Les Edgerton's Blog, page 24

REVIEW--SCOTT ADLERBERG'S JUNGLE HORSES

Hi Folks,
I'd like to recommend a fantastic book I just read, Scott Adlerberg's JUNGLE HORSES. Here's my review of it: 
 
Review of Scott Adlerberg’s JUNGLE HORSES
Every great once in awhile, as a writer, I come upon a book that serves as a wake-up call as to why I originally wanted to be a writer and reignites that original fever. The first books I read that excited me about literature were novels that created entirely new worlds out of whole cloth. The Jules Verne novels, the Edgar Rice Burroughs tales, the stories set in places like nowhere on earth. And then, as time went on and I became more and more inured into writing professionally, I kind of forgot that original excitement. Well, it was just reignited. I picked up a copy of Scott Adlerberg’s newest novel, JUNGLE HORSES, and instantly felt like I was 7 or 8 again, racing through 10,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA or TARZAN OF THE APES. I was immediately transported into a world that had never existed before and it was just plain exhilarating! This was a writer who was obviously the kid the English teacher back in the eighth grade singled out when she announced to the class that this kid had a wonderful imagination. Too often, as we get older and more jaded, we keep using the same old settings and same old plots and when you happen on a story like JUNGLE HORSES, it feels like it does when a Santa Ana comes down out of the mountains in L.A. and blows all the smog out to sea and the air gets crisp and clean and your lungs feel like new.
I’ll leave it to others to describe the plot, except to say that it involves a degenerate gambler, a weird sexual triad with one of the players impotent, and an island that I think broke off from the island of Dr. Moreau and drifted a few leagues away. And horses. It almost doesn’t matter what the plot is—it’s a dream and you enter into it immediately and willingly. Because of its atmospheric quality, it will be tempting to call it a work of noir, but it has a higher and reaches it—this is literature and literature of the highest quality.
I’ll leave the plot details to the cover copy, which describes it as:
Arthur lives a quiet life in London, wandering from the bar to the racetrack and back again. When his pension check dries up, Arthur decides to win it all back with one last big bet at the bookie. When that falls through, Arthur borrows money and repeats the process, until he's in too deep with a vicious gang of leg-breakers.

The plan to save his skin will take him far from his home, to a place where a very different breed of horse will change his life forever.

I have no idea why, but the entire time I was transported into Adlerberg’s tale, I kept thinking I was reading a story by William Goyen. I think it was the voice he employed.
I’m just thankful for coming upon a story that reminded me of why I wanted to be a writer. I feel like my own roots have been rejuvenated. It’s a wonderful thing to be reminded of the possibilities of story.

Pick up a copy--you'll be glad you did!
Blue skies,Les

Just in--Review of THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING by Australian blogger

Hey folks,





Monday, October 6, 2014

Review: The GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING by Les Edgerton

From the back of the book:
The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnapping is a mix of Cajun gumbo, a couple tablespoons of kinky sex and a dash of unusual New Orleans settings. The reader follows the comic mis-adventures of Pete Halliday, busted out of baseball for a small gambling problem, Tommy LeClerc, a Cajun with a tiny bit of Indian blood who considers himself a red man, and Cat Duplaisir, a part-time hooker and full-time waitress. With both the Italian and Cajun mobs after them, a chase through Jazz Fest, a Tourette's outbreak in a black bar and other zany adventures, all seems lost.

My Review:
An ingenious comedic crime caper that captivates, engages, and demands the reader’s attention. THE GENUINE IMITATION PLASTIC KIDNAPPING is, as the title implies, a story of kidnapping that perhaps isn’t the real McCoy, attempted by a couple of armature part time criminals who blunder, battle, and somehow pull of a daring (and stupid?) abduction of a mafia boss. But wait, that’s not the beauty in this brutally brazen idea – the Mafioso is only part of the plan. Amputating his right hand and ransoming it back to him is the idea – one that actually works…for a while.  One of the things I really liked about this book was the fact that the central plot device didn’t deviate despite the bevy of criminal enterprises the unlawful entrepreneurs Pete and Tommy underwent. Pete gets left for dead, locked up, shot at, becomes instantly rich the equally broke and then goes on the lamb from his bookie that he’s in debt to, all before the unique kidnapping plan is hatched. It’s a great ride that only gets better. As if THE GENUINE IMITATION PLASTIC KIDNAPPING wasn’t cool enough in its own right, the endnote by author Les Edgerton paints the characters in a new shade of realism by virtue of their real-life counterparts. Wow – pretty much sums up reading post script. 

Feels good to know that the folks "Down Under" are liking it!
Blue skies,Les

THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING launches today!

Hi folks,
Well, today’s the day! My new novel, the black comedy crime thriller, THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING goes on sale today, both ebook and paperback versions. This book was my personal favorite to write—just had a lot of fun with it and hope you will as well.
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 Click here for ebook.
Click here for paperback.

Here are some of the blurbs it’s received so far:
Blurbs
Les Edgerton serves up a gumbo of sexual deviants, small time hustlers, and serious criminals in a caper that reads like a deranged Damon Runyon tale relocated from Broadway to the French Quarter. "The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnaping" is not for the faint of heart, and that's just one of its selling points. If you like crime fiction that cracks wise while offering a peek into the darker recesses, this is the book for you.Bill Fitzhugh, author, PEST CONTROL, TERMINATOR and others
What makes this wild, wild tale so intriguing is the sense that it must be drawing on first hand knowledge. Edgerton's sympathetic tough guy narrator gives you an authentic-feeling glimpse into the unique logic of small time hustlers and born losers, with echoes of Ring Lardner and snatches of slam poetry frequently catching you by surprise and making it that much more enjoyable.--Matthew Louis, founding editor of Gutter Books and author of The Wrong Man and Collision Cocktail.
“The most unrepentantly funny crime caper you’ll ever find between the pages of a book. Elmore Leonard, eat your heart out!”– Maegan Beaumont, author of Carved in Darkness
Masquerading as a novel, Les Edgerton's newest gem -- THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING -- is really a debauched weekend in steamy New Orleans, loaded with alcohol, drugs, whores, pistols, and a menacing bookie, all available for your personal and private entertainment between the covers. Narrator Pete Halliday -- ex-con, gambler, boozer, ex-baseball pitcher and unwise wiseass -- takes us places most don't really want to go, only to have the time of our lives when we get there. Listen to him: "Coming into New Orleans, you could smell it. First day out of jail after thirty days, you could really smell it. Hot and sexy, a couple hundred thousand red hot little mamas, stepping out of steamy baths and showers, their skin sticky from the heat, getting ready for Saturday night ..." Every pitch Pete throws is a hair-raising thrill, a belly laugh or a clue to the wicked and violent puzzle that hangs over his New Orleans adventure. You know someone has to die. -- Jack Getze, Fiction Editor, Spinetingler Magazine
There's two certainties when reading anything written by Les Edgerton. First you'll get gritty, hard hitting noir straight out the top drawer that'll leave you punch drunk on the floor. Second is it'll be like nothing you've ever picked up before. The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnapping is no exception. Expect the unexpected. Read it, love it.-- Keith Nixon, author of The Fix
"There's nothing fake about The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnapping. Les Edgerton's latest book is the real deal, and has everything to keep you turning the pages. It's a caper, full of fun and high-jinx, but it's also bitter-sweet, engendering a full range of emotions. You'll smile, you'll wince, you'll laugh out loud, and sometimes you'll even cringe, but you'll come away from the read feeling thoroughly satisfied and entertained. A terrific read."Matt Hilton, author of the best-selling Joe Hunter thrillers.
When it comes to writing crime stories, Les Edgerton can do pretty much it all, and The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnapping finds him in a mood to have fun. This book is like a raucous party for crime fiction lovers, complete with goons, guns, and schemes-within-schemes. Best of all, the comic voice of its ne’er-do-well narrator is a pleasure from start to finish.--Jake Hinkson, author of Hell On Church Street and The Posthumous Man
THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING is a dark crime comedy that will have you laughing from page one. It crackles with manic energy and mad thrills. If you're looking for a different kind of edgy crime novel, this is the one to grab.--Bill Crider, author of Compound Murder, Gator Kill and others.
Imagine Les Edgerton’s writing. Dark, despairing noir. Habitual criminals. Rapists. This is nothing like that. : Edgerton takes a break from The Bitch and The Rapist to exercise his inner Westlake. A “no holds barred” and “What else can go wrong” caper with even more laughs than plot twists. The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnapping has a plot John Dortmunder would have trouble negotiating, and Edgerton milks it for all it’s worth. Not for the faint of heart, the crime that really sets the story off involved kidnapping a gangster—no, I can’t do it. I don’t want to spoil even that much. Suffice to say kidnapping, sexual fetishes, forced amputation, Tourette’s Syndrome, certain death, and one-way tickets to Skagway AK are all played for laughs, and he pulls it off. Big fun. My daughter described the movie Ted as “Really funny and wildly inappropriate.” It’s like that.--Dana King, author Grind Joint
The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnappingis like the fever-dream of a two-bit conman who fancies himself a criminal genius. Add in some seedy and saucy New Orleans locales and you’ve got a gumbo of freaky sex, covert mob men and botched amputations. This the most havoc ever wrought in one man’s quest for a measly ol’ po’ boy shop, and a creole crime caper you won’t want to miss. --Nik Korpon, author of Fait Ave and Stay God, Sweet Angel
You’re in for some twisted laughs as one of crime fiction’s most authentic voices takes on dark humor. In THE GENUINE IMITATION PLASTIC KIDNAPPING, Les Edgerton finds every line that oughtn’t be crossed and drags his characters back and forth ’til it’s blurred. You may want to reach in and give his criminal hero a shake, except you’re bound to be aching to see what kind of trouble he can create next. Humor is human, the blacker the better, and Edgerton serves it up nasty and raw! – Rob Brunet, author of Stinking Rich
A hard-driving, relentless story with grab-you-by-the-throat characters.— Grant Blackwood, New York Times bestselling author.
The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnappingis a steamy caper novel that reads like an arm wrestling match between Ring Lardner and Quentin Tarantino, while James Lee Burke takes bets on the outcome. I only stopped laughing to flinch occasionally. A terrific novel, for the strong of heart – and funny bone.—Warren Moore, author of Broken Glass Waltzes.
There is nothing quite like reading a Les Edgerton novel. His voice crackles with a lifelike intensity. THE GENUINE, PLASTIC, IMITATION KIDNAPPING is the most incredible, entertaining and detailed bar story you've ever heard. Reading it, you can't shake that feeling that you've living a special, unique moment where anything is possible, like that night at the bar.-Benoît Lelièvre, www.deadendfollies.com
Early Amazon reviews:
5.0 out of 5 stars Nothing Imitation here. September 21, 2014 ByLiam Sweeny Format:Paperback|Verified PurchasePete Halliday's got a hell of an arm... and a little gambling problem. Or is it a little 'getting caught' problem? Either way he's washed out of baseball, biding his time in the Big Easy, pulling jobs with ace fuck-up Tommy LeClerc.

