(Note: I moved this posting back to today because I want to leave it up for a few days...y'know...in case of stray cyber-drive-bys...Dennis is out and about pimping his new novel...if he passes through your nape of the way, stop by, and buy a copy.)
Yesterday I heard my Dennis Tafoya interview was posted at Spinetingler. Dennis is amazing. His new novel THE WOLVES OF FAIRMONT PARK is out and listen up, sinners. I'm not claiming to be psychic or anything, but Dennis gives me that edge-of-blinding-greatness feeling. I'm not dicking around. He's the kind of writer you just push on people because you have to...the kind of writer that you'll cavalierly say a few years from now (as HBO or movie screen credits roll), "Oh, Dennis Tafoya? Dude, I was hip to him years ago...." Oh yeah? Put your money where your mouth is, bub, and pony up for this corker of a novel. Wait. Scratch that. It's not a novel, it's a freakin' crime opera. A whole new level of the brutal as beautiful. My God, what do they put in the punch at that Philly Liar's Club anyway?