News — Oxford

My first novel bombed spectacularly. This was about 20 years ago. Everything went wrong. First my editor quit after which my publishing house kinda-sorta forgot I existed. Orphaned was the word they used. Since nobody gave a damn, I at least got to choose my own book cover. The photograph I selected showed this kid—he looked maybe 14—standing in front of a Ferris wheel and hitting a cigarette while staring at something off camera with his undivided motherfucking attention. What was that kid staring at so intently? You couldn’t tell—just to look at the photo you couldn’t—it was a mystery—but...