In spectacular fashion, Tommy blows schemes so clever they shouldn't be done. Like a kidnapping when you don't know whom the kidnapee is connected to. But then Tommy comes up with a brilliant idea; a kidnapping the likes of which no one has attempted before...

... and maybe there's a reason for that.

Pete's a likable guy. He just smart enough to realize how insane Tommy's plans are, too dumb to tell Tommy to screw off. And it's that inability that brings the feet of the whole New Orleans reverse nobility down on Pete and Tommy's necks.

The ray of dirty sunshine is Cat Duplaisir, waitress with a side of hooker. Pete falls hard, and she's a great add to the team here. And the ending? Guess you'll have to read it.

Overall, I love Pete's way of putting things. He's a narrating character that's reliable, true to form. Edgerton pours this one from his fingertips; nothing gets you clogged in the reading, nothing keeps you from hitting the 'next' arrow except maybe sleep or a pee break (I don't even think I took a pee break).

I got an advanced copy, But I liked it so much, I bought the paperback.
5.0 out of 5 stars Kidnap this book - NOW! September 22, 2014 BySarah Faurote Format:PaperbackWow - here we go again. Les Edgerton is one of the best writers of our time. Once again, I have a reason to read. This hilarious, yet serious depiction of clumsy criminals and the terror and messes they run into is impossible to put down. This book explodes from the page and pulls the reader in. You will end up loving the main characters and laughing all the way. Les Edgerton writes from truth and grit - the kind of writing that only a writer with a mad soul and the life to go with it can write. I have yet to read a book by Les Edgerton that I regretted purchasing. You can't lose with Les Edgerton. Throw the dice and reap your reward.
Hope you glom onto a copy and if you have time, please leave a rating and review on Amazon—it means a lot for sales.
Blue skies,Les
Me, with my "Happy Face"...It's "Launch Day!"

NEW REVIEWS OF THE BITCH AND THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING

Hi folks,
Just received some dandy reviews of a couple of my novels that made my day! The first, for THE BITCH, is courtesy of Brit author Martin Stanley in his novel-reviewing blog, The Gamblers.The last two are Amazon reviews of THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING which is now available in the paperback edition from Amazon and you can preorder the ebook version (to be released Sept. 30) from them also.
The GamblersMartin Stanley Review: The Bitch by Les Edgerton
Posted on September 22, 2014 4http://thegamblersnovel.com/
Les Edgerton’s crime novels and short stories have a rich vein of truth and knowledge running through them that most crime writers, even the most talented, simply can’t emulate. Which is hardly surprising considering that he once spent a couple of years in prison for burglary at the Pendleton Reformatory in Indiana. Even the most stringent research is a mediocre substitute for real life experience. And it’s this kind of experience that filters down through the bedrock of Edgerton’s novel, The Bitch, and permeates the actions of its two main characters, Jake Bishop and Walker Joy.

The Bitch in this case is not a woman, but the nickname that cons and ex-cons alike give to the three strikes and you’re out sentencing structure of the American legal system – the point at which prisoners become ha-bitch-ual offenders and go inside for the rest of their lives.
At the start of The Bitch, after a second stint in jail, Jake Bishop is a reformed character working as a hairdresser and dreaming of opening up his own salon with his pregnant wife, Paris. The trouble starts when he takes a phone call from Walker Joy, his one-time cellmate, to whom he owes a very big favour, begging for help: by getting him out of a jam with a dodgy jeweller that he owes money to. His thinking clouded by fears of The Bitch, Jake declines. He is then warned by the jeweller that he has knowledge that will put Jake inside for a third strike and also intends to frame Jake’s younger brother for a recent burglary of his premises. Jake is left with no choice but to take the job on.The job is to steal a few very special stones from a jewellery designer who is away for the weekend, but there will be a lot of other jewels in there too. If they can pull it off, the take will be massive.The only problem is that, in true noir style, anything that can go wrong does go wrong. Jake is left wondering just who he can trust, and just how far he can go to avoid the ever-present third strike life sentence. Well, he goes pretty far, believe me, but to say more would spoil things…
I enjoyed The Bitchimmensely. It is written with skill and care by a writer who knows his stuff personally, and that comes through in the fear and increasing desperation of Jake’s narrative voice. Thoughts of that dreaded third strike are always on his mind, colouring his decisions, clouding his judgement, making him irrational – it’s an impressive piece of first-person narration. But it’s the plotting and organising of key events in the narrative that impressed me most. There are times in many noir stories where events tumble into the protagonist’s path with such frequency that there’s always the danger of the narrative tipping over into parody. Les Edgerton sidesteps these potential problems adroitly through a combination of fine writing and slowing the narrative down to allow the characters and readers time to draw breath. He drops a few twists along the way to a really satisfying ending, in which he gives Jake a truly great line of closing dialogue (so good, in fact, that I wished I’d written the damn line myself). If you are a noir fan, a heist fan, or a straight up thriller fan, there’s plenty in The Bitch that will satisfy you. 
Highly recommended.  Reviews from Amazon for THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING 



(The first review from author Liam Sweeny first appeared on his blog.Customer Reviews
5.0 out of 5 stars Nothing Imitation here. September 21, 2014  By Liam Sweeny Format:Paperback|Verified Purchase
Pete Halliday's got a hell of an arm... and a little gambling problem. Or is it a little 'getting caught' problem? Either way he's washed out of baseball, biding his time in the Big Easy, pulling jobs with ace fuck-up Tommy LeClerc.

In spectacular fashion, Tommy blows schemes so clever they shouldn't be done. Like a kidnapping when you don't know whom the kidnapee is connected to. But then Tommy comes up with a brilliant idea; a kidnapping the likes of which no one has attempted before...

... and maybe there's a reason for that.

Pete's a likable guy. He just smart enough to realize how insane Tommy's plans are, too dumb to tell Tommy to screw off. And it's that inability that brings the feet of the whole New Orleans reverse nobility down on Pete and Tommy's necks.

The ray of dirty sunshine is Cat Duplaisir, waitress with a side of hooker. Pete falls hard, and she's a great add to the team here. And the ending? Guess you'll have to read it.

Overall, I love Pete's way of putting things. He's a narrating character that's reliable, true to form. Edgerton pours this one from his fingertips; nothing gets you clogged in the reading, nothing keeps you from hitting the 'next' arrow except maybe sleep or a pee break (I don't even think I took a pee break).

I got an advanced copy, But I liked it so much, I bought the paperback. 
5.0 out of 5 stars Kidnap this book - NOW! September 22, 2014  By Sarah Faurote Format:Paperback
Wow - here we go again. Les Edgerton is one of the best writers of our time. Once again, I have a reason to read. This hilarious, yet serious depiction of clumsy criminals and the terror and messes they run into is impossible to put down. This book explodes from the page and pulls the reader in. You will end up loving the main characters and laughing all the way. Les Edgerton writes from truth and grit - the kind of writing that only a writer with a mad soul and the life to go with it can write. I have yet to read a book by Les Edgerton that I regretted purchasing. You can't lose with Les Edgerton. Throw the dice and reap your reward. 
Thanks, everyone! The cockles of my heart are hotter than a three-dollar counterfeit bill!If you haven’t yet, you can order either the paperback version of KIDNAPPING or preorder the ebook version here.
Remember: Christmas is just around the corner! This would make a great stocking stuffer, eh?
Blue skies,Les

