Roy M. Griffis

Roy M. Griffis

Storyteller

Interviews n’ stuff

My “blazing” debut.

This was lovely and wholly unexpected.  TheBlaze.com ran an excerpt from the opening of Volume One of the Lonesome George Chronicles, The Big Bang.    One major reason it was so nice was because it really excited my Mom.  She’s a fan of Glenn Beck, and after having to read my stuff ever since I was a wee annoying lad of seven, she was thrill to see all of her decades of patience and encouragement pay off with my appearance in the virtual pages of The Blaze.   (Love ya, Mom!)

“Last year we wrote about Liberty Island, a publishing house created by longtime industry executive Adam Bellow to help independent authors see their conservative and libertarian-themed fiction titles come to …

Want to hear me interviewed

…while kind of whacked out on Nyquil?  Yeah, I came back from New York City with good memories, great pix, and a cold.  Or the flu.  The jury is out on the origin of the attacker, but I had scheduled and rescheduled an interview with Daria Anne DiGiovanni of Writestream Radio so I decided to press on ahead with a little chemical assistance.

 

I thought I was a bit spacey, but Daria, as always, was a great interviewer and she did her best to keep me on track.  You can listen by clicking here or download it below for future listening at your convenience.

Interviewed by Daria for WriteStream!

So, this is what being a published author looks like.

Okay…made it to NYC yesterday and the Book Launch Party. I was an hour and a half late, but that was fine (other than the fact I raced into the hotel room, threw my case and laptop on the bed and raced out, forgetting to change into my grown up shoes).

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(I’m in the red.  The gray shoes belong to another fashion threat, Clarke Wilson, husband to my co-conspirator Scary Smart Jamie K. Wilson)

It was great, the restaurant/club was two blocks from the hotel, and literally a stone’s throw from the famed Algonquin Hotel. As I was working hard to talk to folks and thank them for showing up, I didn’t get a lot of pictures…will have to get …

I’m goin’ to New York City…

 

For some reason, when I say that, in my head it’s to the tune of an old blues riff about “I’m goin’ to Kansas City” (first sung in my presence by a homeless drunk in Omaha, Nebraska).

However…my publishers, Liberty Island Media, are having a launch party and I’m going to drop in on them.  It will give me a chance to meet at last and in the actual flesh, the publisher, David Bernstein, and the Editor, Adam Bellow.  Rich Lowry, editor of the National Review and blurber of my novel, will also be in attendance.  I am hoping that my comrades de satire, the mysterious and alluring Ms. Always Right and Scary Smart Jamie K. …

Color me Shocked

That another “respected” journalist was caught out in a lie.  Not one of those “Yes, I can still fit into my prom dress” lies we’ve all told (at least, I have), but a real whopper.  It’s a Hillary-level work of prevarication by NBC anchor Brian Williams about being in a Chinook that came under serious fire from Iraq farmers.  I mean, he almost crashed.

That is, he almost crashed in his imagination.  He’s told this story repeatedly to such credulous listeners as Alec Baldwin and David Letterman.  He was afraid he was going to die.  That is, in that story he mis-remembered.  Conflated.  Whatever.

Remember the outrage from the press over Obama’s many lies?  Yeah, me, neither.  Okay, remember …

The Fire This Time

 Samzinet Fire This Time(A story from before The Big Bang)

 

It was just a little school. Like a lot of places there in the Sonoran desert, it was a one-story building from the 50’s, built of cinder block, with a flat roof, all of it painted a remarkably less-than-festive flat white. During the three years Whistler had lived in the vicinity of the school (calling the dwellings scattered over nearly ten miles of sand, scrub, saguaro cactus and every variety of pointy, pokey plant life known to man a “neighborhood” seemed impossibly optimistic to him), he’d observed the little kids outside every spring painting murals on the longest wall, which faced the playground.

The bright, simplistic, and anatomically incorrect figures standing awkwardly