An Alt-X Interview with Cris Mazza

by Mark Amerika
(c) 1995

Alt-X:
Why are you so prolific?
Mazza:
I think I'm always writing. And I have been since I was 16 or 17. (Not that anything I wrote was any good then.) I work a lot and still feel guilty that I don't work enough. But the reason I seem so prolific is backlog. Publishers suffer from it. I have it too, but for me it's not a predicament. I'm not convinced its an asset either, but I don't know why I say that.

After writing only 5 or 6 short stories of any quality, I finished the first draft of my first novel MS in 1981. It was (is) Exposed, which was published last year by Coffee House Press -- at the time my 5th published book. Back in 1981, it needed a series of major revisions (not that I revised it steadily for over ten years -- it was boxed and forgotten for years at a time). Then, after 5 or 6 more stories, I started How to Leave a Country, finished in 1984 and won the PEN Nelson Algren Award for book-length manuscript, but no publisher wanted it for 8 years. After winning the award, commercial publishers thought they would want it, and they all asked to see it, but ... that's another question. Eight years was enough time to finish 3 or 4 other book MSS ... considering all those stories I kept writing between novels. Granted everything needed (always needs) revision. My 1st two published books, story collections Animal Acts and Is It Sexual Harassment Yet?, were put together almost simultaneously. (While writing individual stories on and off for 7 or 8 years, I hadn't even thought "these will some day be collected in a book." One day I looked at my inventory and said, wow! But more work went into compiling and revising them than this sounds like.) What I'm getting at here is that by the time my first book, Animal Acts, came out in 1989, I had 3 other book manuscripts already finished. And that condition of having "finished" manuscripts has been sustained. I still have 3 book manuscripts: one called Girl Beside Him being handled by my agent; one called Dog People being read at Coffee House; and a story collection called Former Virgin just waiting here until I figure out what to do with it. And you know what I went and did? I started another novel yesterday.

Alt-X:
So much of what we hear about postmodern and avant-pop narrative has to do with how the media has infiltrated our lives to such a high degree that writers can no longer honestly concern themselves with the steadfast devices of narratives past, things like characters and plots and settings. But clearly this is not the case with you. In fact, your books succeed in large part because they embrace these standard devices, albeit in unconventional ways. Could you speak to that?
Mazza:
Maybe because media & technology hasn't infiltrated my life yet? What does this mean -- I've been watching TV since I was 3. Isn't that media infiltrating my life? So why don't I have e-mail, nor any other hook-up to my computer? I could say something stupid like I don't want my computer to have unsafe sex with other computers, but I've already broken my own rule about putting other people's disks into my slot, so I'm already contaminated that way. I also don't trust myself. If my computer had internet, I might get hooked on that talking-to-other-people-anonymously thang ... what do you call it, bulletin boards? playgrounds? electronic bars?

The apparatus that fiction cannot escape is, I think, time. Whether it's durational time, imaginative time, content time, defiance-of-chronology, hypertextual time (I just made that up), there's still an unseverable relationship between fiction and time. Linear narrative is not the only way to represent time. And we may actually no longer "represent" time in fiction but ... exploit it? reinvent it? change its geometric shape? But we don't deny it. As long as there's time, there's narrative -- maybe in some unrecognizable form. The steadfast devices of narrative: settings, plots, characters ... what are they other than content? Does avant-pop fiction have content? Of course. I don't believe that avant-pop writers don't concern themselves with settings. If hyperspace is where they are, that's their setting. If an electronic persona is who they are dealing with, that's a character. So the key word in your question is "steadfast" (i.e. traditional or conventional), and, yes, those are no longer viable to many people, but I think for many more reasons than electronic media infiltrating our lives. I'm not denying that electronic media has infiltrated our lives and has had a tremendous effect on how we think and how we think about who we are, where we are, etc. And it has spawned an exciting new sub-genre of fiction -- yet another that I don't fit into -- called avant-pop and/or cyberpunk. I think your take on how media has effected literature has a lot to say about life in general. Maybe we can no longer think of life as linear?

But back to utilizing standard literary devices: all I try to do is create, while writing, an experience for myself. I mean, I experience it -- whatever it is -- while writing. In so doing, I hope to be capturing & capitalizing on other avenues of narrative which will ultimately create a "real" experience for the reader. Again, this is simply toying with time. Or, I suppose, using my brain as a virtual reality machine. Then when the reader straps it on, they'll have their own experience in the world I've created. I've never been famous for writing good plots -- someone's definition of plots -- so I just call it an experience instead of a plot.

