I Think I'm Out Of Crime Fiction

I Kept Saying, "stop Me Now. It's Going To My Head." I Got Some Photos. Really, I Did! It's Not My Noblest Sexual Self In These Moments, But I Want To Have Fun. I Want To Undress. I Get Off My Leash To Go Out And Perform. Some Other Writers Are Just Discomforted By The Way I Behave In Public. Because They're Loath To Perform.

L.a. Ispolluted. It's Overpopulated. But It Is Very Much Home. It Was Inevitable For Me, The Moving Back. I Was Living In San Francisco, And Joan Broke It Off With Me, And I Needed A Place To Live. I'd Been Divorced. And I Needed To Write Movies And Tv Shows To Earn A Living. Alimony. All That. So I Figured What The Hell, I'll Go Back To L.a.

I Was A Wasp Kid Going To A High School That Was 99 Percent Jewish And I Wanted Attention And I Wanted To Make A Spectacle Of Myself Because I Couldn't Stand To Be Ignored.

If I Wanted To Make Money I Would Have Written Another Novel.

She Quoted A Dead Playwright And Called Me A Bullet With Nothing But A Future. She Understood My Lack Of Self-pity. She Knew Why I Despised Everything That Might Restrict My Forward Momentum. She Knew That Bullets Have No Conscience. They Speed Past Things And Miss Their Marks As Often As They Hit Them.