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.

For the past couple of months, I’ve been writing a woman I’ve never met. I know her every secret and can finish all her sentences. Her name’s Roxy, and I can’t stop thinking about her.

My wife, Miranda, is totally cool with it. Thinks it’s great. In fact, Miranda encourages me to spend several hours a day in a room alone with Roxy. Even suggests exciting risks to take with her and challenging positions to put her in.  

It’s not as kinky as it sounds ... unless you get off on watching an author out of his element.

Roxy’s full name is Roxy Scott—the main character in the novel I’m working on. (Yes, I’m writing yet another novel, despite what my tax returns keep telling me.) This is the first time I’ve ever written a female protagonist (a biracial one, no less), and I’m learning a lot in the process. Like what jackasses men can be, how much stronger women are, and how inconvenient and inhumane depilation is.  

You know, the kind of stuff pretty much every woman who’s ever lived has always known.

It’s not easy being a woman. Or writing one as a man. There are myriad pitfalls and challenges male authors—particularly straight male authors—face when writing a female protagonist, or any female character for that matter.

The biggest mistake so many male writers make in their books is the same mistake so many male non-writers make in everyday life: They think of women in an overly sexual manner. Even worse, they think as women in an overly sexual a manner. You can usually tell when a first-person POV story about a woman has been written by a man—you’ll catch the character thinking about or referencing certain parts of her body a bit too often and at odd times. The way only an idiot with a penis would.

“No further questions, your Honor,” I said to the judge before glancing over at the jury, beads of sweat glistening between my breasts.

The doorbell rang. Right then and there, while ripping the last wax strip from my bikini line, I knew Jack was dead.

Okay, those examples are a bit hyperbolic, but you get the idea. And if you don’t, go read a book starring a female protagonist written by pretty much any male author besides Kazuo Ishiguro, Jeffrey Eugenides Ian McEwan or Tom Perrotta. (Yes, I know there are other men who write women well, but humor me here in the interest of time and space.)

So, what am I doing to avoid introducing to the literary world yet another one-dimensional woman for the critics to eviscerate? What am I doing to help ensure that Roxy Scott leaps off the page with flesh, bone and soul, and makes readers forget there’s a man behind the curtain? Well, I’ll tell you what I’m doing …

… I’m listening to her.

I realize that sounds a bit woo-woo, perhaps even pretentious, but it’s true. I spent a lot of time “getting to know” Roxy before actually starting to write about her. I took a ton of notes about her imaginary past and present. I paid particular attention to her unique strengths and weaknesses, her habits and quirks, her pain and pride. Her successes. Her failures. As a result, each day when I’m working on the manuscript, it’s more Roxy guiding me than me guiding Roxy. She’s far too tough and independent to be pushed around by a mid-list male writer like me. In fact, she scares me a little.

That said, I’ve tried to not make Roxy so tough and independent she shows up as a machine, an invincible badass. This is another common mistake men make when writing a female protagonist. We try so hard to avoid turning the character into a clichéd woman, we inadvertently turn her into a clichéd man—thus making her easier to write, but unbelievably unbelievable to the reader. I’ll admit, there were a few times when I unwittingly started to veer toward over-masculinity while writing Roxy. Fortunately, though, she brought these incidents to my attention and set me straight. “Hey, Greg,” she wrote on my bathroom mirror in red lipstick one day, “I’m glad you didn’t try to make me a supermodel sex goddess princess, but please keep in mind I’m still a woman with wants and needs.” It was a difficult and awkward "conversation"—like finding out that your own mother or sister has a sex life.         

While listening to Roxy is essential and has served me well, I realize doing everything a fictional person tells me to do isn’t writing. It's schizophrenia. So I’ve had to learn to trust my gut at times. To rely on my male intuition about being a woman. (I’m pretty sure that’s never gotten any man into trouble before.) Not to brag, but after more than forty years of disappointing and aggravating mothers, grandmothers, daughters, aunts, girlfriends, girl friends and wives, I know a thing or two about what the opposite sex hates. I figure I can just extrapolate from there.   