Has the infiltration of media been an anti-individual movement? Is that why character is no longer an honest concern? Well, you're talking to someone who cries when I hear "Over the Rainbow." Am I a mawkish postmodernist? No, I don't think so, my content is too often called cynical or pessimistic. But I'll have to make up my own label and be the only member of my club. The individual, the ego, the human need to be special & unique, these are still complicating my life, so how can they not populate my work?

Alt-X:
When I see a new Cris Mazza book, I'm coming to it prepared to deal with the fictionalized world of emotions as experienced by lovers. This seems to be a niche you've carved out for yourself. Why do you write about things like love, need, and the complexity of human lives caught in the throes of libidinal confusion?
Mazza:
Anything that involves relating to another person is probably the least understood experience we have, the more intimate and/or personal, the more perplexing and complicated. And we're always doing "it," even when we think we're not! Almost every fucking thing we do and think is, in some way, linked to a connection with another person, and a vast majority of those connections are going to be in some way more "intimate" than an exchange of words on a computer screen -- even when that's all the two people have done! Intimacy does not have to mean sexual involvement or contact, it doesn't even mean eye-contact anymore -- any time the "who we are" is contacted (rather than merely the "what we are"), the communication -- i.e. relationship -- is reaching a form a intimacy. Personal involvement with other members of our species is a fact of life. It's the "personal" part of the equation that becomes complex because it can mean and not mean so many different things, even ultimately (or especially) the inexplicable, the unarticulatable, the undefinable relationship. Like in Your Name Here: ____, he's not her peer, not her friend, certainly not her lover, yet he's made her his confidante. Sometimes he touches her, sometimes he doesn't. Each time it's in a totally different way. The completely undefinable nature of the relationship makes it more complicated than if he and she "simply" became romantically involved (and, working together, that would be complicated enough in itself). But that undefinable relationship becomes something that pervades and entangles every corner of the work they do, even when they know it's inadvisable to allow it to do so. This is also the complicating factor in inappropriate sexual behaviors and the huge grey areas of sexual harassment: Wanting to be noticed as more than a name & title & set of functions; wanting to be personally known & understood & accepted; wanting to be sexually desirable to the opposite sex / same sex / or both -- I think these have become fundamental instinctive drives in our species. A need almost as basic as food, shelter and reproduction. A need that probably grew when mere survival wasn't a question any more, thus the growth of the ego and the notion of the individual, I don't know, I'm not a social anthropologist! But as a basic need, the need to "be loved," (in all its various meanings, not just romantic) is the most interesting because it brings with it the baggage of conflict, confusion, complexity, & the potential for disillusionment. Which of our other "basic drives" have the potential for disillusionment? Disillusionment is only possible if there's the potential for illusion -- imagination. In this case, naturally, I don't equate the instinctive drive for reproduction with sexual desire, because obviously imagination is the largest (most important) part of -- and the biggest problem to -- sexual desire, isn't it?
Alt-X:
This is a loaded question: What are the connections, if any, between your characters (like Connie Zamora and Corinne Staub) and you? Or, if you prefer, speak to the way you or contemporary writers in general are using autobiography in a fictionalized format and how this process of writing leads to a clearer or fuzzier image of self.
Mazza:
My just completed novel manuscript, Girl Beside Him, involves a wildlife biologist in Wyoming who is afraid he might be "a sex killer waiting to happen." That is not autobiography. But in some (preverted?) way, it has to be an extention of me. Probably an extention of my exploration of sexual dysfunction in its infinite manifestations.

But how can I not reinvent my own experience in my writing? Once I do so, I often can't remember what "really happened" to me. That doesn't matter -- what "really happened" to me becomes what I've written.

Often what "really happened" to me is confusing and that's why it stays buzzing in my head loud enough to work its way out my fingers onto the screen. That's a stupid way of saying the experiences that are the most import to me, and worthy of being explored in my work, are those I don't fully understand, or don't even begin to understand. Your Name Here: ___ is a perfect example because writing it, along with my story "Is It Sexual Harassment Yet?", lead me to understand my experiences with sexual power or politics or manipulation (again, the grey areas of sexual harassment). Your Name Here: ___ does contain incidents of overt (criminal) sexual harassment, but those incidents are awash with and complicated by all the grey area of sexual manipulation which make up the rest of the book.

