Barry Lyga has you hoodwinked, America! He lulled you into thinking he was pretty stand-up guy, what with The Astonishing Adventures of Fanboy and Goth Girl, Boy Toy, and the Archvillain series. Heck, you were half-ready to invite him over for drinks and Twister. But don’t click “send” on that Evite! Hear me out! It just so happens that I’ve been, well, dissecting his best-selling serial-killer novels, I Hunt Killers and Game . . . and my forensics report isn’t pretty. This is not a dude you want to play Twister with. You know what “Left foot green” means to Lyga? Do you have any idea?!
Stay on line. Lock the door. Help is on the way. Just let me finish up this here Q&A first. That’s cool, right?
Just who do you think you are?
I’m pretty sure I’m just a figment of my own imagination. Which means my life will have an inconclusive, ambiguous ending that leaves everyone around me saying, “Wait, is that it? There’s gotta be a sequel, right?”
Where do you get off?
That’s sort of a personal question, isn’t it? Not at the library any more, that’s for sure — they’re awfully touchy about that.
What’s the big idea?
Give people the opportunity to view the world through someone else’s eyes. The world would be an infinitely better place if we all took five minutes each day and tried to envisage life and reality from inside someone else’s brain cavity. Since most people can’t be bothered to do this, I try to raise the average by spending most of my life submerged in the viewpoints of fictional people. Every little bit helps.
What is your problem, man?
How much time do you have? Is there a specific problem to which you refer? Because right now, the most immediate problem is that I seem incapable of leaving the house and then walking fewer than two blocks before doubling back to make sure I locked the door. Sometimes, I have to double back two or three times. This is what it’s like to live inside my head. You’re welcome. Other problems? Well, I was born Catholic and Jewish, so take your pick — I pretty much feel guilty about everything, even things I had nothing to do with. I wake up every morning and just feel really, really bad, like someone out there is already quite justifiably pissed at me.
Haven’t you done enough?
Are you kidding me? I’ve barely gotten started.