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 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.
People often talk about their favorite authors. People also often talk about their favorite books. Well, today I’d like to talk about my favorite people who talk about their favorite authors and favorite books.
In other words, I’d like to talk about my favorite readers.
But first, I’d like to give a big shout-out to all readers. I don’t just mean everyone who can read; rather everyone who does read. You always hear about how much it takes to write a book; well, in a way, it takes even more to read one. [Pause here while all the writers of the world scowl, puff out their chest, mumble curse words, question my sanity.)
Allow me to elaborate with an analogy: Writing is to talking as reading is to listening. Talking is easy; listening is hard. It’s why most of us wish most of us would just shut the hell up. It’s why many of you are wishing I would right now.
When a person sits down to read a novel, it’s the equivalent of them saying to someone (the author), “Okay, I’ll let you do all the talking” or “The floor is all yours for as long as you need.”
If that’s not noble and generous, then I don’t know what is.
Now, before I receive a bunch of death threats and hate mail from other writers, allow me to point out I don’t think ALL writing is easy. Good writing certainly isn’t, and warrants much respect. Still, I do feel writing of any kind is a self-absorbed endeavor. It’s the writer basically saying, “I’ve got a bunch of important and entertaining stuff to tell you, so pipe down and listen to me for a few days or weeks.”
But I didn’t come here to trash my fellow scribes or make them question their value as human beings. Every writer does that just fine on their own. No, I’m here today to celebrate some of the best readers I know—those I respect not only for the sheer volume of books they consume, but also for their efforts in helping the writers of said books improve their craft and find more readers.
Angie McMann. Every writer would kill to have a reader like Angie in their life—and no writer deserves her. Especially me. Angie is that rare, wonderful creature: a talented writer who would rather read and promote other writers than herself. Whenever an author she likes comes out with a new book, Angie purchases multiple copies and gifts them to friends she feels will love the book (and the author) as much as she does. If it weren’t for Angie, my book sales would drop by about a third.
But what really makes Angie stand out is the behind-the-scenes support she offers her writer friends. She’s a marvelous proofreader and beta-reader—often catching typos, incongruencies and awkward sentences often overlooked by professional editors. What’s more, she provides many of her peers such invaluable services for free. (The only argument I’ve ever had with Angie was when I insisted on sending her money after she’d proofed an entire novel of mine—TWICE.) And as if all that weren’t enough to earn Angie a special place in reader heaven, she’s great at giving writers the kick in the pants or the words of encouragement they need whenever they start to get down on themselves. I once grumbled to her that I wasn’t sure if all the writing and work I was doing was worth it … and she threatened to kill me if I quit. Because Angie knows quitting would be a far more painful death for any writer.
Chris Rhatigan. If I had room in this article for everyone who runs a small press/publishing house, I’d include each of them. But due to limited space, I’m including only Chris, who busts his hump harder than just about any reader I know. Whether he’s perusing submissions from writers hoping to get published by All Due Respect Books, or digging deeper into and editing a book he’s already accepted for publication, or doing the same for one of the clients of his freelance editing biz, Chris never wavers in his passion for crime fiction or his respect for both established and aspiring authors.
I reached out to Chris a couple of years ago after receiving rave testimonials for his freelance services from several author colleagues. Fortunately he was able to fit me into his crazy busy schedule. Better yet, he not only “got” exactly what I was hoping to achieve with my upcoming novel, Into a Corner, his suggested changes made the book much sharper and leaner—which helped me land my dream agent last year.
So HELL YES Chris Rhatigan earned a spot on this list.
Mark Pelletier. If you follow the crime fiction scene on Twitter, no doubt you’ve stumbled across at least one of the many videos Mark has posted of him reading excerpts from his favorite books. If not, go to Twitter now and search on the “#BookTalk” hashtag. On second thought, do it after you finish reading this blog post—I don’t want you getting lost in the sea of Mark’s highly entertaining and captivating videos until you’re done here. Call me selfish.
Whom you’d never call selfish is Mark. While he’s quite a talented crime fiction writer in his own right, he spends much more time paying tribute to other authors of the genre than he does tooting his own literary horn. This is quite refreshing in a world where you can’t spit without hitting a writer touting their book. Which reminds me, here’s the #Booktalk clip Mark did of MY book Sick to Death.
Janet Reid. I’d have to be some kind of idiot not to include my own literary agent on this list. And while I am, indeed, some kind of idiot, I’m not THAT kind of idiot.
To be clear, Janet isn’t listed here merely because she was bold and kind enough to take a chance on a little-known writer like me last year. She’s on the list because I know how much and how hard she reads—and how much she roots for every writer who sends their book baby her way. Janet may offer representation to only a very small percentage of authors who query her, but she’s in each writer’s corner—quietly hoping they captivate her, astound her, even shock her with their writing. In addition to giving a fair shake to each manuscript she receives (and she receives a LOT), Janet maintains a very active blogin which she offers advice, tips and insight to help any writer looking to land a reputable agent or get a book deal or simply improve their craft.
