"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane
My awareness of the situation began with a phone call. It was February of 1986. Roughly two weeks after my second piece, War of the Worlds came out in the Washington Post Bookworld. A friend of H’s called to congratulation him on several articles he had out in prestigious spots.
To my knowledge, H had not had anything out in several months. So I asked which articles H’s friend was referring to. As the answers tumbled out of the fellow’s excited mouth, into the phone, and down my ears; I became sick to my stomach. I was so stunned I could barely speak and my mind stopped working. I excused myself from the conversation and hung up the phone. I barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up.
H was telling his industry friends that every article with my byline on it was written by him, including the Washington Post pieces.
H had robbed me of my name.