When I was 22 I wanted to be respected for my abilities and thoughts, for what I accomplished and would accomplish, and I wanted to be noticed or desired as a sexual being. That is a huge conflict. It is a conflict one can intellectually deny, but that denial won't get rid of it. I was in an educational / training situation with a slightly older male mentor. He paid attention to me in a way no one had before. So when he touched my erogenous zones or took me home to smoke pot, I was a participant, not a victim, even though I didn't reciprocate. It's a story that happened to me that really goes nowhere and largely means nothing. But what I'm saying is that even though women (and men) really are sincere that they do want & need to be respected and appreciated for their abilities, ideas, philosophies, achievements -- whether those are artistic, scientific, political, or social -- women (and men) also want to be appreciated as sexual beings, whether by the opposite or same sex. Bluntly, women (and men) want someone else to be turned on (sexually) by them. I'm not saying that sexual harassment doesn't exist, that there aren't actualy victims who deserve compensation and victimizers who deserve punishment. Fuck me or no promotion. Sleep with me and I'll notice your intellectual capabilities. These are crimes with a distinct victim. Women who are touched when they don't want to be. Body parts pointed out and discussed in the workplace. Crimes. But what about the huge grey area I've been talking about? What I experienced in my early 20's would be called sexual harassment now, but I can't call myself a victim of anything other than a civilization that created the conflicting need in people to be noticed as both intellectually able and sexually desirable. When it happened, I stopped caring about anything else, put no effort into the particular work at hand, I showed no abilities or intellectual capability. Being "desirable" turned me into a weak, needy adolescent. No one did that to me. Yes he was wrong for overtly acting on his need to be recognized as a sexual being. He led and I let myself be led. I never said "don't do that anymore," or "let's keep our conversations focused on work." (But I never initiated those non-work conversations myself.) What finally made me angry: not that it had happened in the first place, but that it suddenly snapped off. His behavior ended abruptly. I was angry at being led someplace and then left there by myself. Confused, frustrated, disillusoned, unable to concentrate, obsessing .... What was I really angry about? I couldn't articulate that at the time. But it was that I suddenly felt unimportant when I was only being noticed for the work I was supposed to be doing. The thing we're supposed to want in the first place. Yes, he was a prick. But the "libidinal confusion" I was left with became fodder that energized my writing for years. That and other experiences with undefined relationships, other people's experiences, imagined experiences, I explored and explored and am still exploring the possibilities. In a way, Connie Zamora and Corinne Staub are more focused, more "real" than Cris Mazza, because their experiences are reinvented versions of the mish-mash of experience in my memory. And they've come to moments of epiphany, however small, which I never had.

Alt-X:
A recent article in the L.A. Reader spoke at length about your work's tendency to deal with the fine line between truth and perception and the way we all end up manipulating reality to suit our own purposes. Your new book, Your Name Here:____ investigates these themes as well. I'm particularly interested in how you use narrative forms to investigate the role of memory and self-creation. What is at stake for the writer concerned with these kinds of issues?
Mazza:
What's literally at stake is it's damn difficult to promote, in American media, a book that's about "perception & reality." Can it be made into a TV movie?

I believe that the fine line between truth and perception may not exist, and perception is the only truth. I'm not really a philosopher either, so going much further will expose me as a poseur. But technically, the POV in Your Name Here: ___, as well as in Exposed and How to Leave a Country, is an exploration into the issue of "what really happened?" without being an answer. And when it comes time for an answer, it circles back on itself: what does the character think happened? The POV doesn't attempt to provide a universal "reality," only the character's reality -- and this is possible to do in either 1st or 3rd person narratives. The character's perception is the only reality important to me.

I think memory is the only self-creation. The narrative forms I've used are often simplistic (journal entries that turn into direct-address one-way discussions; letters that turn into journals; personal writing as conversation with another person that'll never be heard, shared or answered), but it is the role of memory that complicates the experience that these semi-epistolary narratives create, because memory is both unreliable and it's the only reliable creation of self. Basically I've got a character being influenced by herself of ten years ago -- a self she thought she abandoned and remade -- as she reads an old set of journals and responds (spontaneously creating a new journal) on her laptop computer, inserting both older and newer memories to complicate those she finds in the journal. Her current set of experiences is also being impacted by the zigzag of memory. That's a circular self-creation, all made of memory, but structured in a dueling-journals form. And yet there's something happening, something that happened, something that might've happened -- the events involving sexual manipulation and/or harassment -- all happening simultaneously at the moment she perceives and/or remembers them. Again, toying with time. The pearls of crises strung on a linear plot have, for this character, all knotted together when the straight necklace got tangled by memory & retrospect, which are the only places we sustain a view of ourselves.