She’s the best kind of reader—the kind who has dedicated their entire life to helping writers achieve their dreams.
Chuck Palahniuk. The first rule of Fight Club is don’t talk about Fight Club. But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk about workshopping your novel with the author of Fight Club. Some may accuse me of namedropping here, but when you get the chance to not only meet Chuck Palahniuk but also share your manuscript with him and receive his coaching, you bring it up on occasion.
But this isn’t about me. This is about Chuck (have I mentioned I know him) and how generous he is with his time and tutelage. Not many authors of his stature would create and lead a four-month-long, ten-session workshop for promising writers—and donate 100 percent of the proceeds from said workshop to an animal rescue organization. That’s exactly what Chuck did with his amazing “Writing Wrong” workshop, which he started in 2017. I was lucky enough to be among the fifteen writers selected for the inaugural workshop, and was blown away not only by how deep Chuck dove into every page presented by each participant, but also by how quickly and effortlessly he was able to spot what was holding some of the stories back, and how concise, creative and respectful he was with his feedback.
Having Chuck read my pages (from my since-published novel In Wolves’ Clothing) and offer suggestions created a monumental shift in how I think about writing and how I tell stories to this day. And he’s had the same powerful, lasting impact on pretty much every other writer who's had the great fortune of receiving his coaching.
My mother. My mother would read me at least one bedtime story every night when I was a child, which sparked my lifetime love of books. As for her love of books, it extended far beyond those by Dr. Seuss, Maurice Sendak, A.A. Milne and Beatrix Potter. She and my father would take my brothers and me on a beach vacation a couple of times every summer, and every trip my mother would bring whatever encyclopedia-thick novel she had bought for the week. My brothers and I would go off with Dad to bodysurf, toss the frisbee, play wiffle-ball, and invariably we would return to find my mother already 300-400 pages into her book. The only thing scarier than all the Stephen King novels my mother read in the 1980s was how quickly she devoured them.
To make sure my mother actually read each page of all the giant novels she breezed through, I would open a book she had just finished to a random page in the middle or toward the end, read a few sentences, then ask her to explain what was going on at that point in the novel. Not once did she fail to impress—providing details about the story I bet Stephen King himself would have forgotten.
Mom, who’s now nearly 82 years old, continues to devour fiction like it’s going out of style. And considering all the books she has consumed in her life, I can’t help but feel honored when I walk into my parents’ living room and see a copy of each of my novels prominently displayed on their end table. Of course, I realize one or two of those books are ones only a mother could love.
Some of you may be thinking I, being a writer, am merely pandering to readers with this post today—hoping to win them over with my “I love readers” theme, hoping to expand my platform, increase book sales.
In my defense, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.
Nothing says “I love literature” like cheering a fight to the death.
Every reader at one point or another has found themselves enthralled by some epic melee between a favorite protagonist and that character’s sworn enemy—or some other human obstacle standing in the protagonist’s way. As much as I love such scenes of intense conflict and tension, I often find myself wishing for even more. Like, wishing I could lift different characters out of their respective books to see how they’d fare in a fight with one another.
Yes, I am seeking professional help for this condition. But in the meantime, I’ve come up with a few literary death-matches for the ages—ones any devout fan of fiction would die for. Or at least finish reading this blog post for.
Enjoy!
Tyler Durden from Fight Club vs. Alex from A Clockwork Orange
A no-holds-barred bout between these two anarchy A-listers would be as hilariously entertaining as it would be deadly. I can already hear the cacophonous laughter from both characters as they suffer and deliver bone-shattering blows coupled with witty, derisive barbs. Their mutual love of destruction and mayhem would further inspire each to keep bringing and receiving the pain. In the end though, it’s hard to imagine Alex still standing. As hard as it is to defeat a highly disturbed fictional individual, it’s even harder to defeat a highly disturbed figment of the imagination of an a even more disturbed fictional individual. Which is why the first unspoken rule of Fight Club is you don’t get into a death-match with the founder of Fight Club.
Lisbeth Salander from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo vs. Patrick Bateman from American Psycho
I’d pay good money to see one of the most badass vigilante feminists in literature square off against one of the most psychotic misogynistic serial killers in literature—and I’d place more good money on the former taking down the latter. Sure, Patrick Bateman knows how to time the dropping of an active chainsaw down a spiral stairwell so that it perfectly eviscerates a fleeing victim, but such gruesome stunts wouldn’t fly with Ms. Salander, who’s smart enough to wear her kickass black motorcycle helmet whenever she senses the slightest chance she’ll encounter trouble. That, plus Patrick’s insatiable ego and lust would put him at a distinct disadvantage. Where he’d be focused on having sex with Lisbeth and adding her to his list of amorous conquests before murdering and dismembering her, Lisbeth would be focused solely on going for the kill. She has zero interest in external validation from men, and is the last person a man like Patrick would ever want catching him with his pants down.
