With Valentine’s Day coming up, most sane people would write a heartfelt letter to their spouse or significant other before writing one to their favorite hobby or activity. But as an author of dark fiction, I reject both sanity and Valentine’s Day purely on principle. Besides, I’ve already proven my tremendous devotion to my wife by agreeing to watch The Bachelor with her every week.
I guess you could say she and I have a sort of open relationship—she’s allowed to be in love with young, buff, reality TV stars, and I’m allowed to be in love with my own written words. So me spending Valentine’s week thus far doing nothing but working on this blog post really hasn’t bothered her at all.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find out what my wife's yelling about and why she’s packing a suitcase. But before I do, allow me to share with you—in the (sort of) spirit of Valentine’s Day—this, “My Open Love Letter to Writing.”
Dear Writing,
I love you more than words can describe, which, I realize, is more than just a little ironic.
I’ve loved you ever since I gave you a try and got a gold star from my kindergarten teacher and a “Good job!” from my parents.
I love you because you’re always there for me—even when I yell and scream at you about writer’s block like it’s your fault.
I love you because you’re always there for others, too. For anyone willing to give you a shot. Anyone dedicated enough to stick with you even when the words aren’t flowing. Anyone stupid enough to ignore their angry spouse just to spend a few extra sentences with you.
I love you because you allow me to get away with murder. I love you because the murders you allow me to get away with keep society safe from me.
I love you because I didn’t really know who I was until I met you—and because I continue to learn who I am because of you.
I love you because you connect me to the world and to others in a way surpassed only by the ingestion of very special mushrooms.
I love you because you’ve given me a voice my teenage daughter hears much more clearly than when I speak.
I love you because you are my escape hatch—one that drops me straight into a world where imagination trumps reality … and even has the potential to redefine it.
I love you because you allow me to explore the darkest parts of humanity and myself yet emerge full of light.
I love you because you’ve given me the power to endure the toughest of times: heartbreak; loneliness; depression; the deaths of friends and loved ones—particularly my oldest brother. I love you because you’ve taught me how to turn pain into art. Grief and anger into laughter and acceptance. Suffering into something so brutally beautiful, it almost ceases to hurt.
And I love you because you’ve given me the power to help others endure their own toughest times.
I guess what I’m saying is, Writing, my dear, I love you. You had me at hello.
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.
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.
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).
One of my favorite things to do when not writing dangerous novels is read them. (No, not my own—that would be weird to admit publicly.) I love sinking into the sofa and getting lost in good books chock full of bad. Books with characters you’d run from in real life but can’t resist rooting for on the page. Characters who do awful things for noble reasons. Characters who take crazy risks for what they feel is right.
Characters who punch you in the gut as they steal your heart—and who make you laugh as you bleed out.
You’ll find such appealingly unlikeable characters in books by the likes of Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis, Gillian Flynn, Irvine Welsh.
But I’m not here to talk about those authors. They don’t need me to. They’re already famous. Today I’d like to instead shine the spotlight on several lesser-known (but not lesser) writers whose fresh, gritty and in some cases hilarious fiction will knock you for a loop, or on your ass. Or both.
Brace for impact.
Mike McCrary. The first time I read Mike McCrary, I didn’t. He did. He was giving a reading from his darkly comical crime thriller Genuinely Dangerous at a “Noir at the Bar” event I was attending in Austin, and his words blazed the crowd, eliciting gasps and guffaws. My first thought was, “Is this guy that good, or am I just drunk?” And then, after listening to him read more, I realized both were true.
If you dig funny, fast-paced, enthralling neo-noir—and can handle it served with a generous portion of profanity—I highly recommend you give Genuinely Dangerous a go. Same goes for McCrary’s novel Steady Trouble as well as his audacious Remo Cobb series. You can get the first book of that series (Remo Went Rogue) for FREE simply by joining McCrary’s mailing list here. (Books this good shouldn’t be free, but Mike is just too damn nice a guy … despite what his novels may imply.)
Sarah M. Chen. Not many crime fiction authors write with as much fun, hardboiled flare as Sarah M. Chen does. And practically none of them can write with as much authority. Chen works as a private investigator assistant in and around her home city of Los Angeles. So when not busy concocting crimes, she’s helping to solve them. This would be like me working as a serial killer or drug-addicted sociopath when not busy writing. (Man, if only the latter one paid.)
Chen has had dozens of crime fiction short stories published, and her debut novella, Cleaning Up Finn (which one dazzled critic characterized as “West Coast restaurant noir”) was a finalist for the Anthony Award and the Lefty Award—both coveted prizes in the mystery/thriller world. The novella also earned Chen an Independent Publisher Book Award, a.k.a., an “IPPY.” (IPPYs are a big deal, and I’m not just saying that because I’ve won two of them.) This March, be on the lookout for The Night of the Flood, a highly anticipated “novel-in-stories” Chen contributed to and co-edited with the inimitable crime/mystery author E.A. Aymar.
Scott Kelly. Scott Kelly and I first met the same way most middle-aged white male novelists meet—at a late-night freestyle rap circle out front of the Texas State Capitol building. I was there to rap; Kelly was there to hand out copies of one of his books. It goes without saying we were both under the influence.
Even more intriguing than our “meet-cute” are Kelly’s novels, which can best be described as existential transgressive psychological thrillers. Okay, maybe that’s not how they’re best described since that was a real clunky bunch of words. (What do you want from me—I’m only a writer.) Suffice it to say Kelly’s books are great—dark, provocative and sardonically funny. I recommend starting with Keep the Ghost (the first book of his Keep the Ghost Trilogy). It’s a mesmerizing tale of “pseudocide,” which is the faking of one’s death to wipe the slate clean and start over as a new person. Something we’ve all fantasized about—especially those of us with children.
Jen Conley. Jen Conley is one of the best short story writers you’ve never read. Saying so may be a little presumptuous of me—and a little insulting to her (and her fans)—but I wanted to grab your attention ... the same way Conley’s fierce yet soulful tales of lonely hearts, stolen goods and broken bones will.
Her work has appeared in such notable publications as Thuglit, Crime Factory and Beat to a Pulp, to name just a few. If you’re a fan of short crime/noir fiction, you must check out her Anthony Award-nominated book, Cannibals: Stories from the Edge of the Pine Barrens. And if you’re not a fan of short crime/noir fiction, be careful—Cannibals will turn you into one.
Eryk Pruitt. If you like epic tales of good triumphing over evil, of true courage in the face of peril, and of love conquering all, you’re going to hate Eryk Pruitt.
If, on the other hand, you’re into reading about con artists, social media narcissists and aspiring serial killers who make bad choice after bad choice with the best intentions, then not only will you love Pruitt’s masterfully minimalist Southern noir, but also you and I can be best friends.
Pruitt’s latest novel, What We Reckon, is, according to author Joe R. Lansdale, "hardboiled honey packed with razor blades and dynamite, strange and leanly written, and tossed into a tornado; … a modern piece of folklore covered in gasoline and set on fire.”
Wow, my mother said the exact same thing after reading it. But don’t just take her (or Joe’s or my) word for it; go read What We Reckon—and Pruitt’s two other gloriously gritty books, Dirtbags and Hashtag.
I hope some or all of these authors have piqued your interest. If you decide to read (or have read) one of their books and like(d) it, let me know. More importantly, let the AUTHOR and everyone else know by writing a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.
Who are some of your favorite writers you feel are “under the radar” and well-deserving of a larger readership? (Mom and Dad, you don't have to list me.)