My friend Zippo, famed not only as an award-winning newscaster, but also for being in several of my books (both fiction and non-fiction), is a virtual Sam’s Place of paranoia. He recently suggested that homicidal stalkers and sex perverts could track down, for example, my nephew Tod Goldberg, famous author, and do kinky things to him. These same sickos could show up at one of Lee Goldberg’s signings of the latest Diagnosis: Murder paperback and make rude noises by slapping their cupped hand under their armpit. Zippo is right. It is to help people such as he sleep better that we have the Patriot Act that says, in essence: “We the people of the United States, fearful of losing something, hereby give up everything.”
It is true that bad people can do mean things to nice innocent people. I know about that stuff. I write true crime books, remember?
I also know that being a Public Person means you take certain risks. I have already had my “Play Misty For Me” obsessive fan, complete with standard issue cliché dialogue, “if I can’t have you, no one can!” (cue Bernard Hermann score), and the babbling inane emails from self-published authors who want to know what I would charge to turn their non-selling book into a hit movie. If I had the power to “turn a book into a hit movie,” I assure you that I would start with at least four or five of my own books, all of Tod’s and Lee’s and Jan’s and Linda’s and Karen’s before I started working my magic formula on books by people whom I have never met, and who have never helped me catch a trout or de-hook a tinch. Yes, I know the Bush family has given nepotism a bad name, but I proudly admit that I value family and friends, and if I could shower them all with blessings equal to the love I have for them, it would be my greatest joy. Devoid of such magic powers, however, I content myself with blog reading, posts of encouragement, and augmenting my personal library with their literary accomplishments.