Welcome to SCRAWL SPACE, Greg’s blog. Here he waxes eloquent on all things relating to the writing (and reading) life. He’s very happy you’ve stopped by.
"A riveting, fast-paced thriller. Unabashedly recommended." —Midwest Book Review
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.)
January is Human Trafficking Awareness Month, and today—January 11—is Human Trafficking Awareness Day.
Some of you may be wondering why I, a writer of darkly comedic thrillers and satirical ramblings, would bother to bring up the topic of human trafficking on my blog. Well, because my latest novel, In Wolves’ Clothing, centers around the hellish world of sex slavery. Of course, now some of you may be wondering why a comedic author would go anywhere near such a topic in a book. Well, my therapist and I are still trying to get to the bottom of that.
But I didn’t come here to talk about my mental health. I came here to tell you I’ll be donating 100 percent of the proceeds from this month’s sales of In Wolves’ Clothing to Operation Underground Railroad (OUR). OUR is an incredible organization dedicated to rescuing child victims of sex trafficking across the globe. (FYI: The main character in my novel is actually loosely based on a former undercover OUR team member.)
The point is, now would be a great time to to buy a copy of IWC—either the paperback or the Kindleversion. If you already have a copy, now would be a great time to buyanother one … and to tell everyone you know to get a copy of their own. Each purchase directly supports the critical work OUR does … and will save me from the embarrassment of having to write them a check containing only decimals at the end of the month. (Again, every cent I earn from IWC salesin January will go to OUR.)
In case you need a little more of a push before diving into a book like In Wolves’ Clothing, check out what reviewers are saying about it:
"A truly original and enthralling novel. Levin's blazing prose and acerbic wit capture the madness and the humanity of working undercover in the darkest corners.”
"With a thriller's pace and twists, the novel grabs you and won't let go. And it goes deep.”
“A sharp novel, both in action and in style, with fabulous dialogue and a flawed hero you’ll love.”
Whether or not you buy my book, I encourage you to visit OUR’s websiteand to follow them on Facebookand/or Twitterto learn more about what they do, the tremendous impact they’ve had, and the ambitious goals they aim to accomplish going forward in their fight against child sex trafficking.
Thank you very much for your time and for your attention to this important issue.
Every holiday season, I get bombarded with messages from friends and fans telling me they’re dying to buy me a present but don’t know what to get such an accomplished author. Or maybe that’s just the dream I have every holiday season. It doesn’t really matter—I’m a fiction writer, thus fantasy and reality are interchangeable.
Besides, the holidays should be more about giving than receiving. That’s why I’m going to give you all something right now: An awesome list of ideas for gifts you can get me and the other writers in your life.
Some of the items on the list are just for fun, while others are extremely practical. The important thing is that all of them should be sent to my home address very soon to ensure they arrive by the last day of Hanukkah.
You’re welcome.
1) Bourbon of the Month Club membership. Alcohol has long helped writers by opening up creative channels and loosening the flow of prose. Without it, the world would likely be without such literary masterpieces as The Great Gatsby, The Sound and the Fury and The Sun Also Rises. And the world would definitely be without this blog post. Alcohol not only serves as a muse, it dulls the pain authors experience whenever their manuscript is rejected, their book doesn’t sell, or their tweet doesn’t get re-tweeted.
Some of you may be thinking, “But Greg, what if my writer friend doesn’t drink?” My response is, “I don’t understand the question.” Others might be thinking, “Why Bourbon of the Month Club?” My response to that is, “I couldn’t find a Bourbon of the Day Club.”
2) Remote cabin getaway. Whether a rustic Airbnb rental or an abandoned shack where an unsolved murder occurred decades ago, this gift will provide the peace and quiet your writer needs to clearly hear the voices in their head.
Ideally, you’ll want to find a place that doesn’t have wifi, TV, heating, air conditioning or anything else that might risk making the writer too happy and comfortable to produce anything of true literary value. Just keep in mind that, while suffering is good for a writer, dying is not (despite the boost in sales of existing books that death can provide). So be sure to stock the cabin with enough food to keep them alive during their retreat, and to remove all sharp objects and rope for the same reason.
3) Noise-canceling headphones. Not every writer has the luxury of being able to go away and suffer for days in a quiet cabin. Many have to stay home to do their telemarketing job and take care of their six cats. Fortunately, you can bring the quiet cabin directly to these scribes with a pair of noise-canceling headphones. There’s simply no better way for a domesticated writer to drown out the cacophony of laughter and love that daily disrupts their novel in progress.