Alt-X:
When I was reading Your Name Here:____ there was this sense of being in another world, like the movie Last Year At Marienbad. And yet, it was very accessible. This isn't an easy thing to do. For me, what you've done is successfully create a form that I associate with independent film-making, the ability to use sentence structure, dialogue and punctuation to create an alternative rhythm that feeds into the complexity of your characters' inter-relationships while simulataneously slipping in moments of crystalization. The poet Wallace Stevens talked about this too: the difference between seeming and being. Any thoughts on this?
Mazza:
Of course my experience reading (or writing) the book is going to be different from experiences of readers. I'm understanding part of what you're saying to be that these moments of "crystalization" are like epiphanies for the reader, when suddenly you see things in a completely different way -- as though given a flash of viewpoint from outside the perception of the character. And it's not done by breaking POV nor with giving the character an epiphany. But it's also not something I can plan and create at will. The intensity of the character's world is something that becomes the sentence-structure, punctuation and rhythm. If I tried to create the ideal sentence-structure in order to evoke a character's world, I would fail misterably. It would be too self-consciously crafted, unnatural, you'd see "author" all over it. So, while I'm always delighted (and flattered) at how other people describe what I've done, or how the techniques have fed into the tonal complexity, I can't let myself think about it much while writing.

But I have some observations about seeming and being. Basically, I wonder if there even is a difference. Or: seeming is being. Isn't it? I can explain this by playing with the meaning of "virtual reality." "Virtual" means existing in effect though not in actual fact. What does "virtually perfect" mean? That something's as close to perfect as it can get, but still not perfect because perfection may be impossible, so "virtually perfect" is still not perfect. So is "virtual reality" an experience as close to reality as you can possibly get because actual reality is impossible to experience? God, I hope not. If my book is a virtual reality experience of sexual manipulation, does it mean a real experience of sexual manipulation is impossible to have? Does virtual reality mean there's no such thing as reality? I don't think so -- I think "virtual reality" should be called "another reality." I think a "virtual reality" experience is as real as any experience a person has. An experience one lives in memory, in dream, these are real experiences as well. I have clearly dreamed that I can flap my arms and fly, and the experience has been so vivid -- the use of muscles, the strain to get more than a foot off the ground, the freedom of being in air -- that for all intents and purposes, I have flown. I perceived the experience. So I "really" had it. I do categorize it differently from my experiences during conscious hours, but I still "really" experienced it. If you thoroughly believe something happened to you -- say you believe you were raped -- then, in fact, you were "really" raped, because the chemical reaction in the brain -- horror, invasion, betrayal -- these are "real" reactions and "real" experiences, even if the rape happened in a dream. (Usually the relief upon waking up negates all those "real" emotional reactions, so we don't go around accusing dream phantoms of rape.) So how about a less volatile example: a large, friendly dog gallops toward my nervous, territorial Shetland Sheepdog. She goes into a fury of barking, hackles raised, teeth bared, and the approaching dogs stops, decides she's no fun, sniffs a tree, pees, and leaves. My dog comes into the house triumphantly, fully believing she has used her fericious ways to defend herself from a marauding intruder. Her brain files the information and uses it to instruct her on future behavior. It's "real" information. The brain doesn't care what the other dog's "real" intentions were. It remains a "real" incident of self protection against invading forces. She's not going to take him to court, so they don't need a standard reality (as we do) for all individuals to recognize. I'm not sure I could live that way, without a "standard reality" in everyday life, but I love to explore it in my work.

