Forgive the ‘press’ pun. I couldn’t help myself. Late in the week I sat down with a charming man by the name of Dan Rubin, who had the good social grace to laugh politely when I told him he reminded me of John Malkovich. The end result of this is that through incredibly bizarre happenstance, I’m in the Philadelphia Inquirer today talking about National Novel Writing Month with several of my Philadelphia cohorts.
Read “National Novel Writing Month has Fictionistas Fired Up” here on philly.com! I thought Art’s quote was particularly lovable:
Most years, I have only a vague idea of what my story will be about. So I am as surprised by what happens in my novels as I am in the books I buy. Three years ago, I did a murder mystery and didn’t have a clue who did it until the last three days of November.
Oh, Self-Indulgers (I just named you, my mighty legion of followers!), you can say you knew me when. Daddo, who is on the way to Florida right now, is beyond excited at this development. I might have to go buy a physical paper.
Superficial bonus complaint: my terrible allergic-to-new-makeup-skin-reaction has been immortalized for the ages.