Some Days I Wish I were Famous…

Let Me Tell You All a Story ’bout a Man Named Gregg…

A long time ago and half a world away, I went to high school with a wiry, unassuming guy with big glasses. I knew he ran on the cross-country team; his pictures were in the yearbook. We had a few classes in common, so I also knew he had — was — a big brain. But I had no idea then that that brain behind those glasses could go on to be the undiscovered comic genius of our generation.

I don’t throw that word “genius” around irresponsibly. Gregg can make mercy-killing, male prostitution and even terrorism FUNNY. And boy, do we need some laughs right now.

Gregg Fedchak and I barely knew each other back in high school, so if anything is to blame for our long-distance collaboration, it’s Facebook. Out of the blue, Gregg sent me my very first friend request after I finally — resistance was futile —  jumped into social media. I learned he was an author and artist, like me. I learned that, over the years, Gregg had scored two New York literary agents, and that his five novels (which I soon devoured) had been published by a small press. And why not? His prose is frantic, every sentence a gift to readers’ funny bones and intellects, every chapter a scene worthy of Vonnegut, Heller, Wodehouse and Monty Python, every book a complete story that leaves you chuckling nervously for days, scared to death of your neighbors.

But then, two or three years ago, Gregg’s publisher went out of business and his novels fell out of print.

To me, that was an American tragedy! I immediately started pestering him into becoming an indie author — something he knew little about and valiantly resisted. But I wore him down — resistance was futile — and talked him into letting me format and make new covers for the first three of his novels, into getting them back on the market so new readers could discover for themselves what I love so much about them. And now the e-books are up on Amazon — soon to be followed by the other venues, eventually by the paperback versions. It really has been a labor of love: a love of literature, a love of wiry guys with big glasses and bigger brains, a love of writers who just think funny, like me.

I really, really wish I were famous, today, so my championing of his work could make it famous. But I’m not, and this is the best I can do. Please check out the new editions of The Broccoli Eaters, Bad Apple Jack, and Love Among the Tomatoes — the first three novels by this unassuming, unsung hero of American literature. As I write in his bio: “Gregg’s home-grown, organic American humor is smart, sexy and absurd. Sometimes disturbing, always snort-worthy, his novels lovingly spoof a postmodern America of baffled Baby Boomers and their ill-conceived spawn.”

And with all those fruits and vegetables, they’ve just GOT to be good for you. Enjoy!

Uh-oh, look what I found…