The Greatest Sin For A Writer Is

Hey. Sometimes To Conclusions.

Bangkok 8 Is One Of The Most Startling And Provocative Mysteries That I've Read In Years. The Characters Are Marvelously Unique, The Setting Is Intoxicating And The Plot Unwinds In Dark Illusory Strands, Reminiscent Of Gorky Park. Once I Started, I Didn't Want To Put It Down.

I Think In The Old Days, The Nexus Of Weirdness Ran Through Southern California, And To A Degree New York City. I Think It's Changed So That Every Bizarre Story In The Country Now Has A Florida Connection. I Don't Know Why, Except It Must Be Some Inversion Of Magnetic Poles Or Something.

I'd Always Wanted To Write Books Ever Since I Was A Kid.

As A Lobbyist He Had Long Ago Concluded There Was No Difference In How Democrats And Republicans Conducted The Business Of Government. The Game Stayed The Same: It Was Always About Favors And Friends, And Who Controlled The Dough. Party Labels Were Merely A Way To Keep Track Of The Teams; Issues Were Mostly Smoke And Vaudeville. Nobody Believed In Anything Except Hanging On To Power, Whatever It Took.