Edwin Allen MercerI want them all to read my words. And they do. Every last blood-stained sentence, they’ve read and praised me for. They love the gore and violence, the realness. And I get a sense of power with it all because I know a secret: the victims in my books—they’re real and have all died on my table. And maybe that’s why the last book had such awful reviews. Murder is, after all, a … a dirty little thing. Some can stomach it. Others can’t. My answer to those reviews: find a woman to co-author with. To be the…
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