Misterio Press Guest Post by Barb Taub

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If your day could use a big laugh, head on over to Misterio Press and check out Barb Taub’s Post. Run, don’t walk! You’ll be glad you did. (I’m still laughing!)

8 Tongue-in-Cheek Tips for Scoring Good Reviews ~ Guest Post by Barb Taub

 

Superpowers suck much? Null City on #ExcerptWeek by @barbtaub

As part of Excerpt Week, hereĀ are some brief excerpts from my Null City series

Superpowers suck. If you just want to live a normal life, Null City is only a Metro ride away. After one day there, imps become baristas, and hellhounds become poodles. Demons settle down, become parents, join the PTA, and worry about their taxes.


 

Hope flares each morning in the tiny flash of a second before Lette touches that first thing. And destroys it. Her online journal spans a decade, beginning with the day a thirteen-year-old inherits an extreme form of the family ā€œgift.ā€ Every day whatever she touches converts into something new: bunnies, bubbles, bombs, and everything in between. Lette’s search for a cure leads her to Stefan, whose fairy-tale looks hide a monstrous legacy, and to Rag, an arrogant, crabby ex-angel with boundary issues. The three face an army led by a monster who feeds on children’s fear. But it’s their own inner demons they must defeat first.

Hope flares each morning in the tiny flash of a second before Lette touches that first thing. And destroys it.
Her online journal spans a decade, beginning with the day a thirteen-year-old inherits an extreme form of the family ā€œgift.ā€ Every day whatever she touches converts into something new: bunnies, bubbles, bombs, and everything in between.
Lette’s search for a cure leads her to Stefan, whose fairy-tale looks hide a monstrous legacy, and to Rag, an arrogant, crabby ex-angel with boundary issues. The three face an army led by a monster who feeds on children’s fear. But it’s their own inner demons they must defeat first.

EXCERPT:Ā DON’T TOUCH by Barb Taub

Click here for preview, reviews, and purchase links from Amazon

  • Text from S_Krampus:Ā (5:02PM, Oct 20, 2012): dEr R., My nAm iz Stefan & I’ve Bin snt by yor Aunt Roulette 2 rescue U.
  • Text from Lette: I don’t need rescuing. Go away.

 ā€¢ā—ā€¢ 

Use Your Words :Ā LiveJournal, October 27, 2012 by LetteS [—Lette’s Birth Date Calculator: 22 years, 9.3 months]

Over the past week, the texts from Stefan, the guy with the rescue complex, have gotten more frequent and less grammatical. Except for the occasional ā€œGo away!ā€, I’ve been trying to ignore him.

My touch was more random than ever this past week, turning things into needles, polka dots, chicken pot pie, okra, CDs of German art lieder songs, or velvet paintings of the queens of England. Actually, I have to admit, the pot pies were pretty good. And the polka dots and queen pictures perked up my bedroom. Even the needles didn’t take up that much space. But the okra and art lieder were just wrong.

The texts from Stefan have tapered off at last, and today it’s time for another Saturday visit from Mom and Dad. Wait, there’s a text.

R U there? cn I come ^ 2 c u?

What—I’m the only one on the planet who knows how to type whole words? I have to go throw down the ladder for Mom.

 ā€¢ā—ā€¢ 

  • Text from LetteĀ (2:13PM, Oct 27, 2012):Ā OMG Mom. A man just tried to climb into my cabin. I pushed him back off the porch, and he fell to the ground.
  • Text from MomĀ Ā Is he blond?
  • Text from Lette:Ā Yes
  • Text from Mom:Ā That’s not a man.
  • Text from Mom:Ā Well, actually, it is, but it’s the one your great-aunt Roulette sent. I texted him your address. You should probably let him in.
  • Text from Lette:Ā Um…he might be dead.
  • Text from Mom:Ā LETTE!
  • Text from Lette:Ā Nope. He’s groaning. I guess I’ll have to go down there and help him. But Mom—what were you thinking? It could kill him if I touch him.
  • Text from Mom:Ā Well, I’m guessing he knows that now. Let me know how he’s doing.

 ā€¢ā—ā€¢ 

  • Text from Mom (3:19PM, Oct 27, 2012): Is he dead?
  • Text from Lette:Ā Not yet. He has a cut and a lump on his head. I put frozen peas on it.
  • Text from Mom:Ā What’s your touch today?
  • Text from Lette:Ā Frogs. I only made a little one though, and I think George ate it.
  • Text from Mom:Ā Be careful. Turning him into a frog would just be too big a clichĆ©.
  • Text from Lette:Ā Bye Mom.

