Somewhere in the great state of Michigan, though due to the threat of ex-boyfriends, former fathers-in-law, internet stalkers and certain editors, I cannot be more specific.

How far will you roam for literary-related fun and excitement?

As far as my luna-green (it’s not white, people!) bug will take me. I loathe air travel, though if I keep racking up the speeding tickets, I may have to fly or take the train in the future. 

What are you working on?

I’m working on six straight years of a cigarette-less life.

What’s your font, and why is it sexy?

“Je ne veux pas travailler.  Je ne veux pas dejeuner. Je veux seulement l’oublier et puis je fume.” 

What’s the sexiest vowel-consonant combination? Please demonstrate how this sexiness works in a specific word’s favor.

The sexiest vowel-consonant combination has to be “or.” As in “Orlando” or “ornithology” or “origami.”  I can’t think of any other words that start with “or” that deal with love.

Does writing about sex make you want to have sex? 

Writing about sex makes me want to write about having a cigarette.

Does having sex make you want to write about sex? 

Having sex makes me want a cigarette.

Does writing about sex make you want to write about sex? 

Okay, fuck it. I’m off to by a pack of cigarettes.

Does having sex make you want to have lunch? 

Are you asking me to lunch? Can I bum a smoke?

What do you want for Christmas?

A puppy.  Or a couch.

Do you ever run your fingers along the pages of an open book as a substitute for self-gratification?

No. I can’t say that I have. Hmmm. Perhaps I will give it a go tonight though. 

If you could fuck a book, which book, and why, and in which position?

Definitely not soft-cover, and that’s all I’ll say. Or maybe I'd do this one.

Have you ever entertained sexual fantasies about a literary character? If so, please describe your date.

As an adolescent I fantasized about each and every bad boy in S.E. Hinton’s books. Though I must admit to having it particularly bad for Ponyboy. Oh, Ponyboy! 

Have you ever slept with the editor of this site? If no, please explain.

I have never slept with the editor of this site, for several reasons, the main one being that until quite recently, we hated each other. In fact, truth be told, we still strongly dislike one another, though the hatred is now curbed. Perhaps one day we will find ourselves face to face, a scene out of Moonlighting will transpire. He will call me “bitch!” and I’ll yell “bastard!” in reply. My hand will rise to strike his cheek, but he will catch it midway, at which point our lips will meet in a frenzy of passion brought on by years of lust and loathing. 

When you try to pick someone up at a reading, what’s your favorite literary euphemism?

Usually when I try to pick someone up at a reading, it is the reader himself, and I am quickly escorted out and asked not to return, nor to come within a hundred feet of the author in question ever again.

Whose books do you save for bedtime reading in the hopes that the author will visit you in your dreams? If this has ever worked, please describe the nocturnal encounter.

Oddly enough, as I was deliberating over this question, trying to fabricate an answer, life intervened, and I actually did have a dream about an author. A few days ago I received Dave Eggers’ new book (you’re welcome, Dave), in the mail. While I did not read it before bed, I did skim it that afternoon. That night I dreamed that Dave, Neal Pollack, and I were sitting on my floor (I have yet to purchase furniture beyond bean bags) watching MTV (odd, as I don’t have cable). Neal remarked that he liked Kid Rock, at which point I excitedly exclaimed, “You know, he lives just one town over in Ortonville! We could go find him!” that’s when I realized that both Dave and Neal were sweating their asses off. “Do you want me to turn on the AC? Is it getting hot in here?” I asked, an idiot as usual. They both nodded enthusiastically, grateful I had finally taken notice of their suffering. Okay, that’s if. But I’m certain that had my alarm clock not interrupted, a hot, three-way make-out session would soon have followed. Or something.

Has having had your writing appear on websites ever led to bouts of uncontrollable cyberfucking with perfect strangers? 

No. It has not. Never. Does it for other people? Oh, what’s wrong with me? No one wants to have cybersex with me? Great, I can’t even get laid on the Internet!

When overhearing someone else’s sexual encounter, do you (a) put a pillow over your head, (b) grab a pen and paper and try to phonetically capture the experience, or (c) read aloud (as loudly as possible) from Middlemarch?

(d) grab that book I like to fuck and have my way with it.

If you could write yourself into a book, which book, and how would your appearance sexually charge the text?

Siddhartha. He and I would meet wandering the roads – two lost souls, two free spirits. At which point I would rock his world, thus causing him to relinquish his quest for self-fulfillment. I’d fulfill him. Oh yes I would!

To what degree has responding to this questionnaire dampened your enslaving valley of love?

I’m smoking again, are you happy now?