And why aren't you reading Lansdale?

Joe Lansdale is probably one of the best authors out there who is not on the NY Times best sellers list.

And that's a damn shame.

His "voice" is easily the most recognizable for me, even over Stephen King. It is that unique.

Right now I'm reading The Drive In:A Double-Feature Omnibus, and it's classic Lansdale.

An excerpt:

But there was this: he always had a look about him that let us know he'd take our money, but for little or no reason wouldn't mind killing us for the fun of it. And he looked quite capable of killing us without breaking a sweat. He was kind of fat, but it was hard-looking fat, like there was a great iron washpot under his too-tight T-shirt. And his arms were big and meaty. Not body-builder arms, but workingman's arms; arms that had done real work: bounced drunks, and, from what I'd heard, slapped wives. He also had funny-looking knuckles; knuckles that had remolded facial flesh as it were silly putty, and, in turn, had been remodeled themselves.

Cheese 'n rice, that's good writing. That there isn't just good writing, it's art.

Go.

Go now.

Go get yourself a book by Lansdale. The Bottoms is a good one to start with.

I'll be here when you get back.