OFF-FIELD VIOLENCE IN THE NFL

Hi folks,
Unless you haven’t ventured outside your cave in the past week or so, you’ve seen a kazillion stories and opinion pieces on the child abuse and spousal/female abuse featuring NFL players. All of this furor reminded me of an experience I had a long time ago when I lived in New Orleans.
At the time, I was the styles director of one of the town’s leading salons, Snobs. Among my clientele were a number of Saints players, coaches, cheerleaders and others associated with the team. One of my favorite clients was Shea Hill, wife of King Hill, the quarterbacks coach. Shea and King and I go way back—they were a year ahead of me in high school at Freeport (TX) High School. King was our All-State QB and from Freeport, he went on to star first at Rice University where he was named an All-American, and from there to the NFL. Shea was his high school sweetheart, a cheerleader (natch!), and they got married when they were both at Rice. We reconnected decades later in New Orleans.
Snobs was the “official” hairstylists for The Breakers, the cheerleading squad for The Breakers, NOLA’s entry in the USFL League. It was a cool deal. The squad had 33 cheerleaders and before the home games in the Super Dome, us Snobs folks would do their hair in their suite in the Super Dome and then go watch the game on the field—the cheerleaders had a bench behind the players’ bench and that’s where we’d sit. During halftime, we’d to back to their suite, fix their hair again, and then back out to the field. Our payment was having the Snobs name and logo flashed on the Super Dome message board during the game as the official hairstylists. Sometimes, we also did the Saints cheerleaders. Now, remember, this was in the days when folks referred to the Saints as the “Aint’s” so it wasn’t like our prime spots were worth anywhere near what they would be today.
Enough background. One day, Shea Hill was on my book and she was always prompt. Except this time. She finally rolled in, twenty minutes late, pretty well flustered and out of breath. She asked me if I could still do her hair and I said, sure, and she sat in my chair.
First thing, she apologized for being late. Seems King was home that day and had planned to watch their kids while she got her hair done. Except, at the last minute, he got a call from the Saints office, ordering him to come in asap. Shea said the entire team was called, including coaches, support people, players, equipment manager… everyone.  They were all called out to Metry because of something one of the star players had done. Actually, he was more than just a “star”—he was the biggest name on the team and one of the best-known players in the NFL. A guy who kept an apartment two doors down from me and my roommate, Mark Toal, during the season. A guy I knew quite well. Quarterback Kenny Stabler. I’d even been invited to his wedding just a few months before this day. During the reception, we were yakking and I said, “Hey, Kenny, now that you’re married, can I have your little black book?” He just laughed and said, “No way, Les. Don’t you know a good player always has a backup plan? Well, I don’t have one little black book—I’ve got seven… and they’re big black books.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. He was well known as a bon vivant, man-about-town, and always had dozens and dozens of babes trying to get him home with them to do the nasty. Well, we all did that shit in those days so that only makes him a regular guy.
I remember one Saturday night I went to Confetti’s, the hot club at the time in Metry (“Metairie” for you tourists…). I hit their doors about one am—which is the usual lifestyle of native young New Orleaners. The way it worked, is that if you worked a day job and got off at five, you went home and grabbed a few hours sleep. Then, around midnight, you got up, took a shower and cleaned up and then hit the bars and clubs until the morning and then went to work. That way you avoided most of the rubes in from Iowa who mostly followed their usual routine—go out until one or two ayem and then head back to the hotel. The serious partiers in the Big Sleazy didn’t hit the trail until one or two and then we just stayed out all night.
Well, about the same time I hit Confetti’s, Kenny came in. When I left, around six in the ayem, he was still there. Every time I hit the bathroom to do a line or two, Kenny was in there powdering his own nose. When I left, he was both high and drunk. Kinda normal… This wasn’t the first time I’d seen Kenny out and about…
That day (Sunday), they had a home game and after the girl I’d taken back to the apartment left, I turned on the game. It was all I could do to stay on the couch without falling off to watch the game. Major hangover and massive weakness in all the extremities. But Kenny? Well, all he did was throw 4-5 touchdown passes. After each series, he’d go back to the sidelines, collapse, and they’d hit him with the oxygen. This guy is out throwing TD’s and I can barely hang onto the couch! Just a pure beast!
The reason he got married, was one of the (many) babes he was dating was a former first- or second-runner-up Miss America, a former Miss Alabama, and she’d laid down an ultimatum—“Marry me, buster, or I’m history.” Since she was definitely a looker, he married her.
Shea said the big brouha was over an “accident” Kenny’s new bride had just suffered. Seems they got into a little tiff and Kenny began smacking her around the ol’ condo. She made a run for their car and just as she reached it, he came running up behind her, shoved her into the car and began driving all over town, smacking her the whole time. I believe there was some alcohol involved and most likely some Peruvian marching powder, and the way Shea described it, he’d really laid into her. According to Shea, they ended up on the Ponchartrain Bridge and then he hit her so hard she flew against the door and out of the car. She was in the hospital and the team was gathered together to make sure everyone was on the same page with the official story. Shea said she’d been told some money would be changing hands with the abused person to make the story fly.
The official version of what happened neglected to mention he’d gone medieval on her or that they’d even had much of a fight. The Saints’ version was that they were just out for a drive and he’d turned a corner too hard, going too fast, and she’d simply and accidentally fallen out of the car. Shea said that’s why King had been called in with everyone else--it was a meeting conducted by the team’s lawyers and other suits to be sure everyone was on board with the “official” version.
And that was the version that made the Times-Picayune and the tube. Seems reporters didn’t bother to challenge this version or even question the physical impossibility of him turning a corner too sharply, being as they were on the Ponchartrain Bridge, which, last I drove on it, was a straight-as-an-arrow shot for 26 miles across the lake. Kind of hard to turn a corner on it, but that was mostly overlooked by the press. I seem to remember they ended up placing her “accident” at a different location so as to account for the “quick turn” bit.
The point of this little story isn’t to illustrate that NFL players sometimes get violent with their significant others or even their nonsignificant others. It’s what Shea told me next that really defined what happened.
She and King had been together ever since high school—high school, college, the NFL as a player and now the NFL as a coach—and Shea said that they’d never one single time gone to a social gathering with any of those teams during any of those years—high school, college, the pros as a player, the pros as a coach—where at least one time during the party some player or other had smacked his date or wife or whatever. She said it was always the same. Just a fact of life. And it always got hushed up. The press was well aware that this kind of thing went on regularly, but this was in an age where teams were protected by the guys who reported on them. She said if the public ever got wind of what a lot of players were like, they’d be horrified.
This was in, I believe, 1984.
Shea had her own ideas as to why that was. “Les,” she said, “I’ve lived with these guys most of my life and it’s easy to figure out. In fact, King is one of the few guys I’m aware of who never hit his wife—me—but he’s not that way and besides, he knew if he ever touched me I would be gone so quick his head would spin.
“But,” she said, “It’s fairly common. It’s because of the culture. All of their lives, they’ve been rewarded for violence, beginning in high school. They’re lionized by everyone. Half of the guys I know from high school and college never went to half their classes—the teachers and profs would cover for them. It begins there and it just gets worse the higher level you get to. In college, I knew so many players who got cars and girls and money and were drunk or high half the time. In the pros, it just gets worse. There’s all these groupies who hang out after the games to ball the players, married or not.
“Well, what happens, it takes a special kind of person to withstand that kind of hero worship. They get it from everyone. I’m truly fortunate—I’ve got a guy who’s got morals and a great sense of decency and treats me wonderfully and there are others like King, but there’s an awful lot who aren’t.“And, when you’re God to thousands of people—especially women—after awhile, you start to believe that you really are God. I mean, you’ve got thousands, if not millions of people screaming your name every week on game day and women throwing themselves at you constantly, and that changes people. And after awhile, to little ol’ Mary Sue who married you, who may have started out as one of your many hero-worshippers, but eventually, you’re not the demigod she may have started out thinking of you as, but just ol’ Billie Bob, who she just wants to take out the garbage like any other married guy… and that’s when some of ‘em come unglued and can’t take it that their main squeeze no longer treats them like they can walk on water.”
She laughed, a bit bitterly. “And sportswriters are the worst. They’re the biggest hero-worshippers around. They see all the stuff that goes on constantly and it never makes the paper.”
I can attest to that. I was a sportswriter for a couple of years for the South Bend Tribune back in the late sixties and could tell you stories about icons like Bobby Knight, John Wooden and Cal Ripken that you wouldn’t believe and would call me a liar. Things I heard and saw along with other writers, and we all kept it to ourselves. Nowadays, that’s changed, at least somewhat, but when I was a reporter in the late sixties, all kinds of things went down with some of the most revered figures in sports.
If I told you what John Wooden told a small gathering of sports writers (of which I was one) at a private gathering one night, when someone asked him what his secret was for winning national championships, you’d either call me a liar or simply be stunned. He swore us all to secrecy and said if we ever reported what he'd said, he'd deny it.
Or, what I learned about the “saintly” Cal Ripken when I was doing research for my baseball history of Perfect Game USA. I almost published it in my book, but at the last minute took it out. I won’t tell you, but it might put a dent in that “loves kids” rep that he enjoys.
It’s just what lots of sports writers do—cover up for our heroes. Been going on forever, back to the days when Babe Ruth would regularly get drunk and pick up whores and it never got reported. Things have changed somewhat these days, as today there are reporters who dig for the dirt and report it, but not nearly as much as people may think.
Here’s what the lovely Mrs. Stabler had to say about her “accident” from a newspaper account:The wife of former football star Kenny Stabler said Monday they`re ``doing fine`` despite a night of domestic turmoil that ended up on police blotters prior to his induction into the Alabama Sports Hall of Fame.
``The events sound exaggerated,`` said Rose Stabler in a telephone interview. ``The problem was as much my fault as my husband`s.``
[image error][image error]Police said Monday that Stabler`s wife called officers at 10:03 p.m. Friday from a downtown telephone booth and reported that Stabler hit her with his fists and kicked her before pushing her out of a moving car.
Police officer C.D. Carpenter said the 27-year-old Mrs. Stabler did not appear to be seriously hurt and was taken to a motel. ``She was just real upset,`` said Carpenter.
But a second police report was filed by officer W.A. Cox, according to police records official Sandy Triplett, who said Cox responded to a call at 11:15 p.m. Friday. The address given was the Hyatt Hotel.
``He grabbed his wife out of the bathtub and pulled her to bed, where he beat her,`` according to the second police report, which also said Mrs. Stabler had a bruise and ``an eye swollen shut.``
Ms. Triplett said the police report also quoted Stabler as using ``foul language`` about his wife but did not indicate that any action was required by police.
``It`s the kind of thing that everyone that`s married goes through at one point or another,`` Mrs. Stabler said Monday. ``Kenny and I are doing fine.``
The couple appeared together Saturday night at the Alabama Sports Hall of Fame ceremonies, where the 40-year-old Stabler was among the inductees. At the ceremony, Stabler praised his wife as an important part of his life.
Police said no charges were filed and no further action was planned.
Does any of this sound like any of the current stories circulating? A bit…
I have one more Kenny Stabler story. A few years before his wife’s “accident”, there was a lot of publicity about Sacramento Bee reporter Bob Padecky and the story he was preparing on Stabler. Word got out that it was about Kenny’s use of cocaine (which I witnessed personally, more than once…). Turns out, the reporter himself was arrested in Gulf Shores, AL (where Kenny lived during the off-season), for possession of cocaine his own self. Imagine that! A friend of mine was a NOLA sheriff’s deputy and he told me one of his best friends was involved in the frame-up.Here’s the reporter’s own version of what happened:[image error][image error]Stabler and me, 30 years laterA lot of water has passed under the bridge since I was set up in Alabama
By Bob Padecky,
The Press Democrat Published: Wednesday, June 24, 2009 at 3:30 a.m.Last Modified: Tuesday, June 23, 2009 at 1:37 p.m.Bob Padecky has been a sports columnist for The Press Democrat in Santa Rosa, CA (sister paper of The Tuscaloosa News and part of the NY Times Regional Group) since 1987. Padecky was the journalist involved in the infamous cocaine in a key case incident in 1979 during an interview with former UA and Oakland Raiders quarterback Ken Stabler. Read a detailed Sports Illustrated account here. SONOMA - ‘‘So, how you doing, Kenny?”

