Lately I have been writing about the adventures of some idiot I dreamed up named Rayon Starpuncher, who is reluctantly alive in the final days of civilization. It is novel-length. I guess it is a novel. I called it ‘Injury and Aftermath.’ I’ve already sold it to about seventy people. All of them are in for a weird, dumb ride—assuming they don’t toss it into a fire within the first ten pages.