But the truth is, I'm learning to focus less on the fact that I’m writing a female main character and more on the fact that I’m writing a human one. I mean, let’s face it, aside from the (usually) obvious anatomical contrasts, women and men are not as different as they used to be. Gender roles—and pronouns—have been bending beyond easy recognition for years now. A typical “he” and a typical “she” aren’t what they used to be. And that’s a good thing—unless you happen to get fooled while vacationing in Thailand.

So, I’m just going to keep writing Roxy Scott to the best of my ability, taking her thoughts and interests and motivations into careful consideration as we, together, push the plot forward. I won’t boss her around, sell her out, have her talk like a tart or make her act like a man. I’ll continue to honor her autonomy and her ability to make her own decisions, as well as her ability to deal with the consequences of those decisions.

Bottom line is, I’ll treat Roxy with the same level of respect I would any woman. Or man. Or anyone in between. More precisely, I’ll treat Roxy with the same level of respect I’d want to be treated with if Roxy were writing me.

And who’s to say she isn’t? 

 

YOUR TURN. Name some male authors (and/or their book titles) you feel do justice to their female characters. Or, name some male authors/books that DON’T. (Fear not—it’s highly unlikely any famous authors read my blog.) Also, it’s been said that women do a better job of writing men than men do of writing women. Do you agree? I'd love for you to share your thoughts in the comments section below. 

(In totally unrelated news, today [Wednesday, May 9] is the last day to get the Kindle edition of my latest thriller for JUST 99 CENTS. Click HERE to take advantage of this deal. Thanks!)   

   

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:

Website

Amazon

Twitter

Facebook

 

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).

They say you should write only for yourself. That you shouldn’t worry about others’ opinions and instead just write what’s inside you.

And they’re right … if you’re writing a diary.

If, however, you’re writing a novel, which can take a couple years and pints of blood to complete and publish, there’s a good chance you’re hoping folks will read it. And there’s an even better chance you’re hoping folks will like it.

The bad news is, most folks won’t read it. The worse news is, some of the folks who will read it won’t like it.

Fortunately, I’ve learned a great way to cope with the crushing defeat and the feelings of utter insignificance most authors commonly experience. My secret? I pretend everyone who ignores or dislikes my books is dead or insane. This enables me to remain deluded and to revel in the handful of readers who dig my books—the people who remind me why I keep at this crazy writing game.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t write merely for external validation. I write because I love the pure act of writing and creating, the euphoria I get from completing what I think is a solid chapter or page or paragraph. Still, few things feel as good as when—after you bust your hump to bring a 75,000-word story into the world—someone other than yourself or your own mother says the story captivated them. Brought them joy. Made them laugh. Helped them through a difficult time. Maybe even transformed them to some extent.      

As much as I love writing novels, there are times when I think about quitting. Like when I’m struggling with a manuscript I’m working on. Or when I realize even my absolute best effort stands little chance of bringing me financial gain. Or when it hits me that every hour or day I spend with the imaginary people in my books is time spent away from actual people in my life. Or because I’m aware of all the big and real problems in the world, and know that me sitting alone in a room creating fiction isn’t doing much to fix things.

But it seems every time I’m about to throw in the towel and move on to do something I feel would be more productive and rewarding and selfless, some reader comes along and ruins everything with a positive and heartfelt review of one of my books. Something terribly enabling like:

“I finished In Wolves' Clothing a little over 24 hours ago and am still struggling to find the words to describe it, and to get it out of my mind. This is one of the best books I have ever read. I know that's lofty praise, but Greg Levin's ability to tell such a painful, horrible story and make it funny and inspirational deserve it.”

Or:

“As a cancer patient, I speak from a different perspective than most who will read this book. The humor and storyline are exquisitely delightful. Laugh-out-loud funny. I will read this again when I need a humor boost.”