For those of you on a budget or who are too cheap to spring for noise-canceling headphones, viable alternatives to help your writer friend shut out the real world include silicone earplugs, fluffy earmuffs, or slipping everyone they live with an Ambien.
4) Treadmill desk. Writers often spend days on end sitting in front of their computer, lost in their own imagination. This is great for creating new worlds; unfortunately, it’s even better for creating major heart attacks. Studies indicate that the sedentary nature of novel writing is the third leading contributor to death among fiction authors, trailing only substance abuse and accidents resulting from setting manuscripts on fire.
Giving a writer a treadmill desk not only shows you care about them and their health, it helps to ensure they won’t die before they finish Book Three of the trilogy they have you hooked on.
5) Hygiene app. It’s very easy to forget to bathe when totally focused on creating plot twists, getting drunk and setting fires. Now, this is not to suggest that all writers struggle to maintain personal hygiene. Surely J.K. Rowling and Stephen King have staff on hand to wipe them down at regular intervals. For the rest of the writing populace, there’s an app for that.
A hygiene app will remind hardworking authors to hop in the shower after every few chapters and to brush their teeth before passing out each morning, afternoon and night. These apps make for very affordable gifts and practically guarantee that the only foul odor coming from your writer friends will be their decaying dreams of earning a living wage.
6) Helmet. “Safety first” is something chemistry and industrial arts teachers continuously preach in class. Why English teachers don’t do the same is beyond me. If more of them took time to educate students on the dangers of writing, then emergency rooms would likely handle a million fewer self-inflicted head injuries each year.
But rather than blame the educational system, do your friends and family members who are writers a favor and gift them a helmet for the holidays. Sure, you could instead try convincing them to stop slamming their head against walls and desks and literary agents every time they get writer’s block or a rejection notice, but we all know that’s never going to change.
Please note that if you end up getting a writer the Bourbon of the Month Club membership and the treadmill desk I listed earlier, then you are legally obligated to throw in a helmet.
7) Impressive Amazon ranking. While the aforementioned gift ideas collectively will help a writer be productive, fit and inebriated, none of them will improve their Amazon ranking and make them feel better than every writer they know, which is all any writer really wants. Fortunately, this is an easy gift to provide. All you need to do is buy every book the writer has ever written and demand that all your friends and relatives and Twitter followers do the same. It's the gift that keeps on giving the seratonin boost a writer needs to keep from hurting themselves or anyone else.
Such a gift needn't break the bank, especially if you stick to buying only the Kindle version of each book, and especially especially if the writer has some of their Kindle books on sale for just $0.99—like this one, for instance.
The holidays aren’t just about giving; they’re also about outdoing others. So feel free to share your much better gift ideas for writers in the comments section, which is located beneath the banner aimed at helping you buy my new novel.
Thanks, and ...
HAPPY WHATEVER-YOU-CELEBRATE! May 2018 be nothing even remotely like 2017.
For a while now, I’ve been meaning to give a shout-out to the books that have profoundly influenced my life and writing. And with Thanksgiving just two days away, I figured it was the perfect time to do so—especially since my obsession with books and writing has alienated all my family and friends, leaving me with nothing else to do during this fine holiday week. (It's okay, I'll just pretend I'm British or Canadian. I'm getting good at it.)
Some of the books featured below shook me to the core when my core needed to be shaken. Some got me through the roughest of times. And some shattered my preconceived notions about what it is to be human, what it is to be alive, what it is to pick up the check at a restaurant once in a while.
All of them transformed me in some positive way … just not enough to get me invited to anyone’s house this Thursday.
But enough with the chit-chat. On to the books I’m most thankful for:
The Cat in the Hat(by Dr. Seuss). Those who know me know I am a bit wacky, enjoy breaking rules and love to rap. The Cat in the Hat is the reason for all that. When I was a small child, my mother read it to me at bedtime with the hope that I’d fall asleep. I’ve been awake ever since—running around embracing absurdity, laughing in the face of authority, and spontaneously spitting mad rhymes to complete strangers. (I'm beginning to see even more clearly why I'm free for Thanksgiving.)
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (by Mark Twain). This was the first big book (336 pages) I read voluntarily, and, more importantly, the book that woke me up to America’s history of slavery and racism. I found a copy of it on my parents’ bookshelf one summer day when I was ten, and was shocked by its frequent use of the “N” word. Not even a Lil Wayne album can compete.
I’ve experienced a lot of emotions in my reading life, but few compare to the intense anger I felt toward my own race while reading Huck Finn, or to how moved I was by the book’s young protagonist defying his community and religion to ensure that an escaped slave remained a free man. I wanted to be like Huck ... only with better diction.
