From the moment I first put my hands on my father's musty-odored copy of William Faulkner's SANCTUARY, with its lurid jacket art, its sharp-grained black and white author photo, and its words of praise for the author's efforts, I wanted to be a published writer. The very thought that someone--a connoisseur of the written word--might one day take my work "in hand" and bring it to the public with the imprimatur of a Scribner's or a Simon & Schuster seemed to me the ultimate form of affirmation. On the day that my first novel was bound and shipped, I would really and truly exist. Hence, the notion that uploading a bunch of zeroes and ones to that netherland known as the internet constitutes "publication" strikes me as mistaken and possibly delusional. For sure, it isn't legit. There's something masturbatory about it. And yet, this "posting of handbills on the church door" has catalyzed reformations and revolutions before, so maybe it's less ignoble a thing than I'm inclined to dismiss it as. In any case, it's unlikely that in the current environment, a big, sprawling, Midwestern gothic saga of sin and redemption like my latest, JUDAS GOAT, is going to see print, and so, with a slight sense of shame and more than a little wistfulness for that bygone era of musty pages, I put the first one-hundred or so out to you without any expectation other than that a few of you may read and enjoy them.
Causes A.W. Hill Supports