When I was about 14, I contracted what was then considered a rare disease – Hip Hopilepsy – while I was listening to a rap by Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five on my friend’s boom box. The symptoms started soon thereafter. They included sudden and spontaneous rhyming, the urge to show girls how I could (almost) spin on my head, and fits of uncontrollable rage whenever my mother refused to buy me parachute pants.
While most people afflicted with Hip Hopilepsy go into remission after a few years, my condition is chronic—perhaps even terminal, considering I now live in Texas, where rapping can get you shot by a drunken redneck quicker than you can say “Tupac lives.”
Now, I realize that those of you who have joined my mailing list to receive my author blog posts probably never expected to have to endure anything even remotely resembling a rap. All I ask is that you remember that I am sick, and that you therefore show some compassion.
And with that, I bring you what is largely being considered (by me) to be the world’s greatest (and perhaps only) author rap:
I'm kickin slick rhymes that I spit with diction
I'm very literary when I rip some fiction
Nothing that I've written really fits description
Might be more prolific if I quit prescriptions
I'll bomb ya with writing that's beyond all genres
Vocabulary's longer than an anaconda
Not long enough to find another rhyme with "onda"
So now it's time for me to get moving on ta...
...the next line, the next verse, the next rhyme
First novel—meh—I'll get them next time
Second novel's set to be an Oprah best find
It's better than the rest and I hope you'll check why
My hopes are set high, my prose I let fly
Don't want to be a writer who just mostly gets by
I want to be a writer getting checks that let my
chauffeur and my butler go and get my neckties
I'll give it my best try, I've authored this rap storm
You might be like, "What's an author doing a rap for?"
I'm hoping it will elevate my authoring platform
I have a couple readers but I need to attract more
Every day and night I play to raise the hype
Some say I shouldn't rap because I'm way too white
I'm taking self-promotion to some brave new heights
Now go and give my Facebook page a "Like"
Growing up as a hyperactive Jew in a sleepy Protestant town in Pennsylvania, I had a lot of imaginary friends. So interviewing a fictional character comes easily to me.
Following is my recent exchange with Eli Edelmann – the protagonist of my upcoming novel, The Exit Man. (I’m the one asking the questions below; Eli’s the one providing the answers and getting upset.)
Eli, when and where were you born? What is this, a joke? You CREATED me. Maybe it’s time you quit drinking or at least cut back a bit.
Just humor me, here – it’s for the benefit of my readers. You assume you HAVE some.
That hurt a little. Just answer the question, or I’ll write a sequel to The Exit Man in which you die slowly and painfully. Okay, okay – take it easy. Geez, you writer types are so sensitive. I was born in 1979 in Blackport, Oregon.
Where exactly is that in Oregon? Nowhere – it’s a fictional town. I’m assuming you haven’t lived anywhere long enough to confidently set a novel someplace real.
Keep up the snark – it’s going to be fun to watch you suffer in book two. Fine. Blackport is allegedly an hour or so southeast of Portland.
What was it like growing up there? Pretty nice. Blackport is your average city-suburb in the Pacific Northwest – lots of trees and pretty strip malls. I was a typical Oregon kid. Played outside a lot with friends despite the constant drizzling, mistakenly envied all the people living south of us in sunny California, learned to whittle at a young age. Not sure if this is what you’re trying to get at, but there was nothing unsettling or disturbing about my childhood that contributed in any way to who I’ve become.
And who have you become? At the risk of sounding conceited or delusional, I’d say a hero, a savior of sorts. Though others might say a monster.
Care to elaborate? Let’s just say that being a rogue euthanasia specialist isn’t the kind of job you’d cite openly on your resume or LinkedIn profile page. But I’m in no way ashamed of what I do. It’s transformed me. I could never have imagined this type of work three years ago. Now I can’t imagine what I’d do without it. More importantly, I can’t imagine what my clients would do without it.
Tell us how you got into such an odd, controversial and risky line of work? It’s all explained in the first chapter or two of the book, and is even summarized in the blurb about the book on this very website, but I’ll be happy to explain it again here. It’s not like I’m busy or anything. I’m sure the terminally ill client who’s expecting me to be at her house in an hour to help her exit this planet with dignity won’t mind if I’m late.
Kindly ditch the sarcasm and answer the question. This ‘line of work’, as you put it, sort of just found me. I certainly never planned to go into it. ‘Suicide facilitator' wasn’t among the viable career options my high school guidance counselor ever mentioned. No, I got into the ‘exit game’ after agreeing to help out a desperate old family friend who was dying of not one but two incurable diseases. He had come to me because, in my job at my family’s party supply store, I had easy access to something he needed to help him humanely end his life: Helium. I was initially shocked and angry and appalled when he approached me with his highly unusual and macabre request, but after hearing him out and some serious deliberation and introspection, I decided to lend a hand. It was meant to be a one-time thing. But the gratitude and calmness I saw in his eyes as he was leaving this world – and the tremendous sense of purpose and empowerment I experienced after carrying out the plan – made me realize I had found my calling. I could make a living through mercy killing. Now, you may be expecting me to follow that up with a sinister laugh, but there’s nothing sinister about what I did… about what I do... about who I am. I’m The Exit Man.