Without Feathers (by Woody Allen). Woody Allen’s legendary status as a filmmaker, actor, comic and creepy cradle-robber has overshadowed the fact that he’s also a damn fine author. His first book, Without Feathers—a collection of short stories, essays and plays—changed my life in college. The sheer force of existential hilarity in his writing not only derailed my clinical depression, it inspired me to stop trying to impress my English professors with overly dramatic narratives and instead embrace the sardonic humor that was dying to hit the page.
Thanks to Woody, I went from being a brooding poser who elicited yawns during workshop readings to being an eager writer who caused classmates to pee their acid-washed jeans.
Oh, the Places You’ll Go! (by that Seuss guy again). On the last day of my first post-college job (in Annapolis, Maryland, circa 1991), a coworker friend had everyone in our workplace sign a copy of Oh, the Places You’ll Go! for me to bring to Colorado, where I had decided to move because why not. I didn’t know a single sole in the Rocky Mountain state, but felt it was where I needed to ski … I mean be.
There were many lonely nights in the wintery town I ended up in, causing me to seriously question my decision to leave my friends, family and comfy job on the East Coast. But Oh, the Places You’ll Go! was there to assure me I’d made the right move. Seuss’s weird words of wisdom about travel and adventure and about finding and losing yourself—coupled with the envious and encouraging words my former coworkers had etched inside the cover—kept me from packing up and taking the safe route back to familiar environs. At least until the ski season ended and the money ran out six months later.
A Confederacy of Dunces (by John Kennedy Toole). Until I read Dunces (at the insistence of an old college friend while I was living in Spain at the turn of the century), I had assumed literary writing could be hysterical only in small doses— short stories, one-act plays. I’d tried reading what I’d been told were funny novels on several occasions, only to be disappointed and exhausted in the end ... or well before reaching it.
And then came Dunces. I not only finished it with a big smile and sore abdominals, I did so in one sitting. The book managed to sustain its humor by not trying too hard to be humorous. Truth is, the protagonist—Ignatius J. Reilly—is downright off-putting and unlikeable. So naturally I loved him … so much so, I felt inspired to try my own hand at writing a comedic novel. Of course, those of you who have read my first novel may wish Ignatius and I had never met. But I’d like to think I’ve gotten better at long fiction since then. And I’d like to think you think so too.
I’ll be forever thankful for Dunces, for providing the spark I needed to follow my literary passion and earn less money than I ever dreamed possible.
Lolita (by Vladimir Nabokov). Say what you will about this book, so long as what you say is it’s astonishing. Lolita marked my introduction to—and everlasting love affair with—transgressive fiction. Transgressive novels are characterized by protagonists who feel confined by the norms and expectations of society and who break free of those confines in unusual or illicit ways. In other words, books featuring freaks and criminals you can’t help but root for.
Most of you will agree being bad can feel pretty good. Well, reading bad can feel even better ... even when the bad you’re reading is awful … provided the writing’s great. I’ve lost you. Sorry, I guess it’s just hard singing the praises of a book about a grown man falling madly in love with a twelve year-old girl. (I’ve got a daughter for goodness sake—and she’ll kick my ass if her friends’ parents end up boycotting sleepovers at our place because of this post.)
Suffice it to say Lolita is the book that inspired me to start taking more risks with my own fiction. To explore controversial topics and moral complexities in my stories, and to develop protagonists readers hate to like. Or like to hate. I don’t really care, so long as liking’s involved in some way.
You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense (by Charles Bukowski). When people tell me they hate poetry, I tell them they're mistaken. This confuses them even more than poetry. I then tell them they have to read You Get So Alone and report back immediately. This compels those who hate being bossed around to take a swing at me. They're the ones who'll love the book the most.
Charles Bukowski was an ill-tempered, miserable bastard and a drunk of mythical proportions. Fortunately, all of that comes through in his poems. As does his humanity—you just have to peer beneath the barbed wire and broken bottles of bourbon to find it.
You Get So Alone is like an old cantankerous friend who always has your back ... even in a bar fight … even a bar fight you initiated with a bunch of armed bikers who were minding their own business. Point is, the book will help you get through hell. Hell like heartbreak. Hell like depression. Hell like sibling death. And it does this not by whispering that everything will be okay or by plying you with happy platitudes; rather by punching you in the face and reminding you how lucky you are to feel it.
Fight Club (by Chuck Palahniuk). Speaking of getting punched in the face and liking it. When I read the first few chapters of Fight Club, I knew there was no going back. To old ways of thinking. To old ways of feeling. To old ways of writing. A switch I didn’t even know I had was flipped and a current like God shot through my bones.
The movie’s good, too.
