Writer/editor. New Mexican tumbleweed blown east to skyscraper country.
Right now, I am working on a book about F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sheilah Graham, and Hollywood in the 1930s. It will also contain a lot of drinking, powder blue suits, dances at the Cocoanut Grove, betrayal, gossip columns, crazy ladies, secret Jews, film lot moguls, and Dorothy Parker quips at funerals. If the world is still around then, it should be out from Random House around 2014. So let's hope the Mayans were wrong.
If you want to say hi please do. Or find me in short form, here.
Just interviewed this bloke while he was (standing on what I can only imagine was a windy bluff) in Cambridge. He is on his way to being one of the great violinists of our time, and he’s only 22. There is really nothing more fantastic, I think, in the heirarchy of fantastic things in the arts, than a person who knows how to draw a bow across a piece of maple and spruce and make it sing. More on Charlie here.
(PS—He’s back in NYC on 7/2 for some shows. Catch him if you can.)
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