Who knew? A few hearty souls are actually reading this blog. And one of them had some questions for me in a comment.
Jim Lemon said, and I quote:
“Help us be famous like you. Watch out! The paparazzi is right behind you!”
Let me stress that I don’t actually want to be famous, at least not in the sense of being recognized on the street or what have you. The chances of that happening are slim anyway (not much paparazzi market for fleshy, boozy writers unless they fake their memoirs), but if it is an option, baby, I don’t want it.
“How did you land an agent?”
The old-fashioned way: I sent out tons and tons of cover letters, sample chapters, etc. Most of the agents I sent to were culled from The Writer’s Market and various on-line resources.
“Where do you work?”
You mean like, geographically? Manhattan, New York City.
“Boxers or briefs?”
Those bizarre boxer-briefs. Best of both worlds, buddy.
“Heinz or Hunts?”
“Once I get my advance, can I quit my job?”
Only if you can live on tuna and tap water and have someplace rent-free to live. First-time authors don’t get much. Even fairly well-published authors don’t get much.
“Did Ted Bundy steal your glasses when you were a kid?”
No one ever stole my glasses. Despite being a pudgy nerd, I was fucking badass, thank you very much. No one dared touch me.
“Who do you think would play you best in a movie? Please donâ€™t pick a Baldwin”
Jason Bateman. That man is a genius.
“Paper or plastic?”
“Mets or Yankees?”
Baseball. I don’t root for teams. I just love the game. Seriously. I’ve been to both Mets and Yankees playoff/World Series games. Once at the same time.
“Iâ€™ve got a million questions more – well, maybe ten or twenty, if you are interested.”
Fire away. I am always willing to answer questions with lazy sarcasm and ignorant jibes.