Lenny’s first book has just been sold to the US-y people, so be prepared for him to go gangbusters global very soon. In the meantime, you heard it here first: Lenny Bartulin is as good a crime writer as I am a bad one. Read his books. They are brill!
About six months ago, I met a man named Lenny Bartulin.
It was a dark and stormy … errr day, and I had walked several miles already in the downpour, dragging behind me an ancient (well, actually, almost brand new, but ancient sounds so much more … crimey), grey suitcase, containing my hopes, my dreams, and my bathers (I was staying in Manly, after all).
I was miles from nowhere – so miles from nowhere that my cabbie had no idea where to drop me and so I ended up wandering, lonely as a cloud, beneath many … err … clouds and rain and stuff, through bush where there may potentially have been serial killers and other assorted dastardly peoples. Thankfully, I survived – hurrah – and made it to my destination, an old, decrepit (well, the old bit IS true, but it was actually in pretty good nick), building.
I burst through the heavy wooden doors, dripping rain on to the floorboards in roughly the same manner as blood might drip (i.e. drip, drip, drip), and announced my arrival to the persons who lay (or, rather, sat), therein.
One of those persons – in fact, the very person I had come to see – was standing at the front of the room holding something that may have been a DAGGER (but also may or may not have been a whiteboard marker).
The man was tall, dark, handsome and had a very funky name. The man was … Lenny Bartulin!
And it is not his fault I am still crap at writing crime!
He tried. He really did. And I tried. I wrote a whole entire crime novel set in a small town in Tasmania with a gutsy girl protagonist who finds out her parents are actually members of a top secret spy force! It was fun. It was a challenge. It was … unfortunately not very good.
Lenny’s books, on the other hand, are AWESOME. I don’t read crime, which is maybe why I am terrible at writing it, but we had Lenny’s launch here at the booky nook (he didn’t recognise me, but that may be because I am a shy mouse person who was too awestruck to say hello. It’s okay. I’m over it), and he was so super articulate and lovely, and he read from his books and they were brilliant and fun and a bit naughty, and I thought: well, they do say those who can write crime, do. Those who don’t … can at least read it!