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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Not much is known about Rip McCoy's true identity. Where is he from? How old is he? Is he married? Does he have kids? Is he really a he? Is he famous and using a nom de plume? And why did he choose to contact us?

Two years ago, PulpStar was a struggling new venture, spitting out well-meaning but less-than-brilliantly-written personalized novels to a meager and unappreciative clientele. Then one day out of the blue we received a phone call that would change our lives forever. The man on the other end of the line identified himself as Rip McCoy and informed us that he thought the PulpStar concept was a "rare jewel, but the execution was pure crap." To say that he was a man of few words would be an understatement, so to speak. With explicit candor, he bellowed that we should be ashamed of ourselves for "pouring such drivel into the damn slipstream."

"Well, you think you could do better?" was our smug reply. McCoy responded with a rhetorical question: "Does a frog have a damn waterproof ass?" and then slammed down the phone. We were shocked, initially, but soon wrote him off as a surly eccentric with too much damn time on his hands. One week later, we received the manuscript for what was to become our first collaboration. There was no return address, and the author was listed as Rip McCoy. Reading through the pages, we realized that we had struck pulp gold. Whoever this guy was, he was good. Damn good!

Since then, our little "novelty company" has grown into an independent business that we're proud to call our own. And we're grateful for Rip's phantom assistance as our silent, nay, invisible partner.

But who is Rip McCoy (if that is, indeed, his real name)? When was he born? Why does he only type his novels with what appears to be an old-fashioned ribbon typewriter? Doesn't he own a computer? And why is he seemingly so fond of the word "damn"? Perhaps some mysteries are best left, well, mysterious. Not much can be ascertained from Rip's deep and muffled yet arresting voice. We do know that he has a temper. When asked to modify a very basic plot-point, he roared, "You wouldn't know a damn plot-point if it up and bit you in the ass!!" This was, of course, followed by a dial tone. We didn't hear back from the man for almost three weeks, having no way of reaching him. When he finally contacted us, he had re-written the entire book, and it was even better than before! McCoy likes his poison. There's a dried ring of what smells like good scotch on nearly every other page of his manuscripts. We peg him for a smoker, as there's always the faint smell of tobacco wafting from the pages. He has a wry sense of humor but a visual artist he is not, if the crude cartoons and rather disturbing images he doodles in the margins are any indication.

While he may not have the gentlest of bedside manners, we believe that the enigmatic Rip McCoy is a damn brilliant pulp writer, a term he prefers to "novelist." And we think you will, too, damn it!