The DNF Files: I Am Not Who You Think I Am, by Eric Rickstad

(With apologies to the Purple One)

I never meant to cause a writer sorrow
I never meant to hit one on the nose
I went to the library for something to borrow
I only want to read something without purple prose

Purple prose, purple prose
Purple prose, purple prose
purple prose, purple prose
I only want to read something without purple prose

I never wanted to be this kind of hardass
I never meant to cause a writer stress
I only want to read a decent novel
It's such a shame I had to DNF

Purple prose, purple prose
Purple prose, purple prose
Purple prose, purple prose
I only want a book without purple prose

Buddy, I know, I know publishing's changing
Every writer has to find some kind of groove
And that means you too
You say you want a bestseller
But you can't seem to make it
Then let me guide you from the purple prose

Purple Prose, purple prose, yeah!
purple prose, purple prose

If you know what I'm writing about here
Come on, tone it down!
I only want to see you ease up with the purple prose


A little too harsh?

I know it's hard to write a novel. The lord above knows I can't do it. I can't build a car either, but I know when one is worth driving.

I was looking for a new thriller. A writer waiting to be discovered. Hoping for another Chevy Stevens, David Bell, or Dan Chaon, I happened upon Eric Rickstad. The synopsis to I Am Not Who You Think I Am sounded intriguing. Other writers praise it, but we all know that means absolutely nothing.

The prose was heavy-handed from the very beginning. Rickstad was trying way too hard to be lyrical. There' s funeral near the opening. A mourner approaches the casket, and a tear falls and extinguishes a candle. Oh, brother.

Then there were the overwrought sentences. Get this: "The oily green light of a steetlamp outside pooled in my room like the glow from radioactive sludge". "His facial features were sharp and long and narrow, as if rendered by the same hands that wrought the Easter Island Colossi".

It goes on like that. I didn't know whether to laugh or cringe. There's beautiful prose and then there is someone trying to be arty farty.

I don't think I'm that picky. I just want a decent story, some relatable characters, a surprise or two, and a satisfying conclusion. Not everyone has to be, or should try to be, Peter Straub or Paul Theroux.

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Written by Mark Sieber