EXCERPT:Ā Payback is a WitchĀ is a novella from Tales From Null CityĀ by Barb Taub

Click here for preview, reviews, and buy link from Amazon.

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Just doesn’t pay to be dead… #ExcerptWeek ~ ONE WAY FARE by @barbtaub

As part of Excerpt Week, here is a little taste of my first book, One Way Fare.

B1 OWFEXCERPT: ONE WAY FAREĀ by Barb Taub & Hannah Taub

Some days it just didn’t pay to be dead.

ā€œIt’s not fair,ā€ Gaby panted as Leila pulled ahead on the hillside. All those hours as the victim of Bill-the-Hun on her BodiesByBill exercise tapes and she was eating Leila’s dust? Of course the hole in her side wasn’t helping things. And—was blood squishing into those over-priced new running shoes Leila had insisted they buy?

Behind them, she could hear the disciplined beat of pursuit. Well, sure they can concentrate on chasing us; they don’t have to worry about how to get blood out of $240 sneakers.Ā 

ā€œDo something,ā€ begged Leila.

ā€œI’m an accountant,ā€ gasped Gaby. What does she want me to do? I could give the IRS an anonymous tip, but satisfying as it might be to contemplate those guys having to cough up receipts for our murder during the audit, I don’t think it’s going to get us out of this.Ā 

Leila was several yards ahead of her by now, the trees giving way to the sheer drop of the cliff ahead, with the roar from the falls just beyond.

ā€œI’ve got you Leila.ā€ The voice echoed from beyond the cliff face. ā€œTrust me.ā€

ā€œThomas!ā€ Without breaking stride Leila ran straight for the cliff edge and leaped.

Come on. Who trusts someone enough to leap into space?

ā€œGaby-mine.ā€ Luic’s smoky velvet voice called out as the first shots kicked up the dirt beside her. Without thought, Gaby dove for the cliff edge. She almost enjoyed the moments of free-fall before his arms surrounded her.

ā€œHell agrees with you,ā€ he grunted. ā€œI think you’ve gained weight.ā€ He went into a swooping glide before his wings pumped, pulling them upward.

ā€œIf you do that again,ā€ Gaby warned, ā€œI’m going to be lighter after I throw up. And, come on, Luic. Wings? That’s just so wrong.ā€

ā€œI got them when I was commissioned.ā€ He spread them for another showy glide. ā€œWhat do you think?ā€

ā€œI think the puking sounds better and better.ā€

His chest shook with laughter under her cheek. ā€œYou’re taking this a lot better than I expected. I’m surprised you jumped to me.ā€

ā€œTwo reasons,ā€ she muttered into his neck. ā€œFirst of all, I’ve been dreaming of falling for the past five years. And usually I die in those dreams. Again.ā€

ā€œAnd second,ā€ Gaby pointed out, ā€œif you can’t trust the angel you killed, you might as well give up.ā€


NOTE: FOR LIMITED TIME Ā Available for FREE from Barnes & Noble and from Kobo. For FREE Kindle version, contact Barb Taub. ONE WAY FARE is the prequel to ROUND TRIP FARE, available for preorder from most online booksellers. (see here for excerpt!)
BLURB: ONE WAY FARE by Barb Taub and Hannah Taub
Ā 
winner-fantasy-sci-fiSuperpowers suck. If you just want to live a normal life, Null City is only a Metro ride away. After one day there, imps become baristas, and hellhounds become poodles. Demons settle down, become parents, join the PTA, and worry about their taxes.Ā 
Null City is the only sanctuary for Gaby Parker and Leila Rice, two young women confronting cataclysmic forces waging an unseen war between Heaven and Hell. Gaby and her younger brother and sister are already targets in the war that cost their parents’ lives. Should they forsake the powers that complete their souls and flee to Null City? Meanwhile, Leila has inherited a French chateau, a mysterious legacy, and a prophecy that she will end the world. Gaby and Leila become catalysts for the founding and survival of Null City. It just would have been nice if someone told them the angels were all on the otherĀ side.
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Click on image to check out Barb’s blog and all of her books.

