Fame, Fame, Fatal Fame
One of the things they don't tell young writers, or middle-aged writers or, let's face it, elderly writers, is just how many people want to help you with your career. People can be so kind. Everyone has your back, whether it's hard or paper. I'm welling up here. Writer's tears. Well, it's six o' clock somewhere. Ever since I published my first book, Teeth , which, amazingly, was still only two years ago, and since I started doing scraps of press about it, I've been emailed by helpful, corporate types, with empty eyes and uncanny valley phizogs, desperate to help me sell my books. They've been anxious to single out my "tone" and "humor". They're a bit sketchy on what they actually think of the books, but are absolutely fine with wedging together other people's opinions, often lifted directly from Goodreads , or Popmatters or the fucking Spectator or my own website. These things are often clumsily linked and padded, read...
