I’ll be honest, it was ugly.
I’m not talking about Prop. 19’s near miss in California, I’m talking about the fact that I was KO’d in the first round of the Literary Death Match in Austin. Dropped to the mat like a sack of shit by a guy reading a heartwarming Christmas story. I, because it was a Death Match and I take the challenge of a Death Match seriously, read the home-invasion-strap-on-reversal-of-fortune-scene from Baked. That, apparently, was a mistake. The local newspaper, the Austin American-Statesman covered the event and had this to say: “Smith mistook shocking, violent and disgusting for funny in his reading.”
Which is ironic, because I mistake shocking, violent and disgusting for funny in my novels.
But I had a good time at the Texas Book Festival. I saw my friends: authors David Liss, Billy Taylor and Elizabeth Crane. I saw other pals too. I ate fried okra, drank cold beer, and was content. I like Austin.
Work on my non-fiction book continues. I went up into the Sierras to watch the harvest come in. I avoided poison oak. I tried to learn how to trim, but like being an expert hair stylist, it was beyond my skill set. I churned out buds that looked like squashed tater tots. Thankfully, I’m one hell of a typist.
If you’re planning on being at the Cannabis Cup in Amsterdam November 21-25, look for me. I’ll be there.