Help Wanted: Accords Agency seeks new agents. Orphans preferred. #ExcerptWeek

Is it wrong that shooting people is just so much easier than making decisions? Carey Parker’s to-do list is already long enough: find her brother and sister, rescue her roommate, save Null City, and castrate her ex-boyfriend. Preferably with a dull-edged garden tool. A rusty one.

She just has a few details to work out first. Her parents have been killed, her brother and sister targeted, and the newest leader of the angels trying to destroy Null City might be the one person she loves most in the world. So the one thing she knows for sure is that she needs to keep her day job as a Warden for the Seattle Office of the Accords Agency.

Working at Accords is much like any other job. First you get recruited—

Accords Academy Recruitment Notice

Accords Academy Recruitment Notice

When you start, you’re given an Employee Handbook.

EEO Addendum

ACCORDS AGENCY EMPLOYEE HANDBOOK, fourth edition, revised July 20, 2010

Which comes with a welcome message:

Ā Congratulations! You’ve completed our application process and written your letter to be delivered to your next of kin in the event of your death. Welcome to the Accords Agency.

And maybe a few revisions:

Handbook Addendum notice

 —Addendum to Welcome Message, ACCORDS AGENCY EMPLOYEE HANDBOOK, fourth edition, revised July 20, 2010

YouĀ start to get a feel for the corporate culture:

Handwritten note taped to cabinet in staff break room.

Handwritten note taped to cabinet in staff break room.

At the Accords Agency, they sayĀ success depends on having the right partner. But nobody told Carey ParkerĀ that her sexy new partner’s gift would let him predict deaths. Hers.


Now available for presale on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Kobo, ROUND TRIP FARE will be released on 7 April, 2016.

Round_Trip_Fare-Barb_Taub-1563x2500ROUND TRIP FARE by Barb Taub

Is it wrong that shooting people is just so much easier than making decisions? Carey wonders— and not for the first time. But the Agency claims this will be an easy one. A quick pickup of a missing teen and she won’t even have to shoot anybody. Probably.

Carey knows superpowers suck, her own included. From childhood she’s only had two options. She can take the Metro train to Null City and a normal life. After one day there, imps become baristas, and hellhounds become poodles. Demons settle down, join the PTA, and worry about their taxes. Or she can master the powers of her warrior gift and fight a war she can’t win, in a world where she never learned how to lose.

Genre:

Urban Fantasy (with romance, humor, a sentient train, and a great dog)

Contact/Buy Links:

Amazon | Barnes and NobleĀ | Kobo

Facebook | Blog | Twitter: @barbtaub

I’m a writer! (Isn’t everyone?) @barbtaub #FabulousFriday

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HOW TO TELL IF YOU’RE A WRITER

http://www.zazzle.ca/funny_fiction_writer_answer_sheet_t_shirt-235975668204548181

Image credit: Zazzle

 

A new acquaintance stared at me with a look I imagine is usually reserved for little green men stepping out of their flying saucers. I’d just told her I don’t watch television, and in fact, don’t even own one. ā€œI write instead.ā€ We went down the list of my immediate family members, and somehow that was the first time I realized that we all write. My husband writes academic theory papers that are—literally—mostly greek (all those mathematical symbols, you know). Daughter #1 is a human rights attorney who covers “foreign policy, human rights, and shetland ponies” for vox.com. Daughter #2 writes comedy for a hot new late night show.Ā My son does technical writing, but often throws out hilarious satire. And Daughter #3 is my occasional coauthor on the Null City series.

Supposedly, Samuel Johnson, author of ā€œA Dictionary of the English Languageā€ (1755) said, ā€œNo man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.ā€ (as quoted by his brilliant biographer, James Boswell). However, Boswell then added the comment, ā€œNumerous instances to refute this will occur to all who are versed in the history of Literature.ā€(Both quotes from Life of Samuel Johnson, LLD (1791) by James Boswell.) [Image credit: Portrait of Samuel Johnson by Sir Joshua Reynolds

Supposedly, Samuel Johnson, author of ā€œA Dictionary of the English Languageā€ (1755) said, ā€œNo man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.ā€ (as quoted by his brilliant biographer, James Boswell). However, Boswell then added the comment, ā€œNumerous instances to refute this will occur to all who are versed in the history of Literature.ā€(Both quotes from Life of Samuel Johnson, LLD (1791) by James Boswell.) [Image credit: Portrait of Samuel Johnson by Sir Joshua Reynolds]

