I have a house, with two big plasma-screen TVs, two dogs, a grill, chessboard. I like to keep it low-key: invite friends over, order some Papa John's pizzas and Coors Light, play poker and ping-pong and chill. I'm pretty private.
People kept asking, 'What's your market?' I've got no idea at all other than me, an eleven year old kid in a 56-year-old body. But there are a lot of us out there.
Parents, it seems, have an almost Olympian persistence when it comes to suggesting more secure and lucrative lines of work for their children who have the notion that writing is an actual profession. I say this from experience.
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