Cold Pizza

There ain’t nothing like eating cold pizza. Breakfast of champions. Gourmet food. The coagulated marries the congealed in a symphony of flavor and texture. Its joy is in its simplicity. You just take it from the box and eat it neat. No ice. No garnish. No flowery arrangements. No sense of style. No savoring of the heat, the spices, the gooey-ness.

Cold pizza just is.

It abides.

There are days when you want eggs and toast. Other times, cereal and fruit. Still others, a danish, a muffin, or just bacon. With more bacon.

Today, it’s cold pizza.

Breakfast choices that echo in eternity, although Maximus might disagree. Waxing poetic about cold pizza isn’t anything new. Just ask any college kid living on campus. And depending on what toppings you have, you’ve almost got four squares in one bite.

An impressive invention, cold pizza. Recognizable. Tasty.

And satisfying.

I had every intention of naming this Unpublished post something profound or relevant, but then I grabbed two slices of cold pizza from the fridge, and there went my inspiration.

Or did it?

Stephen King famously once described himself as the “literary equivalent of a Big Mac and fries.” After reading his books, you’re stuffed to the gills and want to go back for more.

Well, my novels are the literary equivalent of cold pizza.

My themes are recognizable. I’ve tackled good and evil, family, mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, justice versus vengeance, friendship and redemption. While not groundbreaking, I think these universal themes resonate with most readers, and allow them to readily identify with the cast and the story. It’s like putting on a pair of comfortable shoes, your feet welcoming an old friend.

My plot-lines are tasty. The murders are gloriously messy. The Special Crimes team of Holliday, Deacon, Leyla and Besim are smart, colorful and diverse. The villains are, well, deliciously villainous. And all the while I’m developing juicy drama that makes you want to turn the page. Or read deep into the night. Maybe even talk about it afterward.

And the overall reading experience?

Well, I have 30 Amazon reviews, and for the most part, those readers were satisfied. A small sampling size, to be sure.

But, no, I don’t write Big Macs. I don’t pen Whoppers or Thickburgers or Double-Doubles. I don’t scribble SuperSONICs or dabble in Whataburgers.

Nope, at the end of the day, I’m just a fiction writer, which makes me an entertainer. It’s all about escapism. I’m not trying to solve the world’s problems. I’m not engaged in any social agendas. I’m also not trying to be the next Faulkner, King, Hemingway, Connelly or Patterson.

I can’t be any of them. I don’t want to be any of them.

I’m just me, an indie author trying to navigate through a massive fast-food literary world filled with true giants.

So when a reader is on the hunt for a new story, I hope they’ll set aside their cares and burdens, the things that drag them down, and rather than go for a Big Mac, they’ll simply reach into the fridge to enjoy a slice of cold pizza.

2 thoughts on “Cold Pizza

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