I first read Mailer when I was fourteen or fifteen. The Deer Park. For a prairie boy this peek into the decadent lives of Hollywood outcasts was difficult to understand in a lot of places. But what kept me going was the voice. I'd never heard a literary voice quite like that one. And I've stayed with that voice the rest of my life. His talent was so enormous it overwhelmed him sometimes. He was brilliant, sloppy, infuriating, daft, full of shit, profound, generous, mean, ingenious, scary, pissy, powerful, weak, ugly, hilarious, and fascinating in both his art and life. He put his stamp on American letters more deeply than anybody else in his generation. When I saw him a few months ago in a wheelchair I was shocked. Age comes to us all--except to Norman Mailer. Somehow I'd never thought he would get old and die. What a body of work. What a great troubled spellbinding genius he was. For me he was the last of the literary giants. Franzen me no Franzens, please.
A few weeks ago I reviewed the really cool magazine Pulp Fanatic. It's been pointed out that I gave the wrong e address. Here's the correct one. email@example.com
Volume two of the Joel Townsley Rogers short story collections has just appeared. It's even better than the first. When I reviewed the first volume last week I forgot to mention publisher Fender Tucker and his excellent publishing company Ramble House. This is a list unlike any other. If you're interested in pulps, older mysteries and the occasional oddball writer memoir (the notes of Jack Woodford) get thee to the following address post haste. You'll have a ball just looking through the website. firstname.lastname@example.org
Several months ago some film students wrote to ask me if they could make a short film of my story The Long Silence After. They sent me a cut (the credits have to be added to the end). I think they did a good job. Carol can't seem to get on the address they gave me. Maybe you can. http://www.allblues.tv/LSACut2.mov