Wednesday, January 9, 2008


It's not my job to instruct people on how to read my books. Heaven forbid.

But sometimes I wonder if some reviewers read too fast. Or maybe their palates are too crusted over and need refreshing or a complete tongue replacement. (You know who I mean--especially that woman whose reviews are everywhere, every freaking where. And no one ever gets less than four stars.)

My novels sometimes get called zany. Zany means silly or foolish or slapstick.

I'm sorry. I know there are other writers who have made a very good living being zany. More power to them.

But I'm not them, and they're not me. Maybe I slip up now and then and get a little over the top and create a slapstick moment or two. I try to hold the line against that, but hey, after all, I do live in Miami. Weird is our business. It's hard sometimes to remember what normal means.

I prefer to think of my tone as alternating between noir and quirky. What do I mean by quirky?

Animals are frequently quirky.

And oh, yes, the venerable sock creature is always good for a small dose of quirk.

And then there are cats.

Always up to something.

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