Into the land of alcoholic detectives and oppressed maids I go. The land of troubled children and broken families, of cancer victims and lovers from opposite sides of the tracks, of wizards and vampires and lawyers and cops, of disaffected youth and semi-psychotic subway riders.
Yes, it’s time to put the novel out there. It’s time, after six years and six versions of this book, the rewrites and the failed experiments, the criticisms large and small, and the agonizing over whether it’s good enough, or so good that no one will understand it—to get the damn thing out in the world and see if it has the chops to land an agent.
Does Mr. Neutron stand a chance? Well, he is the most powerful man in the universe, or he could be, if he would stop biding his time and get down to being powerful.
I am concerned, though, that he may not fit in with the crowd, with the typical stories that are published these days.
Mr. N, you see, does not have a terminal disease. He was not abused as a child (well, maybe). He is not gay (although his best friend is, if that helps). His mother/father/close friend has not just died, leaving a void in his life—in fact, the void has been there all along. He is not a wide-eyed visitor from another country or another planet, offering naïve perspectives on all things American.
He is, instead, a third-rate political hack, mired in another failing campaign and a marriage that’s in even worse shape. No one listens to him. No one respects him. So when he suspects another candidate in the election, an eight-foot-tall hulk in dreadlocks and size twenty-three shoes is really some kind of Frankenstein’s monster, cobbled from spare body parts and brought to life by his mysterious (of course) handler for some unknown evil purpose, who’s going to listen to him?
Well, we’ll see.
I shall send him out there, and then I shall bide my time…