That’s the question I asked Kenny Stabler on Sunday morning at Infineon Raceway, and I had no idea what would happen next. The last time I asked Stabler a question, he responded by using an action verb and the second-person personal pronoun and then walked straight past me on the Raiders’ practice field behind El Rancho Motel in Santa Rosa.

Of course that was 30 years ago and times change, people change, events change people. The dust-up Stabler and I had in Southern Alabama is ancient history for most people and I was curious if it would be the same for Stabler. I mean, after all, I was the one thrown in jail, not Stabler.

During NASCAR race week, a Stabler representative had called Infineon and asked if the track’s local paper, The Press Democrat, would do a story on the former NFL MVP. The very competent John Cardinale, Infineon’s vice president of communications and marketing, who I bet could get an interview with Osama bin Laden if I asked real nice, said the reporter most likely to do the interview would be me.

Go check with Stabler first, John suggested. A few minutes later Stabler’s representative called back and said the former Raiders quarterback would not be doing the interview.

In the interim, Cardinale had told me, Stabler was supplying nearly every Bay Area TV and radio station with interview upon interview, filling up every second with charming, insightful, humorous anecdotes and opinions about the Raiders and Al Davis. That’s the way I remember Stabler as well before Jan. 22, 1979.

I had flown from Miami, the site of the Super Bowl that year, to Pensacola, Fla., and then driven to Gulf Shores, Ala., to do an interview at Stabler’s request. Three weeks earlier, I had been in Gulf Shores for a day and a half, interviewing local people for the Sacramento Bee on what they thought of Stabler’s mediocre 1978 season. I had wanted to talk to Stabler.

He had stopped talking during the season, said he would talk after the season, and so there I was, ready to chat. I was naïve, as I look back on it. I thought he would.



Stabler said no thanks. He also said he really wished I wouldn’t go to his hometown. I did, writing a three-part series for The Bee as a result. I thought it was a fair treatment and not very inflammatory. His homies were disappointed, not happy, guessed he might have partied a bit much, but they weren’t ready to send Stabler out of town in a pine box either.
 


Stabler was angry, however. That’s what he told me at the third restaurant in which I met him that day in Gulf Shores. He pounded the table, using a voice in a borderline scream, and said we would have to find another restaurant to do the interview.

That’s when I suspected something funky was up. We already had been to two restaurants and neither one was suitable for an interview. This third restaurant did not have a view on my rental car.

What happened in the following minutes and months will be condensed considerably.

I pulled out of the restaurant parking lot and onto the highway, and was hemmed in by two police cars and a motorcycle policeman. I was searched and placed in handcuffs while a cop went to my left front fender and pulled a magnetic key case from inside the wheel well. The key case contained cocaine.

I was thrown in jail, then taken from jail to my hotel room, where we waited for the bad guys who planted the cocaine. The bad guys never came. I was given a two-car police escort to the Pensacola airport, entering the Eastern Airlines passenger jet with armed officers on both my left and my right. The passengers looked at me like I was John Dillinger.

I wrote a story about it for both the Miami Herald and the Bee. As a result, the NFL, the FBI and the state of Alabama investigated. After all, cocaine had been found. No one was arrested, although I imagine it wasn’t a pleasant time for Stabler.

Attorney Leigh Steinberg contacted me and after some discussion with Hollywood said Michael Douglas was interested in doing a movie and John Belushi was going to play yours truly.
All I needed to do was sign off on it. I didn’t. I didn’t want this story to turn into a “Smokey and the Bandit” remake. Stabler told me to buzz off the following training camp. That’s the nut of it.
Thirty years passed. I must admit I was probably as interested in talking with Stabler again as he was with me. Torches were being carried. Then Eric Branch of The Press Democrat’s sports staff said something last week that struck home. “Stabler should get over it,” Eric said. “It’s been 30 years after all.”

And, I thought, so should I.

Thirty years have passed. I have made mistakes and lived through them, as I am sure Stabler has. I have lost loved ones, as I’m sure Stabler has. I have seen too many things happen too suddenly, not to know life can end in a blink; Stabler has had to see the same things. And the worst of it, for me, was a short time in jail, while feeling I was in the middle of this really bad movie.

“So, how you doing, Kenny?”

This was an Infineon press conference, not a confessional. I wanted to respect the environment. I also waited until most of the questions were asked.

“I have been good,” Stabler said. “Things have been good. It’s all because of my family. My three daughters ... Everything is going well for me. I am content with my retirement. I am content with my relationship with football.”

I hadn’t expected him to respond with more than two words. He was civil, professional.

As Stabler left the podium, I stood in front of him, extended my hand and repeated the question I asked earlier. Stabler reached out with his right hand, shook mine and said, “I’m good, Bob. I’m good.”

And then walked past me quite nimbly. He may have thought about driving a stake through my heart. I don’t know.

Wasn’t I disappointed that Stabler was so cordial? That’s what people asked later. Surprised? Yes. Disappointed? No. All yelling does is make you lose your voice.

What did I expect to come out of it?

A curiosity would be satisfied for me: After 30 years, would I get the feeling Stabler was still ready to pound a table again? Maybe. Don’t think so. Life, be it sports or otherwise, is a series of adjustments. I’d like to think Stabler made his. I’d like to think maybe even Stabler was surprised he could do it. Who knows.

But I do know this. When I reached my car in the parking lot Sunday after I was through writing in the press box, I checked under my left fender. Just to make sure nothing was there.

Bob Padecky has been a sports columnist for The Press Democrat in Santa Rosa, CA since 1987. He previously worked at The Sacramento Bee. He can be reached at bob.padecky@pressdemocrat.comor through his blog at padecky.pressdemocrat.com The point of this isn’t to reaffirm that Kenny Stabler was a user and an abuser—that’s fairly well-documented. The point is, what Shea Hill told me about the culture of football. What is revealing in my opinion, is that she said this nearly thirty years ago and she was talking about a culture that had existed from her days in high school (late fifties).
And now, folks are all indignant about something that’s been going on forever. Kenny Stabler for sure isn’t and wasn’t the only one smacking around women. It’s just getting exposed a little. And, I don’t see it as a racial thing at all—Kenny’s about as white as one could be—looks to me as if it’s a cultural thing—sports culture…
A bit late in the day… but at least it’s coming to the light of day. If folks think these are isolated cases, they’re very wrong.
Blue skies,Les
P.S. Here’s another fairly revealing article about Stabler at http://www.people.com/people/archive/article/0,,20069536,00.html

PAPERBACK NOW ON SALE

Hi folks,

Big day for moi! The paperback edition of THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING just went on sale at Amazon! The ebook edition is still on presale until Sept. 30, but those of you who prefer to hold a book in your hot little hands, you can get it immediately. It's priced at $15.95. Just click on the cover here to go to Amazon.




 
In other news... I just got my panel assignment for this year's Bouchercon 2014 in Long Beach and I'm pumped. I get to sit down and yak with some really fantastic writers. Hope to see lots of you guys there!

