I grabbed a copy of My Idea of Fun when it came out. I enjoyed American Psycho to a certain extent, the film as well - and films like Man Bites Dog and later on, The Magician did a decent job exploring the serial killer/hit man mythos. Professionally, I'm still an investigator and have met many killers. Had some in my family due to circumstance of Prohibition and of course, war. I don't have any interest in writing about it myself. It's not that interesting when you've seen it all your life. I could write a book solving a 100 year old Irish mob homicide as I'm the only one who was told about it who is still alive, and that would be a hell of a book...but would cause unnecessary pain for people. I don't want to use my talents that way, even though I could use some money. Guess I'll keep working.
I just remembered, I got threatened a few times by a former Westie, Dick Nolan, who when I was getting onto him was a town supervisor and a mobbed-up head of a moving company with a contract to get rid of all IBM’s toxic solvents from three huge chip plants. I think he’s dead now, but I fictionalized him anyway.
I have a lot "Friends of Eddie Coyle" types on my caseload now. Can't help a lot of them. They're super old and demented and many are still on dope. Some are homeless and banned from shelters.
In my self-cautionary tale about it all, I turned Nolan into a sort of Super Evil Noah Cross figure (Chinatown) and if I remember correctly, my conflicted alter ego managed to shoot the motherfucker between the eyes in an unfortunate anticlimax that probably ruined an otherwise pretty decent novel.
I too have a bunch of experiential nonsense in my head I guess I’ll be taking to my grave, as it would ruin multiple lives and family reputations. A lot of the rest of it I’m fictionalizing, if there’s time, because indiscriminately blabbing it might get me killed. I’m even getting more hesitant about expressing my more unhelpful opinions these days.
I don't know how to break it to you, but you have utterly failed at being one one-thousandth the asshole Will Self is. I've always found him to be tediously arrogant and trying too hard - both as a writer and as a human being. Cruel to a fare thee well, absolutely without a shred of self-doubt or introspection for approximately 95% of his life, and always self-aggrandizing to a nauseating extent, he was always proof to me that braggart extroverts succeed out of all proportion to their actual talent. I do not wish him ill, but I sure as shit won't miss him.
I grabbed a copy of My Idea of Fun when it came out. I enjoyed American Psycho to a certain extent, the film as well - and films like Man Bites Dog and later on, The Magician did a decent job exploring the serial killer/hit man mythos. Professionally, I'm still an investigator and have met many killers. Had some in my family due to circumstance of Prohibition and of course, war. I don't have any interest in writing about it myself. It's not that interesting when you've seen it all your life. I could write a book solving a 100 year old Irish mob homicide as I'm the only one who was told about it who is still alive, and that would be a hell of a book...but would cause unnecessary pain for people. I don't want to use my talents that way, even though I could use some money. Guess I'll keep working.
That's a book by Will Self, by the way - My Idea of Fun. I don't heartily recommend it.
I just remembered, I got threatened a few times by a former Westie, Dick Nolan, who when I was getting onto him was a town supervisor and a mobbed-up head of a moving company with a contract to get rid of all IBM’s toxic solvents from three huge chip plants. I think he’s dead now, but I fictionalized him anyway.
I have a lot "Friends of Eddie Coyle" types on my caseload now. Can't help a lot of them. They're super old and demented and many are still on dope. Some are homeless and banned from shelters.
In my self-cautionary tale about it all, I turned Nolan into a sort of Super Evil Noah Cross figure (Chinatown) and if I remember correctly, my conflicted alter ego managed to shoot the motherfucker between the eyes in an unfortunate anticlimax that probably ruined an otherwise pretty decent novel.
I too have a bunch of experiential nonsense in my head I guess I’ll be taking to my grave, as it would ruin multiple lives and family reputations. A lot of the rest of it I’m fictionalizing, if there’s time, because indiscriminately blabbing it might get me killed. I’m even getting more hesitant about expressing my more unhelpful opinions these days.
Take care
Great review of Wasted by Brent Robison. That's how I met you, I think, or first heard of your work.
I don't know how to break it to you, but you have utterly failed at being one one-thousandth the asshole Will Self is. I've always found him to be tediously arrogant and trying too hard - both as a writer and as a human being. Cruel to a fare thee well, absolutely without a shred of self-doubt or introspection for approximately 95% of his life, and always self-aggrandizing to a nauseating extent, he was always proof to me that braggart extroverts succeed out of all proportion to their actual talent. I do not wish him ill, but I sure as shit won't miss him.
I see. I guess I’ll just stay on the fence about that for now, as with everything else.