Too bad the rules state I can’t talk about either. Just know I’m thankful for Fight Club the way Trump’s thankful for Twitter, or the way Saturday Night Live’s thankful for Trump.
I realize many of you are busy planning when to put the turkey in the oven and where to put your uncle after his fourth scotch, but if you have a minute, I’d love to hear what book(s) YOU’RE most thankful for. (Please share them in the comments section below.) Oh, and ...
In my novels, I have a tendency to put the main characters through emotional and physical hell. They must endure such things as rapidly metastasizing cancer, the untimely deaths of loved ones, drug addiction and gunshot wounds.
In my actual life, I have a tendency to put my family through much worse.
In my defense, I’m a mean and awful person only when busy writing a book. Or rewriting a book. Or promoting a book. Or planning the next book. So, really only about eleven-and-a-half months out of the year. The rest of the time, I’m an absolute joy to be around.
Nevertheless, I’ve been meaning to formally apologize to my family—my wife and daughter, in particular—and now seems like the ideal time. I think we can all agree there’s no better way for an author to express sincere remorse and request forgiveness than through a blog post.
So here goes ...
Dear Miranda and Leah,
I’m truly sorry for my mood swings and isolation and selfishness over the past several weeks and months and years. Please know it’s nothing personal. You’ve done nothing wrong—other than sometimes breathe too loudly or interrupt me with a sudden “Good morning” or “I love you” that totally takes me out of my writing groove. Still, as crippling as such interruptions are to the creative process, they’re no excuse for me to treat the most important people in my life with disdain.
I’m also sorry you’ve had to endure all my loud arguments with imaginary people. And my shouting at blank pages. And me repeatedly banging my head against my desk. Trust me, it’s not like I enjoy waking you up in the middle of the night with such jarring sounds. After all, once you’re awake, you make noises that make it even harder for me to concentrate and write. So, as you can see, it’s miserable for everyone involved. But I’m willing to take most of the blame.
I’m sorry for always growling and barking at you when you step anywhere near my writing office while I’m in the midst of a critical scene or plot twist or tweet. Nobody should ever have to witness their husband or father behaving like a rabid dog, no matter how warranted such behavior might be. I hope you can forgive me. I also hope you can try not to step anywhere near my writing office while I’m in the midst of a critical scene or plot twist or tweet. (You can always go out your bedroom window to get to the kitchen, you know. Just remember your house key.)
I’m sorry for not being a very good listener in recent years. For sometimes ignoring you when you tell me about your day or your problems or whatever it is you’re always talking about while I’m trying to tell you about how the book is going. I love you guys so much and I really do want to know all about your lives. It’s just sometimes it’s hard to pay attention when what’s happening in my book is so much more thrilling. Again, I’m terribly sorry. Sometimes I wish I didn’t write such thrilling novels. It’s so unfair to you.
Please believe me when I say I’m going to try to change. We all know I won’t actually change, but it would be awfully nice of you to believe I might. One thing I am considering is moving away from such dark topics in my novels. (You were probably hoping I was going to stop that last sentence after “moving away.”) Call me crazy, but I think all the time I spend researching and writing about terminal disease and death and murder and sex trafficking might in some way be contributing to my ever-increasing unpleasantness. I was hoping my ever-increasing drinking might help with that. Not sure if it’s working.
As much as I love writing dark fiction, it’s not worth it if it means destroying our family. That’s why I’m currently toying around with a novel about a puppy and a baby unicorn who live under a magic rainbow. Trouble is, whenever I sit down to work on such a happy book, I’m overcome with the urge to throw myself off a tall building. And you don’t want that, right? Right? … RIGHT?
Okay, I need to wrap this up so I can get back to focusing on nothing but my writing. But before I do, Miranda and Leah, I need you to know the two of you mean the world to me. I’m so sorry if I’ve ever screamed anything from my office to make you think otherwise. You—along with my mother, father and brother (who make up the rest of my fan base and thus had to be mentioned)—are the most important non-imaginary people in my life. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing.
Except perhaps write a book about a puppy and a unicorn.
Love,
Greg/Dad
If you’re a writer, feel free to use the comments section below to share the horrible things you regularly put YOUR family through. And if you’re the family member of a writer, now is the time to cry out for help … and to dish some dirt!
One more thing: Sorry to self-promote so soon after an apology, but today’s the last day to get the Kindle edition of In Wolves’ Clothing for just 99 CENTS. (Amazon US and UK only.) Tomorrow I’m jacking up the price like I’m a pharmaceutical exec and the book’s a life-saving drug. You candownload your ridiculously cheap copy of IWC HERE.