Or an email saying:

“I lost my mother a little over a month ago. A few of my friends thought I should wait to read your book—given the subject matter. I wanted you to know that it was precisely the right book at the right time. A brilliant work of fiction that collided with an important time in my life. I loved your book, and my mother would have too.”

How in the hell am I ever supposed to leave writing behind and actually make something of myself if, on occasion—albeit rare–I receive such praise and encouragement?

Perhaps I need to start focusing on the haters and trolls a little more. You know, the folks who take time out of their busy schedule to send me email messages like:

“You are crap. Your books are crap. I hope you get a flesh-eating bacterial disease and die.”

Or who leave a one-star review like:

“Worst book I've ever read. Awful. If I could give no stars I would do that but I did not have that option.”

It could be the latter folks actually have my best interests in mind. (Well, okay, probably not the flesh-eating disease guy.) Could be they’re just trying to steer me in a direction that will be more beneficial to me and my family. Could be they’re actually members of my family.    

But I know me, and I’m sure I’ll just continue pretending such haters are zombies and/or psychopaths, and that I’ll continue putting way more stock into what my three or four super-fans have to say. And that’s okay. Because honestly, whatever keeps a writer writing (or a singer singing or a painter painting or a dancer dancing) is okay. 

I, myself, am a super-fan of several authors, and I’ve witnessed—and been surprised by—the effect that simple, honest praise can have on even famous writers … writers I’d assumed had become numb to all the compliments and accolades they’ve received from fans over the years. I recently reached out to a renowned author of dark yet powerfully poignant novels to let him know I’d just finished one of his books and that I regretted not having read it sooner. His reply:

“I've been pretty dejected about the industry for a while now, but meeting likeminded authors like yourself has invigorated my passion and determination to stick at what I believe in.”

Another author I greatly admire recently gave me the honor of reading the unfinished manuscript of his long-awaited next novel. Midway through the manuscript, I couldn’t resist emailing him to say it was shaping up to be the best book I’ve read in years. (And I wasn’t lying.) His reply:

“Much appreciated. I've been trying to psych myself up all day to make another run at the current chapter-in-progress, so your praise was well-timed.”  

Point is, writers are so damn needy. (I don’t do emojis, but feel free to insert a winky-face one here. Moving on …)

I didn’t write this blog post to pander to readers or to fish for compliments on my writing. (I already have every positive review and message I’ve ever received printed out and taped to a cocktail glass, so don’t worry about me—I see praise every day.) Rather, I wrote this post to remind readers of the power they possess simply by being a reader. Yeah, that does sound like pandering, but bear with me.

As a reader, you have every author in the world at your mercy. And you don’t owe them anything. You don’t have to read their books. You don’t have to like their books. However, if you do read one and you like it and feel compelled to let them know but figure they’re too busy or important to care, believe me, they’re not.

Their words may have left you breathless, mesmerized, overjoyed. Their words may even have restored your faith in literature and humanity. But I’m telling you, your words are even more powerful. A couple sentences of yours can touch a writer far more deeply than a thousand sentences of theirs touched you. Because what you have to say might just be exactly what the author needs to hear to continue writing. To continue fighting. To continue leaving not only you but countless others breathless, mesmerized, overjoyed. Transformed.

And, in the event you do reach out to an author to share how much their book meant to you and they don’t respond, well, don’t sweat it. Just pretend they’re dead or insane. Chances are, you’ll be right.

 

A huge THANK YOU to all the readers who’ve ever given my words the time of day—and who’ve graced me and kept me going with theirs.

Ever since my novel In Wolves’ Clothing launched in October, I’ve been meaning to interview Zero Slade, the main character in the book. However, we’ve both been extremely busy—he with traveling the world risking everything to rescue victims of child sex trafficking, and I with getting therapy to help me recover from writing a novel about a guy like Zero. The two of us finally got a chance to sit down and talk to myself this week. Here's the transcript from our candid conversation:

Me: Hi, Zero—great to see you again!

Zero: (Clenches jaw.) Don’t start with me, Greg.

Me: What’s the matter? Why so irked?

