2009 November 20

Friday, November 20th, 2009

Dear James Patterson,

I have written a book about you.

patterson-TutNow, I’ve never met you, and I have little more than circumstantial evidence about you. In fact, I’ve never subjected myself to one of your books, but as a library employee, I’ve entered countless volumes of your work into our database so that our patrons could read them. They are quite popular.

Given the fact that your most recent book, ‘The Murder of King Tut’, is billed as a ‘Nonfiction Thriller’, I’ve decided to use the same research methods and presuppositions that you have used to construct your own critically panned book. I mentioned that I worked at a library, and I can tell you that entering this book into our circulation system with a Dewey Decimal number instead of a ‘Fiction’ tag was genuinely appalling to me. At best, it is a work of historical fiction. I have read one paragraph of this book, but it was enough to be able to know the difference.

But I digress. I’ve included some excerpts of my book below, along with annotations I’ve designed especially for you to indicate where I’ve drawn my conclusions from. I am certain that you will not object, as my reasoning about you, your innermost feelings and your daily life is similar to the reasoning that you have utilized when creating King Tut’s inner monologues and other various, unrecorded conversations that were held in private. I’m still not sure how these qualify as ‘nonfiction’ (which generally applies to things that actually happened), but there you have it.



James Patterson saw the first glint of sunlight through his window and rose from bed, scratching his buttocks with a diamond-tipped cane. “Nothing scratches a buttock better than a diamond,” thought James Patterson. [You have sold many books, so I assume that most of the things you own incorporate diamonds in some way, and modern man is known for their morning butt-scratching activities.]

He stumbled to his fridge and peered inside, eyes still hazy from whatever it is that makes your eyes hazy in the morning. Some people believe it is sand, but that’s just stupid. James Patterson’s eyes focused on his favorite food, baby. He removed one from the fridge and laid it on the counter. He began to sing the National Anthem. [Careful research on Wikipedia revealed that you enjoy eating babies. Never mind if I put that paragraph in there myself.]

“MMmmmmmm! MMMMMMMMMMHHMMMMMMM! Babies taste like baby!” James Patterson proclaimed over the alarming sizzle of the baby in the frying pan. [See?] “Today is going to be the day that I finally conquer the moon!”

James Patterson made a side of toast to go with his delicious baby breakfast, and sat down at the kitchen table to read pornography. [A woman at a book signing reports that she distinctly saw toast crumbs on your front pocket, and a general odor around you which she described as 'burnt bread'. Also, men typically enjoy pornography.]


There is much more where this comes from, but I thought that you’d appreciate this, being so similar (and in fact inspired by!) your own exhaustive research and ability to capture the exact words that someone you’ve never met and have no special insight into has thought. We are kindred spirits, you and I.

Your response is appreciated.

Collin David

[sent to James Patterson on November 20, 2009]

- Walmart’s new logo looks alarmingly like a bubble popping, which is strangely apropos given the role of Walmart in the economic collapse that we face. Alternately, were the designers thinking that it looked like an asterisk? Were they implying that Walmart comes with exceptions? There’s something subtly apocalyptic about either connotation. Next time, I suggest that they just use a skull and crossbones. At least that has the connotation of ‘sexy pirates’.


- My spellcheck wanted me to replace ‘Blu-Ray’ with ‘blurry’. I think that’s a pretty good definition of irony.

- If you kill someone with a drill, you can comfortably say that they were bored to death.

- Scareglow. Scareglow is really neat. I have a strange affection for toys depicting skeletons and skulls – which explains my irrational enjoyment of Ghost Rider, aesthetically.


I taught art for a year at a private school. One of the classes I taught was about comics. The plan was to have everyone in the class create comics, which I’d then compile into a great big comic, print up within the school’s budget, and give it to everyone.

It didn’t turn out that way. At all.

I detail all of this in the comic, as well as why I decided to not go back. But I’ve been working on this on and off for two years now. I’ve never shown anyone any part of this before but a panel or two here and there.

These pages haven’t been edited for stray pencil & ink marks or clarity. Just a quick scan to show you what I’ve secretly been up to for a really long time. No particular order, no particular importance, but I think that they turned out really expressively for a comic where it’s a lot of me talking. It’s a huge challenge to make a talking head comic interesting, but I also kinda wanted to present it how the students probably saw me, too. So, there’s a thematic relevance to my apparent narcissism.


firstyear2firstyear3Ultimately, the comic will run about 40 pages – 20 of them drawn by me, and 20 drawn by students. OR, because of possible legal entanglements (though they signed off on having their comics published in the course description), my hand-made reproductions of their comics.

I am a one-man comic team. Enjoy these, please. There are many more, and I feel that they are good.