why they make me one of the luckiest bastards living:
write true crime like
other true crime
writers. They're all
ponderous and pompous
and wanna-be profound.
Simon's real. Real
gritty, real life, real
funny. You can see why
he keeps me up nights.
His books are like
gourmet potato chips -
I always want more when
I'm done...
what
it
looks
like,
this
is
not
a
cop...
He writes fiction with
language so smooth and rich
that it lingers on the tongue
like creamy nougat centers
from yummy chocolate
assortments. But unlike
chocolate, he won't make
you fat. So have a taste!
fake punk,
not a
picture of
the
author,
who
chooses to
remain
invisible.
myself, because as good as I might be, I know
I will never match his twisted brilliance.
Which is okay, because there are times when
he wishes he could write like me. I will never
know why.
Reading him is like drinking fine whiskey or
really smooth tequila. You're so busy
marvelling at the richness of the flavor that
you never see the hard kick in the ass coming.
about half my life now, with no end in
sight, but that's not why I like his stories.
A lot of people like his stories, and not just
because they're his friends.
No, we all like Garreth's stories because
they're tasty. Let the snobs have their
caviar and all those other finicky foods that
you have to work hard to pretend to enjoy.
Garreth doesn't write caviar. Or pate. He
writes stick-to-your-ribs stories, fun food
stories, the kind of stories that fill you up
and are instantly appreciated, much like a
good North Carolina barbecue. And just
like barbecue, you keep coming back for
more...
Palmby
has
a
way
with
words...
write nothing but dialogue without tags and
you never get lost and know all about the
characters to boot. I forgive her for not
writing SF, but only just. My genre needs
more women who can make words soar.
Her writing is a lot like a nice dark
Columbian roast brewed strong, then mixed
with a couple of shots of Bailey's Irish
Cream, topped with real hazelnut whipped
cream and chocolate sprinkles, sipped by a
fireplace in a real coffee house, while the
world goes by...
This
man
will
take
you
places.
Pack
a
bag...
me into a practice room at NAU
and did things to the old
downtrodden university piano
that might briefly have made it
glad to be alive. His music is like
eating chicken in India: you know
it's poultry, and you know you've
had it before, but never quite this
way. And then the Indian chef
invites you to his place, where
he's experimenting with a fusion
of cuisines, and the prosaic
chicken with the exotic flair
suddenly becomes like nothing
you've ever eaten before...
fake photo
with
sunglasses
because
this is a
Man to
Watch, but
only with
proper
protection...
He's like a smorgasboard - there's
too much to choose from, and it
all looks good. We're among the
lucky few who get to sample bits
of this and morsels of that before
the crowds come in and pick the
table clean.
Napkins and plates will be
provided.
all-round wizard!
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be here but aren't, bloody email me so I can put you up! You know who you are...