“Richard Parker” the tiger from Life of Pi vs. the cat from The Cat in the Hat
Who doesn’t love a good catfight, am I right? Now, I realize a 450-pound Royal Bengal tiger versus a fast-talking street cat might seem like a total mismatch on paper, but the truth is … nah, I’m not gonna lie—The Cat in the Hat would be a goner. But that’s okay; I never really liked that damn cat or his hat. True, he did teach millions of bored children how tons of fun can be had even on a dreary, rainy day; however, in the process he nearly destroyed a perfectly nice home, forced two innocent children into a high-stakes game of deception with their mother, and made his two kooky friends live inside a box. What a dick. So, him getting completely devoured by a giant ferocious feline—who by the way, showed tremendous restraint with that boy on that boat—well, that’s just karma.
Katniss Everdeen from Hunger Games vs. Robin Hood from The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood
I’ve got nothing against either one of these characters and wish neither of them any harm; it’s just, archery is totally badass and I can’t help but wonder which of these two legends would be the truer shot when the stakes couldn't be higher. No doubt both heroes are highly skilled and very brave, but I’d have to give Katniss the slight upper hand—not only because she has more modern equipment, but also because Robin Hood’s skimpy tights would offer little in the way of protection. One shot anywhere near the femoral artery and the dude would bleed out. One shot a little bit higher and the dude would wish he'd bleed out.
Hannibal Lecter from Red Dragon vs. Sweeney Todd from Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
As with the Katniss/Robin Hood matchup, I think both of these characters are fine, upstanding individuals whom I’d be honored to call friends. It’s hard not to respect how they each use the whole human whenever they kill one. That’s very green of them, very ecological. Still, it would be an absolute morbid thrill to watch them battle to the death and, depending on the outcome, witness the winner either eating the loser with a nice Chianti or having their friend make sausage out of him.
What literary character death matches would YOU love to see? Or do you find the very notion of even fictional violence and murder appalling? If so, why are you reading my blog? You must be lost.
This past year was the longest decade ever. And now that it’s finally over, I’m excited to welcome in 2021. Hell, I’d be excited to welcome in 1621 or 1721 or any other year or even a chainsaw-wielding serial killer. Anything but 2020 again.
A new year is a time for resolutions and predictions. And since I have a natural lack of resolve, I’m going to focus solely on the prediction part. Of course, making predictions requires one to have a solid grasp on reality, which I lack even more than I do resolve. Thus, I’m going to focus solely on predictions about fiction.
So, without further delay or convoluted transitional statements, I bring you my Five Fiction Predictions for 2021:
1) There will be a 325% increase in characters wearing masks.This will occur across almost all contemporary genres. The increase will be notably less in superhero graphic novels and literary erotica, the characters of which have been wearing masks for decades.
2) Fight scenes will be almost completely replaced by shootouts. Due to authors now feeling compelled to work social distancing into their stories, readers can expect to see fewer scenes featuring hand-to-hand combat and female characters kicking predatory male characters in the crotch, and more scenes of gunplay and female characters shooting predatory male characters in the crotch.
3) Horror sales will decline.I’ve always loved a good horror story and personally know and respect several authors who write in this genre, so this wasn’t an easy prediction for me. But hey, I don’t get paid to make or keep friends. In fact, I don’t get paid period and don’t have any friends—thus I’m just going with my gut here. Sales of horror novels will steadily start trending downward because, after all the chaos and terror we’ve all had to deal with in real life lately, everyone’s just bored of nightmares. Death and gore and terrifying suspense? That’s just an average Tuesday nowadays.
4) First-person POV serial killer novels will dominate U.S. bestseller lists.With such anger and divisiveness tearing America apart, people are becoming increasingly aggressive and violent—including authors. But since most authors never learned how to throw a proper punch and tend to lack upper-body strength, many will go on fictional murder sprees to help them take out their frustration on people who don’t think exactly like them or buy their books.
5) There will be a big shift to historical fiction and sci-fi.Lots of authors of contemporary fiction are sick of trying to adapt their work to align with what’s happening in the real world. This will cause many to abandon modern-day plots and settings for ones far enough in the past or future to eliminate the need for their characters to constantly wash their hands, stand six feet apart, and horde toilet paper.
YOUR turn: Do you have any fiction predictions for 2021? More importantly, do any of them hint at a massive increase in sales of MY books?
