I’m just visiting from a parallel universe and I’m double parked, so I’m kind of in a hurry. In that universe, I won the Nobel Prize for Humor, but here nobody’s even heard of that. But let me be serious for a moment. Good. Let’s move on. I’m a protege of Dr. Lucius Marzipan, my invisible friend who wrote the Preamble to my latest book “Prodigal Angel,” a kind of freeform and funny spiritual autobiography.
In so-called “real” life, I work in the journalism biz and live in a deeply rural part of Washington State. I’m author of four books, including “Life for the Reality Impaired” and “The Promise of Purpose.” In music, I’m winner of multiple regional music competitions and composer of “Concerto for Cats and Orchestra in F Major or Thereabouts.”
Am I kidding or serious, and if serious, about what? Why do stories about the afterlife seem to focus on bureaucracy? Is it colder in the mountains or in the winter? Why does Hollywood think it knows how normal people talk when it doesn’t have any? These and other questions are posed and occasionally answered in my works.