MY PANEL ASSIGNMENT: Crime Novel as Social Novel: Dealing With Issues and Problems of our TimeModerator Hilary DavidsonJoseph CliffordLes EdgertonSara J. HenryBill LoehfelmTim O’Mara
Friday November 14, 2014 11:30 - 12:30 Regency C
That's all, folks!
Blue skies,Les

 

FIONA MCVIE INTERVIEW

Hi folks,

Just finished a fun interview with Fiona McVie that I'd like to share with you.




 
authorsinterviews~ My interviews with many authors

Name Les Edgerton
Age 71
Fiona: Where are you from
 Born in Odessa, Texas and raised in Freeport, Texas, Algiers, Louisiana and South Bend, Indiana. We moved often.
Fiona: Tell us a little about yourself `ie your education Family life etc 
Had an abusive childhood—both parents. Lived a life of crime for many years. Among other things, was sent to prison in Pendleton for a couple of years for a 2-5 sentence, plea-bargained down from 82 counts of second-degree burglary (businesses), 2 counts of strong-armed robbery, one count of armed robbery, one count of possession with intent to sell. Was involved in a high-speed car chase with the cops (I outran them), a couple of shootouts with other outlaws, had several attempts at stabbings, been shot at by a girlfriend who also tried to run over me with her car. Appeared in porn movies, was a pimp, used and sold drugs, worked for an escort service, was homeless, was a gambler, a womanizer, and some other tricks and artifices of the ramblin’ life. Then went to college, got a B.A. from I.U. and an MFA in Writing from Vermont College. Taught writing for UCLA, University of Toledo, St. Francis University, Phoenix College, Trine University as well as for Writer’s Digest and the New York Writer’s Workshop. Am married to my fifth wife and have three children, a son from this marriage and two daughters from a previous one. 
Fiona: Tell us your latest news?
My newest novel, a black comedy crime caper titled THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING is now available for preorder and will be released Sept. 30 from Down&Out Books.
Fiona: When and why did you begin writing? 
Began immediately after reading my first book when I was five. I thought I could write a better book then. I couldn’t then, but I can now.
Fiona: When did you first consider yourself a writer?
When I was five. That became my goal then and it’s never wavered for a second.
Fiona: What inspired you to write your first book?
When I read my first book.


Fiona: Do you have a specific writing style? 
Yes. I write like myself.
Fiona: How did you come up with the title?
I assume you mean my last novel? Well, it began as a short story titled “I Shoulda Seen a Credit Arranger” in the South Carolina Review, and when I decided to expand it into a novel, I wanted a title that clearly said it was a humorous novel, so came up with THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING.
Fiona: Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
Nope. I agree with Samuel Goldwyn, who told a screenwriter that if he wanted to send a message to use Western Union—they did it better. I try to write stories that entertain.
Fiona: How much of the book is realistic?
Quite a bit. Not the kidnapping part—that’s one crime I never participated in—but the way the characters act and think is pretty much out of my own criminal days. It’s a life of some risks and danger and so like most folks who are in the life, we joke and diss about those things straights consider serious. None of it is serious…
Fiona: Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
Just about all of my books are based on my own life.
Fiona: What books have most influenced your life most?
There have been many. The biggest influence was Camus’ THE STRANGER. Most perfect book ever written, imo.
Fiona: If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
Never had a mentor, but if I had to choose, it would be parts of the thousands of writers I’ve read.
Fiona: What book are you reading now?
Robert B. Parker’s WILDERNESS.
Fiona: Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
A boatload. I don’t want to leave anyone out so I won’t name them, but there are an awful lot of really great writers working these days. Probably more so than at any time in history.
Fiona: What are your current projects?
Selling my memoir, ADRENALINE JUNKIE and a new craft book, A WRITER’S WORKSHOP AT THE BIJOU, writing three new novels, prepping for a bunch of workshops and conferences I’ve been asked to present at. Helping keep the stock price of Jack Daniels sufficiently high for investors.
Fiona: Name one entity that you feel supported you outside of family members.
I’ve never been big on being supported by family members so I’d have to say I’ve always been supported by my wits. There are a million ways to make money. I don’t need much—I’m comfortable with the rent paid and I’ve been comfortable as a homeless person. Especially in this country. Our dumpsters have better food than most third world countries have for their main repasts…
Fiona: Do you see writing as a career?
Uh… yeah. It has been so far for many, many years and I expect it to continue.
Fiona: If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
Nope. That’s what the final rewrite is for—to make it as perfect as you’re able to.
Fiona: Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?
Yeah. When I read my first book and saw the possibilities in writing. I saw a way to take advantage of my adrenaline jones and get paid for having cool experiences. Can’t get that selling life insurance…
Fiona: Can you share a little of your current work with us?
Here’s a bit from THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASIC KIDNAPPING

Bright and early the next morning, a woman teller counted out bills, put them in an envelope and handed it to me. I thanked her, stuck the envelope in my pocket and left.I was walking down the bank steps when two men came up, one a beefy mountain of a man and the other slight and smarmy. They came up beside me, took me by the elbows and hustled me down the steps. All three of us walked to the alley beside the bank and went on back to a pair of dumpsters.The big guy spun me around and pinned an armlock on me. The little guy snatched the envelop from my pocket, tore it open and counted the money. "Damn," he said, "Where's the other five?"I frowned. "It's in the mail? You buy that?"The little guy placed the wad of bills in his jacket pocket and nodded to his large partner who gripped me tighter. "Wise guy, huh?" the little guy said."Well, you wouldn't know it by my SATs. You know what? You look familiar. I got it! Your mom.""My mom?" the little goon said."Yeah," I said. "Your mom. We been dating. Whenever I have an extra twenty. I just love it when she takes out her false teeth. You know . . ." I went on. "I might end up your stepfather. Think she'd grow a mustache for me?"The little guy hauled off and socked me in the gut. I collapsed and struggled to right myself and get my breath back."Yeah," I said, wheezing my words out. "You hit about like your mom. I can see you're related. I suppose you wanna give me a blowjob now?""You fuck," the little guy screamed, and hit me again. As I folded in half like a WWII Japanese foot soldier unexpectedly finding himself in the same room as the Emperor, the little guy grabbed my hand and brought it around and secured it between his arm and chest. He bent four of my fingers back until they cracked. Audibly. Almost as loud as the scream I gave out, feeling like a complete bitch when I did, but couldn't help it.
Fiona: Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Nope. The biggest problem I have is that I won’t live long enough to write all the books I have rattling around in my brainpan.
Fiona: Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
My all-time favorite is Albert Camus and what I love about him is how he lowers the volume when most other writers would raise it. He wrote books for grownups and folks who don’t move their lips when they read.
Fiona: Do you have to travel much concerning your book(s)?
No. Don’t have to, but I love traveling.
Fiona: Who designed the covers?
Of my books? Well, the publishers do.
Fiona: What was the hardest part of writing your book?
There really aren’t any hard things about writing. Writing’s like breathing.
Fiona: Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?
I learn something with each new book. Actually, I learn more from other writers and their work and then just apply what I’ve learned to my own work.
Fiona: Do you have any advice for other writers?
Yes. I’ll echo what Jim Harrison advised—“To read the whole of Western literature for the past 2,000 years… and then, if you live long enough, the same 2,000 years of Eastern literature. For, if you don’t know what passed for good in the past, how can you know what passes for good today?” Harrison nailed the secret of learning to write well—read, read, and then read some more. And then write. All the rest is just noise.
Fiona: Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers? 
Just a sincere thank-you. And remember—Christmas is just around the corner and an Edgerton novel makes the perfect gift…
Fiona: Do you remember the first book you read?
Actually, I do. It was a collection of short stories by Guy de Maupassant. Never did the Hardy Boys or Run, Spot, Run thing.
Fiona: Other than writing do you have any hobbies ?
Reading. When I’m not writing, I’m almost always reading.
Fiona: What TV shows/films do you enjoy watching?
Don’t watch much TV and haven’t been to a movie theater in probably ten years. There are three things though, that I never miss on TV. Notre Dame football, Indiana University basketball, and San Francisco Giants baseball. Sometimes I watch the show all outlaws watch—Antiques Roadshow…
Fiona: Favorite foods / Colors/ Music 
Favorite foods are Oysters Bienville and Oysters Rockefeller and Marlboros. Favorite color is black (is that a color?). Favorite music is jazz and country. Old-jazz—no fusion, no electronic stuff--and old C&W like Patsy Cline and Waylon Jennings.
Fiona: If you were not a writer what else would you like to have done?
Been an outlaw. Oh, wait! I did that. Well, you can do both at the same time, y’know... I’ve also always wanted to be a stunt man in porno movies. It pays great, has short hours, and they never see your face. The only drawback is you have to like large animals...
Fiona: Do you have a blog/website? If so what is it?
A blog on writing at www.lesedgertononwriting.blogspot.com/
Thank you so much, Fiona—you ask great questions!
Blue skies,Les