Alt-X:
I've been tracking your writing career (excuse the word) for quite some time and, although I'm very well aware of the unusual circumstances many writers find themselves in, that is, it's virtually impossible to make a living as a novelist because the mainstream publishers just won't support mid-list writers anymore, your case seems unique in that you can't be easily categorized as cult-writer (cyberpunk, avant-pop, minimalist, etc.) but at the same time the mainstream presses would probably say your work is too dark for their tastes. And yet I find the writing very accessible and think that if it were taken on by a big publisher and marketed in the right way, could find a much larger audience for you. I'm sure you must have some thoughts on this...
Mazza:
Yes, of course, I think everyone could read my writing and find satisfaction in it. I didn't mind if some people read How to Leave a Country without realizing the narrator was a character invented by the other character. They read an interesting story about desire for family and disillusionment when a young man works in a geriatric hospital then leaves to find his own life in Brazil. Exposed is intense and dark and interior, but not inaccessible nor without character and conflict, and even has a mystery unfolding. Your Name Here: ___ may be complicated in its use of folded time, but it has plenty of road maps, you always know where you are as you experience the character's self re-creation through memory, and there are characters to be attracted to, repelled by, suspense, tension paced and breaking at satisfying moments. Hey, it's got it all! I think the key would be in marketing and promotion, and it might take a marketing person with a lot of imagination to see beyond whatever has worked before for more mainstream writers.

As to those categories I never fit into ... it's a humorous frustration to me. "What kind of writer are you?" people ask, and I can't even confound them with a snappy answer like "cyberpunk" or "avant-pop" or "post-future anti-colonialist." Do I want to belong somewhere? In a way, yes. And in a way feel I've found a niche of sorts in the "post-feminist" category, but am finding I have to invent it as I enter.

Alt-X:
So what exactly is the Mazza method? How do you go about writing a novel? Do you work on multiple books at one time and if so, how do you stop one narrative from crossing over into another or do you see some connectivity between all of your books that essentially make them all part of the same work-in-progress (a Joycian idea, I think)?
Mazza:
For a long time I think my books were all part of the same work-in-progress, as I explored both the nature of perception & reality and the nature of sexual confusion, dysfunction & manipulation, plus those undefinable relationships. And yet the books are all still separate entities. Dog People will be a departure as I left the intense perception-style POV that pervades Exposed, and, to a lesser extent, Your Name Here: ___. But I used an almost constant flashback structure, with many short scenes starting at a time advanced from the previous scene, looping back to fill in the gap, and ending only moments later than they started. And yet the prose is quitely narrating in a straightforward manner.

But how do I work? Something (someone) gets in my mind and I can't get them out. I'm hell to live with during the first third of a book. I carry a microcassette recorder everywhere I go because if I start to think about the character or what I'm doing in the book, I don't want to lose any fleeting valuable ideas. I agonize over not knowing them well enough, not knowing what I'm writing about or why, agonizing over where I'm going with it. But it's pleasant agony with a satisfying relief. Sounds like giving birth. Which I've never done, but I've helped my dogs.

Alt-X:
With all of the recent hype surrounding electronic media, including the mad rush to produce electronic books, what will happen to writers whose work reads so well in print? Assuming books will be with us forever, and I think they will, I'm thinking more in terms of writers trying to build an audience that reads novels in print form. Do you think there's any way for this audience to considerably grow?
Mazza:
I wonder why the audience doesn't grow, considering the almost alarming growth of students in writing programs. Are they reading anything? Books have to stay with us. They're easier to clutch in your armpit on an airplane, when you can only stand to read a paragraph at a time between fits of terror or nausea. They're more pleasant to roll over on when you fall asleep reading in bed, and less expensive if you crush the pages. But back to the readers, we do seem to be fighting over a dwindling valuable commodity, and I still look to those writing programs and wonder if the students buy books, or, like some of mine, wait for me to xerox interesting stories I come across. To be fair, I xeroxed one Stacey Levine story, passed it on to a student who shared it with her friends, and they all went out and bought Stacey's book. So maybe one answer is those of us teaching in the writing programs can help "create" readers. It's a small answer, because what about the everyone else? But I'd rather feel mighty in a small arena, than completely powerless to do anything to stop the decline of reading.
Alt-X:
Our readers will notice that you have books out with both Fiction Collective Two and Coffee House. Is there a reason for that?
Mazza:
It's partly because of my backlog. If I waited for either Coffee House or FC2 to publish everything I produce, I'd be their most prolific posthumous writer. It is probably coincidence that FC2 has done my collections and Coffee House my novels. I think this is a good division because I don't think FC2 does enough short fiction anymore, and it had always been one of the biggest showrooms for collections. Although Coffee House does short fiction, they focus on novels and poetry, and their short fiction series specializes in short-shorts, which I haven't yet done a whole book of. Being with Coffee House has been exciting as they've been experiencing a growth spurt and receiving a lot of national attention as a literary press, and imaginative marketing techniques are being explored and put to use there. Your Name Here: ___ is being released with a reader's guide available, for use with reading groups, to spur discussion and give background information, similar to this interview.
Alt-X:
Can you tell us about your new anthology project? I hear it's called Chick-Lit? Great title! What's it include? Why this anthology and why put it out now?
Mazza:
Chick-Lit is an anthology of alternative women's fiction I'm doing for FC2 (with co-editor Jeffrey DeShell). Chick-Lit is the title of the first anthology we'll do, but it's planned as a yearly book called On The Edge: New Women's Fiction Anthology. One reason for starting this anthology was like a talent hunt, to discover new women writers who could consider FC2 when they look for a publisher. Doing a contest where I read 300 book manuscripts and only one is published would've been too monumental for me and more of a raffle for the writers. This way, we're publishing 22 writers who are all new to FC2, some well known like Jonis Agee, Carole Maso and Carolyn Banks, others are newer "discoveries."

