It’s fun to read this blog and think back on those foggy October nights with you on stage, book in hand. The drunk with the black cowboy hat was an anomaly. Regulars at Stardust had never seen him before and wondered if he was part of your show. The girl who broke the glass was a drunken stranger too. She was pissed I wouldn’t acknowledge her slurry interruptions during your reading. I wondered if I’d walked into an interactive play.

Neat way to sell books. I bought Adderall Diaries the first night and Happy Baby the next. They were compulsive buys… I’d never heard of your books, but I enjoyed the reading, and anticipated the same by my own eyes.

It’s taken me a month to read Adderall. The awkwardness started with the first paragraph, where you are both unborn and 35 years old. The writer’s father is a writer, living in your parents’ parents’ house, with your mother and one year old sister. It’s chronicled by the unborn, and it made me cranky. I grew weary of unraveling passages that require cognitive acrobatics. I struggled for clarity, often confusing subject, object and possession. Better editing would have improved its readability, but overall, I liked the story and the emotional honesty of the work. I hope to have better luck with Happy Baby.