For those who don’t know, that title up there is a bit of a literary reference. I had a rather significant birthday last weekend, as far as idols and inspirations go. I met Douglas Adams at the Miami Book Fair back in…92? 93?…something like that. Clive Barker was there too. Two of my favorite writers growing up (along with Michael Moorcock…you’d think I was British, huh?).
Douglas Adams taught me that you can write genre fiction that’s intelligent AND funny. He made me want to be clever. Vonnegut reinforced that feeling in me, as did Twain and Klosterman and Coupland and even Bret Easton Ellis.
I now have a delightful “42” tattoo on my left wrist (my writing hand) to remind me why I’m writing.
Nothing much to report on that front. Book #3 has been with my agent for over 3 weeks now without a peep. I’m not bothering him. I’ve got football and beer to keep me company through the season. I’ve begun sketching out the two main characters for my next book. Still a long way to go before I put pen to paper. That should be a mess.
If anything happens, I’ll let you know.