Thomas Wictor

Five minutes ago, I concluded my second radio interview. With Tron Simpson, “Tron in the Morning,” KCBR-AM 1040, Colorado Springs.

“In the morning” was right. Six in the morning for me. That’s okay. I wasn’t able to sleep anyway.

Very nice interviewer, perfectly understood the intent of the book, and wished me well.

I wish Tron well too. I promised to send him a copy of Chasing the Last Whale, the first proof copy of which I got yesterday. Needs a little work but should be ready soon. Hopefully in a matter of days.

When I published In Cold Sweat, I hired a woman who promised me six radio interviews a month. She got me three, I believe, and then disappeared. She was based in Tennessee; my publisher’s assistant recommended her. Maybe she thinks I’ve forgotten her name.

One interview was with a Morning Zoo-type ensemble, and all they wanted to talk about was Scott Thunes putting his naked penis and testicles next to Bruce Fowler’s cheek to make him shut up and go away. The lead interviewer had that nearly subsonic radio voice—like a talking octobass—and there were two male professional laughers and a woman whose role was squeal and shriek and tell all the men how nasty they were. Everyone was chock full of rapid-fire patter, while I sat on the phone thinking, They can’t wait to hang up on you.

I wonder what would happen if I posted the name of the woman who took my money and disappeared?