Who’s your biggest influence as a writer?
Sometime way too long ago to admit, a friend told me about a guy who stood out on the streets of Toronto selling his books.
A crazy guy, with a crazy name: Crad Kilodney.
In an era before self-publishing (think 1972), he typed his own stories and printed them off himself. Then stood outside, all year long, in all kinds of miserable weather, getting the word out thanks to sandwich boards around his neck.
This is how I first met him.
This is what he looked like. Sometimes with the pipe, sometimes not.
Most pedestrians on the busy downtown sidewalks he occupied rushed past pretty quickly. Trying not to make contact with the greasy-haired guy selling – ahem – literature.
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly literature. Actually, it was the kind of crazy, train-of-thought, free-associated ranting my mother might refer to as “verbal diarrhea.”
I don’t believe my mother ever opened up one of those grimy little books that must have come home with me from time to time.
*** Caution: a small excerpt of his writing is below which contains some NSFW / adult content. I’m warning you now so you have time to shut the window. (Also, any of these images of his stories could contain inappropriate language so don’t click if you don’t want to know.)