The Second Part of the Interview

Due to the amazingly positive response to the first part of the interview, I reluctantly agreed to put the rest up so fans can get a better feel for the inner workings of Russell Blake. This, then, is my little gift to you. I will be busy writing and editing for the next month or so, thus you’ll need to be satisfied with these two snippets until I’m able to cobble together enough coherent sentences to call my next rant a book, or can find someone worth plagiarizing.

You might want to go over to the Fatal Exchange page and read the excerpt from it for a feel of what my fiction is like. Just saying, is all. If you’re already here, it’s not like you have much better to do.

Here’s the remainder of the interview:

INTERVIEWER: So what advice do you have for other writers?

ME: Buy gold and guns. The world’s going to hell, and you’ll want a fistful of kruggerands and a Glock when the sh#t hits the fan and the supply chain breaks down. When the mob goes berserk, you’ll want a box of slugs and some bullion, baby.

INTERVIEWER: I meant writing advice.

ME: Don’t be a twat.

INTERVIEWER: I beg your pardon?

ME: Not you. I mean, well, you too, but not exclusively you. My advice is to just stop being a big blubbering twat, and cooing about your writing on twitter like a mewling little bitch kitty. Nobody thinks your asswipe toddler is cute but you, the world doesn’t need another bloated housewife dying her hair green and insisting she’s a vampire channeler, whether or not you’re watching True Blood is of zero interest to anyone anywhere, and most of what you are writing has the gravitas of Cool Whip. So just understand that, and deal with it, and stop being a twat. That goes for the male authors, too, who are doing their best to come across as neutered missionaries asking you to read their pamphlet on Jaysus. Stop being twats. Nobody likes a twat. Except other twats, and then only when they’re looking in the mirror.

INTERVIEWER: Wow. I see. So who is your audience, then? Who are you writing for?

ME: Mostly strippers with bad meth problems, and felons.

INTERVIEWER: Seriously…

ME: It’s a big market. You know how many of my peeps are in the joint? Don’t discount their buying power. But I’ll let you in on a little secret – most readers aren’t going to be smart enough to get my stuff. I mean, they’ll sit there, glassy-eyed, roaming over the words, but they won’t be able to figure it out as it’s written at above a kindergarten level, which is about what the average reader these days can grasp. Decades of sitting in front of the television, mistaking turgid little melodramatic vignettes for actual substance has created generations of dullards for whom James Patterson is frigging Voltaire. It’s sad, but true. So if you’re smart enough to understand my novels, you’re in the minority – trust me on that. When I imagine my reader, unfortunately I visualize a quarter-ton shut in with twelve cats who moves her lips when she reads comic books. And I’m probably being generous.

INTERVIEWER: That sounds sort of, well, mean.

ME: That’s because you’re a twat. “Bwah. Mean people suck. Boo hoo hoo.” Sweetie, let me tell you something: mean people only seem mean because you have some distorted Pollyannaish view of the world where everyone acts like some retarded deacon at the Church of Friendly. Here’s a newsflash. The reason your sh#t goes down a waterslide instead of sitting on your floor is because some “mean” engineer figured out how to make it happen. The reason the 747 overhead doesn’t come crashing through the roof of your lean-to is because mean people spent decades figuring out how to make it fly. When your tragically unhealthy lifestyle has your arteries clogged and your face goes numb, your mean, brusque doctor will be the one you’ll be begging to save you like he’s the air tube and you’re 40 feet underwater. The only thing nice people are good for are buying products, believing their vote can make anything different, and pretending they don’t want to secretly f#ck the neighbor’s daughter or pool boy.

INTERVIEWER: …I…

ME: But I don’t want readers to think my work isn’t upbeat, with a positive tone. Because it’s really uplifting.

INTERVIEWER: You mean the slack-jawed morons who might be interested in pretending to grasp your ideas while staring at their Kindle like it’s a Gameboy?

ME: Exactly. I believe that even the most simpering dullard should buy every one of my books, as it might, just might, make them smarter for the effort of trying to read it. I mean, let’s face it, that’s unlikely, but still, anything’s possible, and I’ll be a much more deserving steward of their three bucks than they would.

INTERVIEWER: It sounds like you don’t expect much out of readers.

ME: I expect three bucks.

INTERVIEWER: But aren’t you worried about offending them with these types of interviews?

ME: Do I seem like I give two sh#ts? Really? Does this look like a face that cares? Look, people should find the idea that their country is being robbed blind by pecuniary interests run by elite criminal cartels offensive. They should find the fact their currency is worth 80% less over the last 9 years offensive. They should find the idea that their kids are going to live in a world as second class wage-slaves offensive. They should find the fact their government lies to them at every turn offensive. If they’re going to find me offensive, and not that, they’re twats. And what’s my advice?

INTERVIEWER: …Don’t be a twat?

ME: Correct. Now, I’m afraid this interview is over. I hear my peacocks making amorous advances upon one another over in the throne room, signaling that my lunch has been prepared and it’s time for my massage. If you want a piece of this, just follow me in – I can always shut off the lights and drink you pretty. Oh, and I hope this does it for your readers. And try to make me seem approachable and friendly, would you? So many of these interviews seem to come out with me being distant…