Sounds like a great title for a book. Damn straight. Can I go now? I have a client who needs me.
Feel free to ask Eli a question of your own in the comment section below – unless you are a cop. For obvious reasons, Eli prefers to steer clear of the authorities. And if you haven't already done so, be sure to join my mailing list (see the blue box above) to receive a FREE copy of the first chapter of The Exit Man.
The writing world is fiercely competitive. As a novelist, getting interviewed by important figures in publishing is no simple endeavor. At least that’s what I’ve heard – I don’t like difficult endeavors and thus I haven’t actually even tried to secure such an interview. Instead, I recently used vodka to pay a friend to ask me a few questions about my fictional – I mean fiction – career. And yes, that friend was myself. Here's how it went down:
Why did you become a writer? I was born with the innate inability to shut up, thus I needed a (somewhat) healthy outlet for my words. I’ve given professional public speaking a whirl, but audiences struggled to understand what the hell I was saying because I talk too fast. Plus, I often got distracted by shiny objects in the crowd. So writing is a natural fit for me. (A more traditional career isn’t really an option – I’m pretty much unemployable due to my moodiness and my genuine disdain for team-building, motivational posters and commercial carpeting.)
Now that you are a published novelist, do people come up to you in the street or at restaurants? Despite me posting pictures of myself and my book covers all over the Internet and on telephone poles, café bulletin boards and neighbors’ houses, people totally leave me alone when they see me in the street. I guess they respect my privacy. People do often approach me in restaurants, but it’s only to take my order or refill my water glass.
Who are some of your favorite authors? I’ll answer that like this: If my house ever caught on fire, after saving my wife and my daughter and my cat and my vodka, I would risk my life to save my books by Dostoevsky, Camus, Kafka and Nabokov. I would risk second-degree burns to save Vonnegut, Palahniuk, Chabon, Delillo, Bukowski and (Cormac) McCarthy. I would risk first-degree burns to save Faulkner, Joyce, Roth, Sartre, Nietzsche and Seuss. And I would risk getting a little smoke on my clothes to save Woody Allen’s short stories.
What do you hope readers get/got out of your first novel, Notes on an Orange Burial? I want them to empathize with my unstable protagonist Jona more than they fear him. I want them to cheer him on even when it appears he should be institutionalized. Most of all, I want them to laugh a lot, cry a little, and realize that poetry can be not horrible... and that kidnapping is wrong. (You can read more about Notes on an Orange Burialhere.)
What are you working on now? I recently completed my second novel, The Exit Man, which will be available soon – this coming spring. It’s a dark comic thriller about a party supply store owner who leads a secret life as a euthanasia specialist. He helps terminally ill individuals end their lives peacefully and with dignity using something he has ready access to: helium. I know, I know, he sounds disturbed and morbid, but he really is a good guy once you get to know him. It's the perfect book for people who like Dexter and Dr. Kevorkian. (You can read more about The Exit Manhere.)
And finally, if you were to ever win the Pulitzer Prize or the Pen/Faulkner Award, who would you thank during your acceptance speech? I would first thank the collie I grew up with, Cinnamon, who has been dead for 30 years but who always truly believed in me. I’d also thank my parents, my English teachers and writing coaches, my wife, my brothers, my daughter, and the kid who hit me in the head with a fastball in little league and damaged my cerebral cortex just enough to enable me to come up with the kinds of stories I write. Actually, I should probably thank that kid even more than I thank my dead collie. Oh yeah, and I’d certainly thank all my readers. You don’t win literary awards without those fantastic people behind you.
Enough about me. In the next installment of "Scrawl Space", I'll be interviewing Eli Edelmann – the protagonist of THE EXIT MAN. Eli's much more interesting than I am, and 89% more fictional.
I recently read somewhere – or had a dream – that the world was at risk of suffering a blog shortage. I’m not trying to be a hero or anything, but I can’t sit idly by and let that happen.
Thus, I bring you my blog, “Scrawl Space”, which promises to contain words, sentences and, if all goes well, paragraphs. As you can see, I’m already holding true to that promise.
I look to share with you posts on a variety of topics, though the main focus will be on what I’ve written, what I’m writing, what writing I’ve erased, writings on what it’s like being a writer, and the importance of not being self-absorbed. I hope you come away from each post feeling a little lighter, a little more informed, and a lot more inclined to buy my novels.
As a writer, naturally I look forward to composing posts that, with any luck, will entertain and engage you, but what most excites me about blogging is that it’s a two-way form of communication. A conversation, really. You “listen” to what I have to say, and then you get to share your thoughts, ideas and personal insults via the "Add Comment" icon at the bottom of each post. I truly look forward to a dynamic, interactive blog experience. That said, don’t expect to ever get in the last word. I have direct access to the “delete” button and I’m not afraid to use it, especially when I encounter someone who disagrees with me or who exhibits superior wit and intellect. When all is said and done, hopefully some comments will be left standing.
That’s it from me this time around. Now it’s your turn. I welcome any and all comments, but mostly those that offer me wild praise and delude me into thinking I didn’t make a huge mistake quitting my salaried job with full medical and dental.
(You can read a little about my upcoming novel, THE EXIT MAN, here. Oh don't worry, this won't be the last time I remind you.)