QUICK FIRE AT THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE

Hi folks,Today, I was honored by being interviewed by the person I feel is the single best interviewer on the planet these days, Richard Godwin, for his classy interview site, “Quick Fire at the Slaughterhouse.” It’s my second time I experienced a Godwin interview, the first at his “Chin Wag at the Slaughterhouse.” Simply put, there is no one better these days at conducting interviews, and yes, I’m aware of the Paris Review interviews. Compared to Godwin, those are closer to being quizzed by a People Magazine reporter…
Godwin first included a review of my novel, THE RAPIST, by Vicki Gundrum. Here is Vicki’s review, to be followed by the Quick Fire interview:
Vicki's Review of The Rapist
The RapistBy Les EdgertonNew Pulp Press, March 2013ISBN: 970-0-9855786-2-6
Reviewed by Vicki Lambros Gundrum
Les Edgerton’s The Rapist lures through prurient interest of a heinous crime and the promise topeek into the mind of the rapist. It begins as smut, some pages feel dirty. The rapist, TrumanFerris Pinter, is unrepentant, even spiteful and arrogant toward those who would judge him. He is a condemned man, sits in a cell awaiting execution. He recalls his crime and his hates, even aninfant hate. Complexity and contradiction nudge their way in. Edgerton tracks Truman’sthoughts and dreams, which are unusual and particular—in this way creating an uncanny realismof an individual mind. The book evokes consideration of art and life. It does not debate right andwrong but aims higher, toward the possibility of salvation.
The rape lands Truman in the cell. The plot ends and the real story begins: the ruminations of therapist and perhaps all the guilty soon to die who contemplate death. The book exists outside oftime—in the manner of a classic—no contemporary references plus Biblical-level language. Forexample, here is the opening, a thought monologue by the rapist:
Let me tell you who occupies this prison cell. Perfidious, his name is Perfidity. His name is: Liar,Blasphemer, Defiler of Truth, Black-Tongued. He lies down with all members of thecongregation equally, tells them each in turn they are his beloved, while he is already attendingto the next assignation, in his relentless rendezvous with the consumption of souls.
In the cell Truman dreams and he begins to fly, adventures that relieve him of prison time andplace him in the condensed world of thought and visitations to his childhood when he could truly hover above the ground, until the age of eleven. He suddenly lost the power because he learned to fear, he had become an adult. The power to fly “insists on suspension of all fears and laying yourself open to the actions of others. Pure trust and guilelessness must be achieved….I suspect that is what Christ is mystically saying when he tells the Pharisee he must become as a ‘little child’ again.”
Truman also tells of his childhood power to leave his body and float above it, a power also lost atage eleven: “Unlike Christ at the same age, I felt no call to proselytize, my main activity at thisperiod becoming an intense desire to satisfy my carnal nature. I self-abused my flesh,incessantly.”
Truman practices flight in his cell and plans an escape. During practice he meets with his fatherand mother, and then he’s in a dream that seems real and people run for their lives. He alsodebates a man in a robe on a mountaintop about religion, heaven, hell, humanity, love. Partwaythrough their talk the old man loses his smile, saying “Could it be that God has beenmisinterpreted by man?”
One of the most virtuosic performances in the novel is the well-read and articulate Truman’s runthrough of religion, philosophy, psychology; God, Freud, Kant, Jung, Skinner, Einstein; JohnMilton, John Donne; prisons, the veracity of his own murder charge, and his existential challengeto the warden: “You are looking out of hell, not into it when your eyes lock with mine.”
Edgerton, via Truman, proposes an original view of life and souls that reads like a metaphor ofstring theory—but which was written before publication of the string theorists (revealed to me incorrespondence with the author, 2014).
And in writing this theory of life—and Truman’s flirtations with destinations of hell, nothing,strange loops, or heaven—Edgerton seems to have written like his life depended on it. Thebook’s conclusion is a seeker’s twist that might not have been found but was.
It is a slim book—a novella (142 pages)—with a tightly woven narrative that springboards fromthe guise of pulp fiction to its destination as guidebook for lost souls. There would never be alove child between Albert Camus and Harold Pinter (the original Pinter—the playwright famousfor his comedies of menace) but such an invention comes to mind for the book is one of a kind.
The book satisfies the entreaty “Make It New” made famous by Ezra Pound.
The Rapist is difficult only if you are troubled by the grisly beginning or don’t want your head inthe game of thinking. The author will not strand you as a guide.
How else to persuade you all to read it? If some nerd creates metrics for measuring the amount ofbook per page—lyrical communication of ideas, inspiration, insight, brain tickling, suspense inthe service of story—this book would win. (Not that I’d want a nerd to do this. The best books,like this one, are mysterious.) Can today’s publishing world of unjuried plenty spawn a classic?The Rapist is a work of genius. It is a classic work that should be read for generations.

Thank you so much, Vicki! And, here’s my interview with Richard:
Quick Fire At The Slaughterhouse: Interview With Les EdgertonPosted on September 7, 2014 by richardgodwin


Les Edgerton is a highly versatile author who moves between genres. While known for his gritty and real crime writing, he often challenges contemporary prejudice in his novels. His novels The Bitch and The Rapist are two great examples of this. Les met me at The Slaughterhouse where we talked about fiction and ideology.
Tell us about the progress The Rapist is making.
If by progress, you mean sales, it’s holding its own, Richard. Which means—as it does to most writers—not nearly enough!
What has been extremely gratifying to me are the reviews it’s been garnering from the people I respect the most—fellow writers. Their response has been absolutely wonderful and I’m basking in it. These are the smartest people in the world about literature and almost universally The Rapist has received raves.
However, it isn’t in bookstores and that’s not the fault of my publisher. It’s the fault of the system. My agent is working very hard to correct that. He’s actively seeking a legacy publisher for it and has the blessing of my publisher at New Pulp Press—Jon Bassoff—in this quest. As much as indie publishers have done for writers—and it’s an awful lot—they’re still hamstrung at gaining mass distribution and getting actual books into bookstores. Hopefully, that will change at some point, but currently not much headway is taking place. Also, getting a book distributed by Ingram’s and/or Baker & Taylor, is the only avenue to getting reviews done by well-respected reviewers, such as the NY Times, LA Times, Washington Post, et al. And it’s only by getting those kinds of publications to provide reviews or coverage that filmmakers ever find out about the book. And—face it—that’s the Holy Grail of most of us as writers. Indie books, by and large, aren’t even open to most industry awards, although this seems to be changing a bit. (Not enough, nor fast enough…) To see our books make bona fide bestseller’s lists (not those sub-sub-sub-sub-set of some obscure Amazon rankings) and to get noticed by Hollywood is what will transform the indie side of publishing and so far, mass distribution is the missing (and crucial) element.
So, in answer to your question, it’s making good progress in sales and exposure within the limitations of the indie publishing universe, but not the kind of progress other books make which are put out by legacy publishers. If an indie can somehow figure out how to get their books in the Ingram pipeline and therefore on the shelves of B&N, that’s a publisher who’s going to rise up and become a major player in literature.
My fervent hope is that publishers such as NPP, Down&Out Books, Blasted Heath and those kinds of magnificent publishers can someday figure out a way to get major distributors and chain bookstores on board. Look at the lists of just these three (and at least a dozen more) and Random House doesn’t even come close to the overall literary quality of the books these folks are putting out. But, if they’re not seen, it doesn’t matter. And that’s the shame of today’s publishing. They’re restricted to the Intergnat. Not enough, alas.
If I were an indie publisher, I think I’d be looking to band with other indies and trying to make a case to Ingram’s and also to the major chains such as B&N to get their books on the bookshelves and get covered by the major media. As it is, most don’t have the financial resources to do it alone, but I have to think that if say five of the best-heeled indies got together and presented a case for Ingram’s and B&N to take their product and put it on the shelves and store it in the warehouses, a major breakthrough could be made. What keeps that from happening now is that no one house has the resources to physically publish enough copies of the books to make it worthwhile for Ingram’s or B&N to distribute or stock them on their shelves. I think someday a visionary will come up with a plan to organize a consortium that would take a book like The Rapist, print 10,000 copies and then they’d be able to sit at the poker table with Random House and those folks and get books out to the buying public. That’s the major difference—the legacy boys have the bucks to print a significant number of books, send them to Ingram’s and made available quickly to bookstores as needed with the flick of a computer button. If I was younger I’d try to do just that, but that’s a job that’s going to require enormous energy to get the right parties together and talking.
Just think about how much better a novel such as Neil Smith’s All The Young Warriors, Richard Godwin’s Mr. Glamour, or my own, The Rapist, would do if it was on the shelves at B&N? Hell, we might even rival those Fifty Shades of Crap books that are on those same shelves. So much book-buying is done on impulse when a customer browsing the shelves happens on a copy of a book, picks it up, thumbs through a few pages… and then takes it to the sales counter and the person standing behind them in line spies it, asks about it and then buys his own copy? Our books don’t have that chance… We can’t even finance our own book tours since B&N and other chains won’t order our books unless they’re in the distributor pipeline. I think the key to mass market success lies in the major distributors.
There are small publishers who’ve done just this. Algonquin Books, Gray Wolf—there are several. The deal is, they published enough copies that Ingram’s could financially take a chance on them as could B&N. Their editorial acumen was good enough that the major reviewers would also look at their books. I really think if a few of the really top indie publishers banded together and started out with a few of their best titles, this strategy could work for them as well.
But, then, maybe I’m just naïve… wouldn’t be the first time…
How does it compare to The Bitch?
Two entirely different kinds of books, so probably not fair to compare them. The Bitch is a noirish thriller, while The Rapist is a more existential, literary novel. For some reason, I seem to have gotten labeled as a “noir” writer, but in actuality, I’ve only written a few novels that fall into that category. I’m not complaining! Just a bit puzzled. I do think what they each have in common is that both explore and plumb the dark parts of the human psyche.
As far as sales, The Bitchhas a more commercial appeal. Although both titles are examples of how to irritate the PC folks, The Rapist seems to scare away more potential buyers because of its title. I kind of figured that would be the case for both, but my contrarian nature basically said “Fuck it” to both sentiments. If there’s anything I abhor more than PCism, I haven’t encountered it yet. Especially when it rears its ignorant head among so-called “intellectuals” and “academics.” More and more, I find a more anal group doesn’t exist. Freedom of speech and freedom of thought don’t seem to exist with these folks in any great degree. I used to teach at various universities and haven’t yet experienced a more restrictive atmosphere in any other milieu. In fact there’s a decided and vocal bias against thought that goes against the prevailing political mood and if you don’t subscribe to the ruling thought if you want to keep a job, you either learn to simply keep silent or else say fuck it. I took the latter tack and that’s why I won’t teach in a university these days. They’re very rigid and very close-minded. And, in my view, very ignorant.
Vicki Lambros Gund, who wrote the review you have here, presented it to two scholarly review publications and it was turned down. The reason? The way Vicki presented it to me, they’re run by a group of “feminists” who rejected it out of hand because of the title and what they supposed it was about. As you know, it’s not much about rape nor are there numbers of rape scenes, but simply a look inside a person’s soul who was accused of rape. One might think that a group of people who are against something like the heinous crime of rape might want to investigate something that reveals the inner workings of such a criminal, but like most people who belong to groups and live their lives by bumper stickers, that would require the process of intellectual thought and that’s a lot of work, I presume… Throwing a bumper sticker on their Prius and locking arms and singing Kumbayah takes a lot less effort…
Am I bitter or pissed? Well… yeah. Not because of my little book so much as I am in the general landscape of literature, especially in the U.S. I’ve found a much more open audience in Europe. Seems there are still large numbers of people there who actually enjoy seeing and considering other points of view. Not so much over here… at least among the ruling class… If you think I’m simply being paranoid, take a look at most of the major literary awards. Most are given to folks who toe the party line. Kind of a circle jerk…
Sorry. This is the reason I write. I hate. A lot. And hard. I especially hate small-minded people who’ve made up their minds to become part of the herd and have sold their souls for the congress of other small minds.
It’s why I will always come running any time you want to do an interview, Richard. You have one of the few remaining bastions of free thought and free exchange of ideas in literature that I’m aware of.
While political correctness is driven by ideology, history evinces evidence of the lack of Art under dictatorships. Given that, do you think that pc is the enemy of Art?   
I think a truer statement has never been made! The destruction of freedom of speech (which is the direct manifestation of freedom of thought), is the biggest enemy of art that has ever existed, and this is exactly what PCism accomplishes—restricting freedom of speech. What makes it even more insidious is that many who find themselves reacting to a political correct culture, not only practice it themselves but exert pressure on others as well. At least in an overtly repressive society where freedom of expression is regulated by the state, there exists a healthy underground of dissent. In a society that has largely given itself over to a pc culture, Pogo’s dictum becomes the pulse of the society—“We have met the enemy and it is us.”
As it pertains to literature, truth is central to the quality. There simply isn’t any way to achieve truth when PCism is introduced into the formula. The basic unit of writing is the word. If we begin to use words that are in existence solely because they spare someone’s feelings—real or imagined—we’ve veered from that truth. Instead of the beauty that truth brings, we’ve created fool’s gold. We’ve seen the result of PCism in the version of Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. PCism has reduced one of the great works of literature into a pathetic kind of Hardy Boys crap. 