Why Chick-Lit? This has to do with the "discovery" of what "postfeminist" writing is (or the invention of it, I suppose). It's not anti-feminist, but it's sort of irreverant -- and funky, sassy, droll, & frisky. Thus the name just popped into our editorial heads simultaneously. (It's fairly post-feminist for FC2 to have a women's anthology co-edited by a man & woman. But it was surprising how many submitting writers thought -- and apparently accepted -- that both editors were men.) I was looking for something different, something that stretched the boundaries of what has been considered "women's writing," something that might be able to simply be called "writing" without defining it by gender, and yet at the same time speak the diversity and depth of what women writers can produce rather than what they're expected to produce.

Alt-X:
You recently moved to Chicago after having spent a long time in San Diego? What's that change of environment and culture like for you? What's the writing scene like?
Mazza:
The writing scene in Chicago, for me, is the same as San Diego or anywhere else -- it's the inside of my study facing the keyboard for as many hours as I can. But teaching in the Program for Writers at the University of Illinois at Chicago is invigorating. I've discovered some interesting students who've given me new energy when mine wanes (mid semester, usually). There are a multitude of literary magazines here -- Other Voices, Private Arts, Another Chicago Magazine, Story Quarterly, Tri-Quarterly, Chicago Review, River Oak, I hope I haven't forgotten anyone. Plus the Northwestern University Press and Tri-Quarterly Books. FC2 is just down the road in Normal at the Unit for Contemporary Literature. So I don't feel alone here. But I am a Southern Californian, and I don't say that with shame. I wasn't a beach-goer or roller-blader or frisbee tosser. Those are usually imports. I was a "real" Californian. I miss lying in my backyard in February trying to get warm before going back into the icy (unheated) house. I miss training my dogs outdoors year-round. And yes, I do miss my baseball team ... also the dry brown hills in the back county, the smell of Eucalyptus, and strawberries ripening in March. Actually, maybe it's easier to concentrate here because I can't go out so much of the year, my house is warm and comfortable, I'm a regular cozy suburbanite sitting here typing these words in my white bathrobe. I return to San Diego during summers and semester breaks as I am a member of a long-distance relationship.
Alt-X:
What are you working on now?
Mazza:
I started a new novel yesterday, but it isn't titled and, after 8 pages, I can't say much about it. It starts with the word "funky," describing a smell. I'm pretty busy finishing off logistical arrangements for the anthology and preparing appearances for Your Name Here: ___. I sort of just finished Girl Beside Him, the novel about the wildlife biologist who thinks he may be "a sex killer waiting to happen." It was the first book I really grounded in a particular place: South-Central Wyoming. I chose it as I zoomed through on I-80 on my way to Chicago 2 years ago. The desolate, clean, barren aloneness of the Great Divide Basin really struck me, a pastoral quality I seem to find in deserts rather than mountain lakes. So I brought together my emotional response to the landscape, my life-long fascination with mountain lions, and another sexually dysfunctional character, and I lived with them for a while. I kind of miss him, so maybe that's why I started a new book.

Be sure to check out more information on Cris Mazza's new book, Your Name Here: ____, here at Alt-X!



Alt-X