On The Rio Wind. . .
This is it. My first novel. I guess that's not true, I wrote three others when I was just a youngster. The first, written at the age of 10 or so, was about a big shot who crashed his private jet, resulting in the loss of his legs. Soon after, said big shot meets the woman of his dreams at McDonalds where she's ordering from the value menu. They marry and live happily ever after. A classic tale of unexpected fortune lost among the coloring books. The second novel I wrote when I was 17, it was titled Eighteen. It was about a bunch of teenagers traveling out to California. Once they get there they lived in a ramshackle shed on the beach. Before long that desperate teenage drama ensues and they go their separate ways, but not before one of them gets run over by a bus. The third, written when I was 19, is about a girl who moves to the big city and falls in love with a drug dealer who looks like Eminem, or at least he did in my mind. Between the age of 19 and 28 is an abyss in which