Eric, of Riverside

Like Saint John of Patmos.  Except I have fewer many-headed and horned beasts in my writing.  I say fewer.

My exile has done me a lot of good.  And a lot has happened.  Chief among these things is that I just finished my third book.  It came in at 102,128 words.  Shorter than I anticipated, but I expect a little expansion in revision.  That’s 102k in 7 months.  The quickest I’ve ever finished a book, and it rivals my first in size (pre-cuts).  This past Monday I wrote over 4,500 words in a night.  That’s some kind of record, I think.  For those not word-savvy, that’s about twenty pages.  My pace increased quite a lot once I put myself off the internet, and I don’t think I’d be as far as I am if I hadn’t.

But wait, there’s more good news.  The third book–have I mentioned? it’s called Above All Men– is going to be excerpted in Verdad Magazine.  On top of that, myself and Clowncar are in the next round in Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Award Contest.  On top of that, I’ve got a poetry gig coming up that’s gonna pay out a little bit, and let me write about Joshua Tree.  On top of that, I’m going to be Editor-in-chief of CRATE Literary Magazine next year.  On top of that, I’ve been hanging out with a few poets, one of which is, I shit you not, going to be the next Lorca or Neruda or pick-your-favored-poet-that-changed-what-being-a-poet-means, hopefully minus untimely death; and the other is a Tom Waits and No Country for Old Men-loving punk rocker who enjoys her (my) whiskey and is currently reading my copy of All the Pretty Horses.  Her favorite Tom Waits album is Real Gone.  You can’t get more legitimate than that.  And both of these two are much, much better poets than I am.  Not that that’s particularly high praise.

So, life has been pretty good since I left you.  There’s a lot of work to do down the pike, and I won’t really be back until after that, if then.  But I’m thinking of you, and I hope you’re well.  I haven’t gotten any letters from you.  Don’t think I haven’t noticed.