PCism isn’t something new. It’s just the newest form of censorship we’ve had to deal with. Like many grandiose ideas, there is a noble intent at the center of this outlook, but also like many other popular notions, it has been perverted until it is the antithesis of what it originated as. Being PC nowadays amounts to out and out censorship in my opinion. For every writer like Bukowski, William Vollmann, and David Sedaris who breaks through and becomes a cult hero, there are hundreds of writers who are being stifled, vilified, and destroyed, simply because they do not preach the party’s message nor do they conform to the parameters set up by the PC folks who seem to be in charge. Too often they are stifling themselves by trying to placate society. What used to be considered simply bad taste nowadays takes on a more sinister connotation and that is dangerous if we value freedom of thought and value the time-honored tradition of the debate of ideas which is the only viable method for advancing knowledge and understanding. And, which constitutes true art.
Plato himself spoke about political correctness in The Republic, when he said:“Then the first thing will be to establish a censorship of the writers of fiction, and let the censors receive any tale of fiction which is good, and reject the bad; and we will desire mothers and nurses to tell their children the authorized ones only.” How about that.
Author Gordon Weaver told me in an interview years ago that, “If our special interest, as writers and/or editors, is the precise use of language toward the end of a viable perception of and effect on reality, we may argue there is some virtue implicit in anyutterance (written or oral) that confronts the consensus of any gathering.” He gives an example. “There is a cost that will be paid by all concerned if one tells a Polack joke in the presence of Poles, but I contend the cost is greater if one stifles or sanitizes the anecdote.” Gordon has something here, I think. Weaver also told me that academicians are perhaps the newest bullies on the censorship block and perhaps the most dangerous of all. He stated that, “There is a greater danger, it seems to me, when the censors come from the ranks of the presumably ‘enlightened’. It is not surprising that a number of college and university communities nurture factions who wish to control free speech; it is unsettling when more sophisticated citizens (faculty) add their clout to movements desiring to police our utterance in the interests of what minority or another deems politically incorrect.”
Simply as it pertains to literature itself, PCism influences every aspect of writing and publishing.If PCism wasn’t such an insidious threat to free speech, most of it would be laughable. Just this week, reports have surfaced that the word “illegal” as applied to illegal aliens shouldn’t be used in government reports. That’s just plain moronic. A person who comes across our border who isn’t a citizen and doesn’t have permission from the government to enter has just broken a law. Therefore, he or she is only one thing. Illegal. And, not an illegal “immigrant.” They’re not immigrating—they’re entering the country illegally. They’re an illegal alien. Nothing but. The sad thing is that there are people who will accept this kind of language seriously. They don’t want to hurt the feelings of people who’ve broken the law? Okay…
We’ve got government agencies targeting individuals and groups for their thoughts and speech. The IRS is currently under Congressional investigation for just that. This is something every single American should be incensed at but are they? Nope. As long as they continue to get their “free” crap from the government, they’re happy. (Reality alert: It ain’t “free.” It’s paid for with our taxes and our freedoms.) Benjamin Franklin famously wrote that “whoever would overthrow the liberty of a nation must begin by subduing the freeness of speech.” These words remain true today. What’s truly scary is that the mainstream press is fully complicit in preventing free speech.
What scares me the most is that universities should be the bastion of free thought but the state of the matter is that free debate of ideas is rapidly disappearing from the college campus. As more and more writers come out of university settings and are being influenced by teachers with a decided political bent, the writing they produce becomes more and more insipid. These same writers take over the litmags and editor positions at publishing houses and impose their political beliefs on those who submit, publishing only those that can pass the PC test in the content of their creative material. As Kurt Vonnegut said, “Literature should not disappear up its own asshole, so to speak.” Well, it’s in great danger of doing just that. It’s about halfway up the anus.
Alisa Smith, co-editor of The Marlet, the student newspaper at the University of Victoria in British Columbia, says, “Universities are trying to shut down thought, rather than newspapers. All the articles that you see are about how PC’s have sort of gotten a grip on society and how people can’t say what they want anymore. I guess it’s like a left-wing phenomenon.”
Virtually every publisher in the country, from the smallest litmag to the largest publishing conglomerate, is terrified of antagonizing any reader whatsoever, unless the person offended is not part of a highly-organized, highly-vocal political group. It seems everybody in America has now organized, has a group with a slogan, a newsletter, a home page on the Internet, and a secret handshake. The battle is being waged over who gets ultimate control of the presses. And it doesn’t matter who wins. We all lose. What we lose is freedom of expression. And once that happens, we are done as a free society. I go to Gordon Weaver once again, who said it as best as it can be said. “Censorship from without is bad for the language, bad for those who speak or write it; self-imposed censorship, whateverthe motive is worse. If you won’t say what you think, you run the risk of losing the powers of both speech and thought. I suspect we’ll be safe just as long as we refuse to accept censorship for anyone.”
I’d like to leave you with one of my favorite quotes. In the preface to the infamous Story of O, Jean Paulhan wrote, “Dangerous books are those that restore us to our natural state of danger.”
Yes, they do.
What else is on the cards for you this year?  Several things. The launching of my latest novel, a black comedy crime caper titled THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING from Down & Out Books in October. This one was a true labor of love. It began life as a short story in The South Carolina Review, then expanded into a novel as well as a screenplay. The screenplay is still being shopped and placed as a finalist in both the Writer’s Guild and Best of Austin screenplay competitions. I liked the characters so much I’m writing a sequel and I’ve never done that. In fact, I see several sequels in the future provided I live long enough to write them.
It’s the story of Pete Halliday, a degenerate gambler who was busted out of baseball for… gambling. It picks up ten years later in New Orleans where Pete retired to after hanging up his glove and who has a smarmy sidekick named Tommy LeClerc, a part-Indian, full idiot, who keeps inveigling him into hair-brained schemes. Both are heavily into debt to the Italian Mafia to the point of the duo getting rendered room temperature, and Tommy comes up with the bright idea of kidnapping the head of the Cajun Mafia (there are a lot of Mafias in the Big Sleazy), but with a twist. Instead of doing the old-fashioned and boring method of kidnapping, our two heroes plan to amputate Charles Deneuve’s hand and hold that unit for ransom. General mayhem ensues, including a scene where Pete’s new girlfriend, full-time waitress and part-time hooker, Cat, helps him escape the Italian Mafia’s enforcer, Sam “The Bam” Capelleti who just entered the black bar they’re in, by pretending to have Tourettes and screaming racial epithets for a diversion so he can slip out the back door while they’re cutting her throat. Or so Pete assumes, but it turns out Cat is slicker than he thought.
Tommy’s initial scheme is to kidnap the manager of a Kenner supermarket and gain cash by holding the guy’s wife hostage while he retrieves the money from the store safe. But… there’s even a prior to this one as they decide they can’t go into this guy’s neighborhood unless they’re dressed in suits, which neither own. To finance their wardrobe, Tommy lays out a plan where they’ll rob tourists on a streetcar, which goes south when they discover the passengers are better armed than they are and they escape in a hail of bullets. They get a loan and buy the suits and show up at the supermarket guy’s house, only to find out there’s no great love lost between the manager and his bride, and that, too, goes quickly south. It becomes quickly evident why the Indians lost the war… (This is not a PC Indian, btw—Tommy doesn’t believe in any frickin’ Great Spirits and he’s a polluter par excellence…)
Lots of twists and chases through the French Quarters, the Jazz Fest, and other environs and in the end, Pete and Tommy get the loot and then Tommy double-crosses Pete. Deneuve’s hand is returned to its owner, but alas, finds it can’t be reattached as his meathook has suffered severe freezer burn from when the pair hid it in Tommy’s girlfriend Wanda’s freezer under the veal cutlets and didn’t realize one needs to burp a Baggie before freezing.
In the end, Pete gets revenge on Tommy in a particularly ingenious way and he and Cat escape to hide out in the open in Lost Wages by getting plastic surgery to make them look like famous lookalikes, which Vegas is chockfull of. Only problem is, just before their operations by a reputable plastic surgery, Cat spies an ad by a surgeon who offers a cut-rate on such procedures by not having all the frills such as a high-priced office space (he works out of his split-level), nor other unnecessary items such as a licensed nurse, high-priced anesthetics, etc., and they end up looking like celebrities, albeit not the ones they envisioned. Instead of Elvis, Pete ends up looking like Liberace with yellower teeth and Cat? Well, Cat goes around these days not as the Cher she asked for, but more along the lines of Bette Midler with black hair and a Jimmy Durante shnozz. She’s not a happy camper…
This was just a pure-d fun novel to write.

