sentence, but around that period there were celebrities convicted on historic child abuse cases and got less time than I did. Maybe I'm not smart enough, but I couldn't understand how raping children was considered less of a crime than having cannabis plants.
What impact did incarceration have on your writing?
It may seem odd, but I found prison was a huge plus for my writing both times. A lot of The Elephant Tree was written in prison, and certain points in The Zombie Room were loosely based on my experience inside. Locked inside a tiny concrete box for over 23 hours a day, day after day after day after day, I guess you find something to occupy your mind or go nuts. Luckily I was already nuts, so I read and wrote the whole time instead.
What advice do you have for aspiring writers looking to get some good writing done inside or outside a penitentiary?
I think writing can be a hugely cathartic thing. So my advice would be just do it. Don't worry about is it good or not, just do it. If someone who does that finds they really enjoy it, then perhaps something on a professional level can come of that later. Just be prepared for a life of rejection, hardship and virtually no financial reward from it, ha.
Your debut novel The Elephant Tree made a nice splash when it came out in 2010, and has developed quite the cult following ever since. So my question is, are you in a cult?
My cult days are behind me now, but my beard is coming along well so maybe I'll form one some day. I was reasonably fortunate that The Elephant Tree was so widely embraced by readers across the globe. Not in colossal numbers, but enough to let me know that there is a real hunger for books that fall between the cracks of mainstream acceptability. That in itself was enough to spur me on, continue writing and continue seeking out and expanding reach on my target audience.
Your novel The Zombie Room also doesn’t suck. I don’t actually have a question, I simply wanted to tell you that. ... On second thought, I do have a question about The Zombie Room—a couple actually. First, why in the world would anyone in their right mind write a novel about sex trafficking? And secondly, which novel about sex trafficking do you feel is better—yours or mine?
Ha! Many thanks for that. There was initial interest from HBO—much like with your book The Exit Man—in bringing The Zombie Room to the small screen, but it didn't end up materializing. I did make a deliberate statement at the end of TZR that I knew critically I would be eviscerated for, but it's more about courage in writing and sticking to your own artistic integrity than it is about chasing ratings, so I'm proud of the book and what it meant to me.
It wasn't originally going to be about sex trafficking. The writing kind of developed a mind of its own and I let things take their natural course. Obviously it is a serious and ongoing issue in the world, and as such I had to do justice to the subject matter and do a lot of research.
As for which book is better, I think we both make significant contributions and readers should check out TZR and In Wolves Clothing and judge for themselves.
What do you like most about writing? What do you like least? (Feel free to go into great detail about the latter—people are used to reading lots of complaining on my blog.)
At times when writing, I can feel on top of the world. I'm not one of those writers that has a daily word count goal. I have days when I write x thousand words, then wake up the next day and bin them all. I have other days when I may only get out a sentence, but it is so perfect to what is integral to a scene, I feel it was a great achievement.
What I like least is probably confusion about the type of books—transgressive fiction—that I write. I've been condemned in reviews because my book wasn't like some bestseller they had just finished reading. The thing mainstream readers don't understand is that those are the kind of books we are sick of. Sure they have their place in the world, but I don't want to sound like James Patterson, or Lee Child, or hell, anyone else at all. I have my own voice and it's one I'm proud of. Not reading like a mainstream book is not a failure, it's a deliberate act to represent readers of the same mindset as me.
Who are some of your favorite authors?
Some of my favorite authors are unsurprisingly members of the transgressive fiction community. Irvine Welsh, Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis. But there are also authors who fit into this category who many won't have heard of: Rupert Thomson, Lili Anolik, Kelly Braffet. Of course it's vital to go back to read and reread classics from the likes of Bukowski, Burroughs, Orwell, and Huxley. I'm always hungry to discover new authors whose work I can fall in love with, so this list may well have changed a year from now.
Can you tell us a little about what you’re working on now?
Right now I'm working on my third novel, A Darkness So Unkind. I released The Zombie Room quite quickly after The Elephant Tree, and as proud of TZR as I am, there are things I would have done differently. I made the conscious decision long ago to not release my third book until I was utterly happy with it. It's been six years since my last release, and I'm very close to completion of A Darkness So Unkind. I hope my fans are hungry for this next one. It's undoubtedly better than anything I've done before. Leaps and bounds. I'm really excited about it and can't wait to release it into the wild.
That goes double for me and many others, R.D. Looking forward to reading it! I'll let you get back to writing it now. Thanks for taking the time to chat, and for giving my poor followers a break from my usual rambling, ranting blog posts. Best of luck to you and your books!
If you'd like to learn more about R.D.’s books and what he’s up to in the world, here are all the links you need to cyber-stalk him:
NOTE:For all you transgressive fiction fans, there’s a new website R.D. and I (but mostly R.D.) have been working on and are excited to tell you about. The site—a sort of “transgressive collective”—is still under construction, but will soon be loaded with awesome content that is laser-focused on darkly funny, daring and dangerous writing.
In addition to being the go-to place for transgressive readers, the site will serve as a powerful platform for transgressive authors—talented newbies and seasoned storytellers alike. Whether you’re working on your first or your fiftieth novel/short story, if you bleed intriguing transgressions on the page and would like to connect with smart readers and like-minded writers, give R.D. or me a shout.
I'll share a link to the aforementioned site once we deem it worthy of public viewing. In the meantime, let us know what (and who) you’d like to see on the site. We want it to be YOURS as much as it is ours (well, R.D.'s mostly).