ā€œWhy do you do it?ā€ my new friend asked. ā€œMoney?ā€ Well… yes, actually. Money is not a dirty word for writers and artists. As my daughter wrote about growing up as a writer’s kid, ā€œWould I still be in comedy if my mom had never written a single column? Maybe. But I would be crappier at it. I’m ambitious because I learned vicariously the thrill of creating something awesome and getting paid for it.ā€ (Melinda Taub, Splitsider on May 6, 2011) Still, let’s face it—there are much easier and more lucrative ways to make money, often involving the words ā€œ…and would you like fries with that?ā€

There are other theories about why people write. Eugene O’Neil said, ā€œWriting is my vacation from living.ā€ It was also his therapy. Arguably his master work, the autobiographical Long Day’s Journey Into Night was his way of exorcising the demons of his dysfunctional family. Certainly, he wasn’t looking for it to provide money or fame, and indeed specified in his will that it not be published or performed until twenty-five years after his death. Within today’s writing environment, the opportunity to make sense of your past through writing about it—whether in social media, blogs, independent publishing, or even traditional publishing—has led to an explosion of personal and dynamic storytelling such as the simultaneously hilarious and gut-wrenching posts in writer Mary Smith’s My Dad Is A Goldfish blog.Ā 

Others write because they’ve caught a glimpse of how words can rock the world. Daughter #1 says she remembers writer Iris Chang’s speech at her high school graduation.

ā€œAt sixteen, I was not yet planning to go into the human rights field, but I remember watching her give that speech, and thinking that if I grew up to be someone like her, who did the things that she did, that would be something to be proud of.Ā Many times, since then, I have thought about her speech when I have felt tempted to be the kind of person who just gets on with life and doesn’t bother reaching for something better. At those times, I have remembered seeing her, up on that stage, telling a room of fascinated children that we would have moments when cynicism and surrender seemed like attractive options, but that she believed we would be strong enough to overcome them. And then I have decided that cynicism can wait for another day.ā€ (Amanda Taub, Wronging Rights)

Why do I write? I was very lucky. My youngest daughter and I started telling each other a story, and when she headed off to college, I sat down and typed it up. As Maya Angelou put it, ā€œIf there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.ā€ Others agree:

  • ā€œWriting is the only thing that, when I do it, I don’t feel I should be doing something else.ā€(Gloria Steinem)
  • ā€œWriting is the most fun you can have by yourself.ā€ (Terry Pratchett)
  • ā€œYou don’t write because you want to say something; you write because you’ve got something to say,ā€ (F. Scott Fitzgerald)

So what do we all have in common? My favorite explanation, hands down (although slightly NSF this blog) comes from Chuck Wendig’s terribleminds blog:

ā€œWhat matters is, knowing that your time on this Hurtling Space Sphere is limited, you should make an effort to live your life — and your art — the way you damn well want to. Do you really want someone to chisel the words MADE MEDIOCRE ART SHE DIDN’T MUCH LIKE BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT THAT’S WHAT SOMEONE ELSE WANTED HER TO DO on your gravestone? Or would you rather them carve in the words: ROCKED IT LIKE A MOTHERF***ER, WROTE WHAT SHE DAMN WELL WANTED, BOO-YAH, MIC-DROP –?ā€

As a public service for all you who are wondering if you can call yourselves writers, I’ve written the following quiz:

_____1. Do you have arguments with your characters about what should come next? Do you lose?

_____2. Do you eavesdrop on other people’s personal conversations because you might use them in your novel? Really?

tumblr_mtgcf1Xf3W1rq27uuo1_500_____3. Still flinching?

_____4. Do you have conversations with the paragraphs you’re cutting out of your manuscript, assuring them that you’re going to put them in a wonderful, safe little file (called Dead Kittens) so you can use them in your next book, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love them very, very much?

_____5. When you hear about a friend’s romantic relationship, do you think about how you would keep them apart for at least five more chapters to build tension?

_____6. Do you worry about the NSA noticing that your recent online searches include ā€œbest place to get shotā€, ā€œhow to pick any lockā€, ā€œlightweight hunting bowā€, ā€œbest concealed-carry weaponsā€, ā€œhow to tell if you’re being followedā€, “amount of blood loss that is survivable”, Ā and ā€œgetting a fake passportā€?

