The Book Publishing Food Chain

After four years of receiving typical, cookie-cutter correspondence from traditional publishers and agents, I finally came to the conclusion that those who can't write become editors. And those who can't do either become literary agents. And those who can't do any of those jobs become literary critics, the easiest job of all.

When I think of a literary critic, I'm reminded of the little boy who dreamed of becoming a fireman and who grew up to be a firebug, instead. But, then, a bad review is still better than no review at all.

FBI Hijinks

"Click on me for another FBI story".

Whenever I create fictional FBI agents as characters in my novels I always give the Federal Bureau of Investigation better "lip service" than I would ever give it in real life, and certainly a better deal than they're getting from Hollywood. I don't know why I do this. My own brief encounter with the FBI in 1995 was enough to make me want to write an entire book about their bumbling ways. But I didn't.

Anyway, ten years ago, two agents from the FBI office in Harrisburg, PA knocked on my Dauphin County door and wanted to ask me questions about a bank robbery in State College, PA. I thought it was either a prank or a very big mistake. Well, it turned out to be both.

It took me about a half hour to pull the truth out of the two agents and they confessed that they had gotten their "tip" from a TV show that was "something like America's Most Wanted", they said. Imagine being so hard up to solve a case that you mezz-out in front of the tube for your leads. Hollywood is right. The FBI is full of shitheads who don't know their asses from a hole in the ground. What a waste of our tax dollars.

Apparently, some hateful, hideous, malicious, coward at the bank I used to work for in State College (Mellon Bank) hated me enough to pull a stunt like that. Imagine pulling an unconscionable prank like that just for the hell of it. I've been in in a lot of places in my life, from Maine to Georgia and from New York City to Chicago, but the most hateful people I've ever encountered have been in State College and Snow Shoe, PA. And there are more men-hating women in Happy Valley" than anywhere I've ever been. You sick witches. How diabolical. I never disliked anybody enough in my entire life to commit a shameful, criminal act like that and I never will. If I knew who this person was, a civil or even criminal lawsuit would certainly be in the works. At the very least, I'd sue your malicious, lying ass to Kingdom Goddamn Come. If this world of ours was a just world — instead of a dog-eat-dog world that always rewards ruthlessness — your worthless, criminal ass would be mine.

I'm not very happy with the TV show people either (let's not beat around the bush, you FBI assholes, it was America's Most Wanted and you damn well know it). In a just world, I'd have your stupid show cancelled and your limelight-loving asses run out of town on a rail. But, this is the real world, a world where justice never triumphs for long — if at all — an evil planet where I have to be content to let their own karma hunt them down and deal with them accordingly before they die. But, if I ever see any of you in the afterlife, you'd better run and hide.

This was just after my father had died and I had moved in with my mother, who doesn't drive, to help her out and ready their house for the real estate market. I was in no mood for FBI hijinks or any other tomfoolery. I even had to prove to the FBI where I was the day of the alleged bank robbery and that meant having my employer verify that I was at work in Harrisburg that day. Where else?

Now that went over real well at the office. Eventually, I convinced Heckle and Jeckle that I was not the bank robber and those FBI morons finally left me alone, with my anger and my memories. I'll never forget your bumbling incompetence, you worthless shits. Only on Earth, I tell myself, only on planet Earth. No wonder the real powers-that-be kicked us off the moon in 1972.