Max Echard on Serious Literary Author

I don’t do autographs. I do blood rites. One guy once asked me to sign his book—I screamed, “DO NOT SUMMON ME CASUALLY,” and vanished behind a fog machine I keep on standby. I also gained ten pounds last month. Thought it was the pasta. Turns out it was six unbirthed novellas and a war memoir from a character I haven’t even written yet. This diary? It’s holy scripture. A sacred text for those of us who choose chaos, satire, and serious literary violence. I’ll see you at the Oxford reading. I’ll be the one in the back, holding a typewriter like a weapon and whispering, “This one’s for the teeth pile.”