_____7. Do you write at night? Sometimes until the next night? Wearing sweats so you don’t have to change to take the dog out?

_____8. Have you written the words ā€œTHE ENDā€? And meant it?

If you checked off numbers 1-7, you can high-five the other writer wannabe’s in your writing group. If you ticked #8, congratulations: you’re a writer.

IMG_3017_kindlephoto-55920491And me? I’ve just typed ā€œTHE ENDā€ on Round Trip Fare, Book 3 of the Null City series, plus I have a new travel/humor memoir, Do Not Wash Hands In Plates. I’m a writer!


 

I take a humorous look at writing, books, and life at Writing & Coffee. EspeciallyĀ Coffee.

My books are available from major online sellers including Amazon US and Amazon UK.

I would love to hear from you! When I’m not travelling or walking the dog, you can find me at home in Glasgow, Scotland trying to hide from feral packs of rampaging haggis. Or you can reach me via Twitter (@barbtaub) or Facebook, or just sneaking off for some quality time with my Kindle.

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Selling books is great; making an impression is even better

image By Ned Hickson

Two years ago tomorrow, I attended my first book fair as an author. Today, I’m going to share that experience in a post I’m calling:

Reasons to Hide Liquor Under Your Book Fair Table

Admittedly, it’s very exciting to walk into a room of 50 or so booths with publishers and authors offering their latest releases and services. And when you see your own booth tucked among them, with your book cover on display and a large photo of yourself hanging on the wall behind your table, you can’t help but pause and quietly think: I have arrived as an author and, judging by its size, my nose arrived about an hour before I did. My point is that book fairs are about taking the opportunity to become three-dimensional to readers and making a connection beyond the printed page; it’s about revealing yourself to people in ways that are spontaneous, real and unrehearsed, and giving them an experience they can take with them and talk about with others. This led to another realization almost simultaneously: Why is there no liquor at this thing?

This notion was underscored moments later, when a woman appearing to be in her mid-60s approached my booth and began telling me how much she loved my writing, almost to the point it was becoming a little embarrassing. “I NEVER miss your column!” she declared. “Really — If it wasn’t for your column, I doubt I would even subscribe to the Register-Guard!”

In my mind, I began pouring two fingers into a shot glass. Why?

“Um, I write for Siuslaw News,” I said with an awkward smile. “I think you’re talking about Bob Welch. He’s got a table right over there.”

“…Oh… I see.”

In that moment, if there had been an actual shot glass on the table, I’m pretty sure she would have taken it from me, chugged it, wiped her lips with one of my bookmarks and gone to see Bob Welch. Instead, she stood immobilized and looking for a gracious exit.

“OK, actually I am Bob Welch,” I said. “I killed Ned Hickson and have assumed his identity to expand my writing empire. If you don’t tell anyone, you can help yourself to one of my books over there.” I pointed to Welch’s booth, which was unmanned but stacked with copies of My Oregon, Pebble in the Water and others. “If anyone asks, tell them Bob sent you,” I said, and winked.

The woman who I came to know as Joan, smiled. “So… who did you say you write for again?”

Those words led to my first book sale of the day, and understanding the importance of meeting readers face-to-face, even if yours wasn’t the face they were looking for. During the course of six hours at my booth, I met lots of people who had no idea who I was, many of whom were drawn to my keen marketing strategy…

As you can imagine, the corners went very fast...

As you can imagine, the corners went very fast…

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Update & A Smile For You!

Just wanted to let you good folks know I’ve managed (knock wood) to beat the heck outta the infection I developed, and am walking pretty well (with a cane), so life is improving day by day. Still some pain issues, especially at the end of the day, but I’m not going to complain. Even with the setback, I’m light years ahead of where I was with the other foot, so all is well.

Still haven’t had time to catch up on my blogs (or yours!) since I’m trying desperately to get Finding Hunter wrapped up. Formatting, Author’s Notes, Acknowledgments, and thoseĀ  types of things being finished, now. And waiting on my cover proof. (You’ll see it here, first!)

I figured a smile might go a long way towards redeeming myself (from my serious neglect), so here’s a little thingieĀ  I found yesterday that made me laugh. Oh, how I identify with this!

