I am a shepherd by trade

I wrote my first book as an attempt to make money. It was nothing more than a cash grab. The people were hungry and wanted to know about the sexual misadventures of librarians. Also their hygiene practices. So I gave them what they wanted, and I’ll tell you, it was not without its rewards. I was like an axolotl in a lagoon of mollusks.
But it felt empty. I am proud of The Librarian at the End of the World, and I felt like there was enough substance beneath the sugar that no one will ever think of insurance conventions the same way again. Still, I wanted to try something more artistic. More literary. I look at the romances penned by Fyodor Dostoevsky and feel inadequate. So I started at once on a novel of romance about twin girls growing older and returning to their high school reunion after 30 years away to confront their lost loves. And I thought, “That’s romantic, surely, but how could it be more romantic, more sexy, more everything all at once?” How can I make this tale worthy of Fyodor, himself? Obviously, the twins would need to be conjoined after a particle collider experiment gone wrong, the CPU of the compound would need to become sentient, and the soldiers guarding it would have to confront their burgeoning attraction to one another. NOW we are talking. This is a romance worthy of the ages, or at least of the age of the Cold War. Also, there will be Yugos and acid washed jeans, as the Russian grandmasters would expect.
Being catapulted to literary stardom was shocking. I am a shepherd by trade. Just me and my sheep. It was lonely, at times. But now my writing consumes so much of my time, and there is no wifi in the meadow. So I was forced to relocate to a metropolitan area. I can scarcely go to a Starbucks without the barista getting the name on the cup wrong. I appreciate how she tries to help me hide my identity.

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