Other things on my plate include an appearance at the Fayetteville, NC public library and then a trip to Bouchercon, both in November.
Richard, I just want to thank you for another great interview! No one out there asks the level of questions that you do. None of those: Where do you get your ideas? What time of day do you write? Twitter of FB? kinds of boring-ass snooze alert questions. It’s such a pleasure and rare treat to be asked intelligent questions! Thank you.
Thank you Les for a perceptive and informative interview.
Thank you, Richard. Hope y’all enjoyed our chat!
Blue skies,LesLinks:Get a copy of The Rapist in Kindle and paperback format at Amazon US and UKLes’ books pages on Amazon US and UK
Hope y'all enjoyed these!
Blue skies,Les

Writing Classes in Indiana

Hi folks,

Just wanted to let folks know I'm teaching a couple of classes in Indianapolis for the Indiana Writers' Center, this fall. Below is the description of each class, times, fees, etc., and also the web site where you can find all the info you'd need for not only my classes but for others that will be offered. You don't have to be a member to attend, but members get a discount.

Without further ado, here are the classes:




HookedInstructor: Les Edgerton
Date: Sunday, October 5
Time: 1-5 p.m.
Location: IWC
Cost: $76 Nonmembers, $52 members, $44 student members/teacher members/senior members/military members
The road to rejection is paved with bad beginnings. Why? If a novel or short story has a poor beginning, then no one will keep reading. In this workshop participants will learn how to use the ten core components inherent to any good beginning. They’ll get detailed instruction on how to develop an inciting incident; keys for creating a cohesive, story-worthy problem; and tips for avoiding common opening gaffes like overusing backstory, setup and description. This workshop will give you all the information you need to craft a compelling beginning that lays the foundation for an irresistible story.

Antagonists and Protagonists and Novel StructureInstructor: Les Edgerton
Date: Sunday, October 12
Time: 1-4 p.m.
Location: IWC
Cost: $57 Nonmembers, $39 members, $33 student members/teacher members/senior members/military members
This workshop will clearly define what determines a good protagonist, enabling participants to approach each of their characters more successfully. The group will discuss how determining a compelling story problem, coupled with strong protagonists and antagonists aid in helping a writer develop a solid causal plot. They will learn how to create a 15-20 word outline—you heard it right: 15-20 words—that will be the first step in creating a practical and functioning road map to constructing a publishable novel.

Click here for the Indiana Writers' Center site:
http://www.indianawriters.org/collections/all-classes-workshops
Hope to see some of y'all in class!
Blue skies,Les
 

Doing It My Way

Hi folks,
My buddy, author Marjorie Brody, asked me to write an article for The Thrill Begins, a publication of Thrillerfest and I was delighted to oblige.

Here's the article as it appeared:



Doing It My Way by Les Edgerton

My latest novel, a black comedy crime caper titled THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING will be released by Down&Out Press in early October. This will be my 18th published book and is unlike any of my previous work.

And, that’s a problem. At least it’s seen as a problem by most agents and editors. Most of those folks greatly prefer their authors establish a “brand” and since I’m a dedicated contrarian, I guess I’ve disappointed those folks. It’s difficult to find more than three books of mine that fit the same category.

Do these gatekeepers have a valid point? Absolutely. No doubt about it. When a writer establishes a brand for his or her work, life becomes infinitely easier for both agents and publishers. For starters—and for the biggest reason—such a writer begins to create a group of followers, and that means dollars. They get this philosophy from THE MUSIC MAN. Here’s what Harold Hill had to say about branding (slightly paraphrased…):
         
               With a capital “B” and that rhymes with “G” and that stands for ‘Gelt.’

A vast number of today’s gatekeepers subscribe to Mickey Spillane’s famous philosophy: “I have no fans. You know what I got? Customers.” Overlooking the grammatical misstep, this is what drives much of publishing strategy these days. Customers. And, books basically are marketed like sanitary napkins. Kotex and Stay Free rule that aisle.

My problem is I don’t like that aisle. At least not exclusively. I like to roam all over the store. I enjoy cruising by the produce section, the meat counter, even the refrigerators with the frozen dinners. On a sweltering summer day, there’s nothing better than swinging the door open on the Swanson section and basking in the frosty air until the second assistant manager makes me close the door and come help clean up the spill on Aisle 3. Sometimes, I even like to get outside and walk the sidewalks or take a ride on the coin pony outside.

Agents and publishers don’t like mavericks so much.

I know that. I accept that. I have to—it’s reality.

Could I change? Yeah, I could, but I don’t wanna. I like being a writer and the fun of that for me is writing about the things that interest me. And, unlike Mr. Spillane, I don’t have many customers. It’s the tradeoff for not becoming a brand name and writing the same book, over and over. What I do have are readers.And, most of my readers are fellow writers. I’m real proud of that. It tells me I’m not seen as a one-trick pony and that’s important to me. I’m kind of like Nabokov—the only two genres I recognize are good writing and bad writing.

I was told that the thrust of this article should be to share tips and advice with my fellow writers on stuff I’ve learned through my own journey in publishing. The advice I offer is this: At some point, you have to decide for yourself which you want to be. The choices are basically two. One, you can focus on series or on stand-alone books which fit nicely into a particular niche on the bookshelves.
Or, you can roam the entire store. The first choice has a much greater chance of achieving financial success. The second choice has a good chance of not making so much money, but of perhaps having more of that “fun” writing used to represent when you began. Of course, for a lot of folks, having a lot of customers and making a pile of money represents that ol’ “fun” thing to them. And I’m not denigrating that in the least. It just doesn’t fit my own definition.

My only desire and goal in writing novels is that each one is better than the last. I achieved what I consider critical success with my last book, The Rapist.When a guy like Ken Bruen says it’s one of the best things he’s read and “cries out to be a movie,” the temptation is to write another book just like it. But I can’t do that. If I did that, I would be Mickey Spillane. And, unlike Mr. Spillane, it isn’t customers I’m after. It’s writing a better book than I ever have. And, for me that doesn’t mean to keep on writing the same book. I don’t see how one can do that by writing a similar book. I don’t feel I can go any deeper into that particular subject matter than I have. So, I decided to write the funniest book I was capable of. The book I’m working on now? Well, it’s very different from either The Rapist or The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnapping. I won’t talk about it here. I’ve found if I talk about a book I’m working on I kind of lose steam. I’ve already “written” it by talking about it to others. All I’ll say is that it may not appeal to the folks who liked Kidnapping. Then again, maybe it will. I don’t know and I don’t care.

Hopefully, without being pretentious, I compare myself to Miles Davis. For you jazz fans who are familiar with both Miles and Dizzy Gillespie, here’s the difference between them. Miles kept stepping outside his comfort zone and trying new forms of music. Dizzy took the other route. He found an area that appealed to lots of people and simply kept on making the same kind of music. He did keep getting better. But, he didn’t really step outside his brand. Miles did. Often with disastrous results. Both were hugely successful, but Miles may have become even more so if he’d only kept making the same kind of music. But, he didn’t. I don’t presume to compare myself talent-wise to either, but only in their approach to their art.

And that’s the choice I think most writers have to make for themselves. Should I write for sales or should I write what I want to write regardless of sales. If you choose my path, be aware that agents may not swarm to you. You have to be okay with that.

It’s your call.

And, either path is just fine.

Except, perhaps, to agents.


Les Edgerton has a bit of an unconventional background in that he’s an ex-con, having spent a bit over two years in prison for burglary, strong-armed and armed robbery, and possession with intent to sell. He’s all cleaned up now and you can invite him into your home for dinner and won’t have to count the silverware after he leaves. He’s also earned a B.A. from I.U. and an MFA in Writing from Vermont College. THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING: Pete Halliday is busted out of baseball for gambling and travels to New Orleans to make his fortune hustling. Five years later, he’s deep in debt to bookies and cohorts with Tommy LeClerc, a Cajun with a tiny bit of Indian blood who considers himself a red man. Tommy inveigles a reluctant Pete into one scheme after another, the latest a kidnapping caper where they’ll snatch the Cajun Mafia King and hold his amputated hand for some serious jack. Along the way, Pete is double-crossed by Tommy and falls in love with part-time hooker and full-time waitress Cat Duplaisir. With both the Cajun and Italian mobs after them, a chase through Jazz Fest, a Tourettes outbreak in a black bar and other zany adventures, all seems lost.

“THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING is a dark crime comedy that will have you laughing from page one. It crackles with manic energy and mad thrills. If you're looking for a different kind of edgy crime novel, this is the one to grab.” --Bill Crider, author of Compound Murder, Gator Kill and others.

“Les Edgerton serves up a gumbo of sexual deviants, small time hustlers, and serious criminals in a caper that reads like a deranged Damon Runyon tale relocated from Broadway to the French Quarter. "The Genuine, Imitation, Plastic Kidnaping" is not for the faint of heart, and that's just one of its selling points. If you like crime fiction that cracks wise while offering a peek into the darker recesses, this is the book for you.” Bill Fitzhugh, author, PEST CONTROL, TERMINATOR and others.


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