6ef4bc0d58f3ffb9fa6d544a61445c5b

 

Once divorced. Has fear of clowns — things you may not know about me

image Ned Hickson

This week, Marcia has asked us to tell something about ourselves that others may not know. Whether this is to help us learn a little about each other, or for Marcia to collect incriminating information, I’m not sure. But I DO know Marcia is a gracious interviewer who had me on her other site Bookin’ It last year, during which she hypnotized me into revealing things from several past lives. What follows is an excerpt from that interview that actually reveals some things about both of us…

Marcia: Welcome to Bookin’ It, Ned. It’s great to have you here today. Can you tell us a bit about how you became a writer?

Ned: I am frequently asked how I became a writer. Mostly by my editor here at Siuslaw News. Except when she says it, the words sound more like an accusation than a question. I can honestly say I’ve been a storyteller since as far back as I can remember, back before I could actually write words. My mom used to record my spontaneous stories on cassettes, which she lovingly kept, knowing that someday I would want them and be willing to pay any price to keep them from falling into the hands of someone like Jerry Springer. By the time I was in middle school, I was writing regularly and exploring storytelling through making my own comic books, stories on cassette with background music and sound effects, and eventually movies with a Super 8 camera. Yeah, I was that kid. After graduating from high school, I drove to Texas and found work as a busboy before eventually making my way into the kitchen. A few years later, I was promoted to head chef, then regional chef in Atlanta, Ga. But even while pursuing that career, I continued to write short stories and a mystery novel in hopes of writing full time someday. In 1998, after returning to Oregon with my family, I was hired as a sports editor and columnist at Siuslaw News here in Florence, Ore. That’s really where my ā€œprofessionalā€ writing career began. Clearly, I’ve always been a late bloomer.

Marcia: Wow! Like me, you started young. Unlike me, you have your tapes and movies to prove it. Also, unlike me, you didn’t wait until you were ancient before settling into the career you were obviously meant to pursue, for which I, like all your readers, am immensely grateful! Can you tell us a bit about who inspired you? What authors did you enjoy growing up, and in what ways?

Ned: I didn’t actually read much as a kid. *An audible hush fills the blog-o-sphere* However, my grandmother introduced me to the short stories and novels of Stephen King when I was in my late teens, which inspired me to try my hand at horror-themed short stories. It wasn’t until several years later, during my first marriage, that my horror writing really evolved and I found some publishing success. I don’t think this is a coincidence. Haha! Just kidding! *cough cough*

Anyway, on the advice of my grandmother, I read The Client by John Grisham, which inspired me to write my first — and only — mystery novel, No Safe Harbor. By that time, I had just settled into my job at Siuslaw News and turned my attention to learning the ins and outs of journalism and becoming a columnist. I had no idea what I was doing and it took me a while to find my voice, which began being compared to Dave Barry and Art Buchwald. I’m embarrassed to say I had no idea who they were. When I eventually found out and read their work, I was flattered. But more importantly, it gave me a lot of confidence in the voice I was developing.

Marcia: Okay, finding out you didn’t read much as a kid is startling, I admit (though it would take more than that to cause an ā€œaudible hushā€ to fall over ME, you understand)! But finding out you didn’t know Dave Barry made me gasp out loud! Art Buchwald, I can almost understand, since he may have been a bit before your time. But Dave Barry? I think I still have the shrine I built in his honor a decade or two ago, when he was saving my life through his humor. Tsk. I’m glad you have now been enlightened, and yes, you were being complimented, for sure. And you have definitely earned the comparison, though you certainly speak with your own voice these days. Can you tell us about your reading habits today? (Asks she, crossing her fingers that they have broadened a bit). Do you have a favorite genre that you head to as soon as you enter a bookstore? Do you even ENTER bookstores? šŸ™‚

Ned: Admittedly, I still don’t read as often as I’d like to or should. The last book I read was two years ago. But when I DO read, I gravitate toward mysteries, horror or sci-fi. Someone once said horror is the flip-side of comedy, and that the same essential elements apply to both in order for them to be successful. Unfortunately, the person who said this was murdered by a gang of clowns…

(And there you have it. Things you probably didn’t know about me. To recap: Weird kid, chef, divorced and afraid of clowns. Probably more than you wanted to know. However, for anyone who’d like to read the complete interview, possibly because you’re serving life without parole, here’s a link to the original on Bookin’ It)