Zero: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the jet lag. Or perhaps the opioid withdrawal. But more than likely it’s just the chronic pain from, you know, my recent gunshot wound.

Me: Sorry, man. That’s all still bothering you, huh?

Zero: (Glares at me in silence.)

Me: If this isn’t a good time, we can reschedule.

Zero: Nah, I’m off to Laos tomorrow, then Mumbai after that. Let’s just get this over with.

Me: Okay, but you seem a little stressed out. Have you considered taking some time off from work?  

Zero: I already took some time off from work. After getting shot on the job. Remember?

Me: Okay, okay, relax. You’re acting like I pulled the trigger.

Zero: And you’re acting like you didn’t.

Me: Oh, I see how it is. You know, you’re not the only one with a difficult job around here. I’d like to see you try to create page upon page of compelling narrative and dialogue while under tremendous pressure to constantly raise the stakes and build tension to ensure readers remain riveted.

Zero: Oh yes, we’re all sooo impressed by your ability to write dangerous and harrowing scenes. But guess what: You wouldn’t last ten seconds in a single one of them. So don’t tell me about “difficult jobs,” you entitled little prick. It’s one thing to sit in a safe little room and type words that describe eight- and nine-year-old girls being rescued from the horrors of sex trafficking. It’s another thing entirely to be the guy who has to actually go in and be the girls’ worst nightmare so that their worst nightmare can finally end. (Extends arm and drops microphone at my feet.)

Me: (Sniffles.) 

Zero: Aw, man. C’mon, don’t cry. (Hands me a tissue.) Jesus—you writer-types are so damn sensitive.

Me: (Wipes eyes and blows nose.) Sorry, it’s just … that book took a lot out of me. But I’m being selfish. I can only imagine what everything was like for you.

Zero: It’s okay, man. The story had to be told.

Me: So you’re not mad at me?

Zero: I mean, I probably won’t be having you over to the house anytime soon—or buying the book—but I do kind of owe my life to you, so I guess we’re good.

Me: Glad to hear that, because I had this idea for a sequel where—

Zero: Don’t push it, Author Boy.   

Me: Sorry. It’s just that what you and the other members of Operation Emancipation do is so intriguing. Can I at least ask you a few questions about it, for the benefit of our audience?

Zero: Audience? You mean people actually read your blog?

Me: Um, for your information, smartass … I think so. Not really sure. But I do have a fair number of subscribers—a few of whom even open the emails I send them.

Zero: Your mother must be so proud.

Me: Actually, she recently unsubscribed. Anyway, let's get to those questions.

Zero: Fire away.

Me: For the people out there unfamiliar with my novel, which is pretty much everyone, could you please describe what you do? 

Zero: I’m a fake sex tourist.

Me: Yeah, um, care to elaborate?

Zero: (Rolls eyes, sighs.) I’m a member of a team that jets around the globe pretending to be pedophiles to trick pimps and liberate child victims from sex trafficking. I‘m talking the most heartbreaking sting operations you can imagine. And far too many frequent-flyer miles. 

Me: How does one end up in such a unique and difficult line of work?

Zero: Mostly by screwing up in a previous and more “illustrious” line of work related to law enforcement, national security and/or intelligence. In my case, I screwed up as a CIA agent. Some of my current colleagues and closest friends, they screwed up as FBI agents, Navy SEALs, Secret Service agents, Green Berets. That’s as specific as I can get without having to legally kill you.    

Me: Well then, moving on. Do you like what you do?

Zero: It’s kind of stupid to ask someone if they like playing the role of the vilest type of scumbag on earth. I’ll answer the question anyway: I hate that my job is necessary, but I like—and am damn proud of—what we’ve been able to accomplish.

Me: (Sniffles.)

Zero: Oh for chrissakes. Again with the crying? Dude, you must have been an absolute mess while researching and writing the book.

Me: (Wipes eyes and nose on sleeve.) It’s true. I was.

