By Way of Introduction:

Sarah, in her infinite wisdom  (Is she not, after all, a C-List Blogebrity  and thus privy to arcane knowledge denied those of us who remain intimidated by the “internets,” doomed to stare blankly at error messages, trapped in a world of other uninitiated droogs?) has invited me to “guest blog” for the rest of this ill-starred week.  Finding myself between public appearance tours, Okinawan hot tub ceremonies, and meetings with legendary editors over absinthe at the Bowery Poetry Corner.  I have decided to accept the post with all of its attendant pay, privileges, and groovy swag.  Which brings us to several pertinent personal points:   (1)  Who the hell am I?  On the face of it, a simple question.  But one I hesitate to answer because of a pathological fear of public humiliation instilled in me by the Limping Nuns of St Philomena.  You see I am (gulp) The Lit Idol!  Please remain calm.  I am thus far unaffected by my sudden celebrity.  My ego bathed not in mania, but rather, in shame.  I am sure that the title will haunt me throughout what promises to be a tortured, though mercifully short career.  So be kind to me.  If, in the future, you are at Bouchercon-46 in lovely Elko, Nevada, and hear someone say, “Oh, don’t talk to him.  He was once a Lit Idol.  Now he’s bitter and makes everyone uncomfortable.”  Just ignore them, walk over to my table and offer me your hand in friendship.  Chances are less than 50-50 that I’ll shower you in obscenities.  Perhaps I’ll have come to terms with this Idol curse by then, but in the meantime, don’t hate me –because it seemed like a good idea to enter the damned thing at the time.  My name?  Otis Twelve.  It’s a long story – don’t ask.  (2)  What are my qualifications for blogging on this illustrious site?  Well for starters, I’ve lost at the Dagger Awards luncheon twice already.  Some writers never lose a single Dagger in an entire career, let alone get “free” lunch (airfare not included) and a cigarette with Val McDermid and spend over 2,000 Pounds Sterling in pursuit of 250 – yet another example of my genius.  Plus, the North American Review is publishing one of my short stories this summer, which puts me in the company of Whitman, Conrad, and Robber Baron Andrew Carnegie.  (I’m still researching back issues in hope that Terry Southern got at least one crude letter to the editor in the old rag.  I’d really like having any kind of obscure link to that guy)  And “Crimespree” magazine has promised to print my sentimental tale, “Dead Puppies,” sometime… eventually… pre-next-ice-age… (How could I not trust Jennifer Jordan?)  I hope you enjoy it … eventually.  (3)  Do I have a nice letterhead?  Yes, I ripped off a Grant Wood painting from Google images (second row, fourth picture) that looks just like my place in Walnut.  I use it frequently when I correspond with my TWO literary agents.  Both are wonderful, smart, hard charging, attractive, and filed under “be careful what you wish for.”  Yes, I am a bi-continental writer.  As a result twenty-seven states forbid me from getting married.  (4)  What are my intentions?  Dishonorable of course.  After all, I am a disciple of the late John Rickards and aim to spread his message of depravity, plagiarism, and crunchy Bugles throughout the literary blogosphere.  Oh, he’s not dead?  Nevermind.  (5) Do I have the proper technical training?  Of course not.  I work on a G-5 Mac and haven’t the slightest clue how any of this works.  My lack of experience will be the truest test “typepad” has ever been subjected to.   So wish me luck.  Settle back.  It could be a bumpy ride.