Zero: I mean, the shock and the anger and the sadness you must have experienced when you learned that over two million children are subjected to prostitution in the global commercial sex trade. And that the average age of these children is around twelve. And that their average life span after being trafficked is seven years, with many dying from assault, abuse, HIV, malnutrition, drug overdose or suicide.

Me: Well, the more shocked, angry and upset I became, the more I knew I had to write the book.

Zero: And I’m glad you did. Also, I’m glad you gave me and the guys on my team a sense of humor to help us survive and stay mostly sane on the job. And while I probably could have done without all the oxycodone and bourbon you gave me throughout much of the story, I appreciate you trying to help me numb the pain.

Me: Thanks, man. I figured if I needed those things to write the book, you definitely needed them to live it.  

Zero: How thoughtful of you.

Me: You’re welcome.

Zero: Now, what I’m not glad about and don’t appreciate is how you just HAD to have me overdose, causing my wife to find out about my opioid use and force me into rehab.

Me: I was trying to get you clean!

Zero: I know, but you know what would have been really helpful? Um, not having me get SHOT right after that. You see, having full access to powerful prescription painkillers is, uh, sort of nice after a metal slug has torn through your torso.

Me: I understand your frustration, but as I alluded to before, people who read thrillers demand mounting tension, danger and mayhem.

Zero: SCREW them!  

Me: You really shouldn’t scream and strain like that—you’ll pop your sutures.

Zero: Good! That would add "tension, danger and mayhem” to this interview. Your readers will be overjoyed.

Me: Oh, stop it. Honestly, I don’t know what you’re so angry and upset about—people really like the book. Have you seen the reviews? Readers love you  … actually, “love” may be a bit of an embellishment. They do, however, respect the hell out of you. Most of them, anyway.

Zero: Big deal. You think I care what thousands of people on Amazon think of me? 

Me: I never said thousands. Who do you think I am, J.K. Rowling? 

Zero: Whatever. Point is, I don’t have time to look at reviews or worry about readers’ opinions. All I care about is helping to free as many young girls from the clutches of traffickers and pimps as I can before I die, which, if you write a sequel, could be really soon.

Me: I understand and admire that. But can you stick around for just a couple more questions?

Zero: Fine, but then I gotta go.

Me: Okay. First, how's your wife?

Zero: Neda's doing well. I mean, you know, we're still working things out. With someone like me, that's no easy task. But Neda's tough as nails and doesn’t take any of my sh*t. She easily could have split and stayed gone after, well, everything. I'm grateful she hasn't given up on me yet.

Me: You’re welcome. And now for the last question.

Zero: Bring it.

Me: Okay, but to avoid any spoilers, I need to be careful how I ask it—and you need to be careful how you answer it. 

Zero: Is this about the ending?

Me: Yup. Ready?

Zero: (Takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, then nods.)

Me: A lot of readers were shocked and surprised by how things concluded in the book. Some have said they were initially so stunned, they had to go back and make sure they had it right.

Zero: Yeah, same here.

Me: My question is, what exactly went through your mind when you found out what you found out?

Zero: You’d already know the answer to that if you hadn’t ended things so abruptly.

Me: It was a conscious artistic choice, and I stand by it. I felt it enhanced the emotional impact.

Zero: Well, I guess I should thank you for fading to black right when you did. It wouldn’t have done anyone any good to see all the tears and snot pouring out of me just before I called Neda from the hospital to tell her the news.

Me: Yeah, I figured you deserved some privacy.

Zero: Thanks, man.

Me: At least until the sequel.

Zero: (Standing up.) This interview’s over.

 

NOTE: Zero stormed off before I could tell him I was just kidding, that I’m not actually working on a sequel to ‘In Wolves’ Clothing.’ After all, there’s only so much sex trafficking research an author can do before burning out and/or getting investigated by the FBI. That said, I have toyed around with the idea of one day writing a spin-off of IWC. It would feature Sung (one of the young girls Zero helped rescue in Cambodia) fifteen or twenty years later—seeking revenge on all the men involved in her being trafficked as a child. Hell, I’d read a book like that. So I may just have to write it. …