9 Things I've Been Called That Aren't My Name

On Tuesday, September 5th, my short story collection, How to Get Into Our House and Where We Keep the Money, hits bookstores. I’m thrilled that the big day has almost arrived, and would like to thank all of you for your early support!  

In anticipation of the launch date, I had initially prepared a list of things to share with you—the starred Kirkus book review, a list of upcoming readings (including one with my wife, the amazing Molly Ringwald, at the also-amazing Brookyln indie bookstore, Books Are Magic), and the definition of the rhetorical device, apophasis—but as I started cutting and pasting self-congratulatory clips, my eyes quickly glazed over.  


Instead, I’m sharing a list of names that I’ve been called that are not Panio. My name is so often mangled that a while back, I began writing down the most memorable ones.

This inadvertent gamification (I'm using the term loosely, but bear with me) has made me look forward to awkward introductions, whereas before I vaguely dreaded them. Now, going up to the Starbucks counter or talking to a stranger at a noisy cocktail party is a chance to be misunderstood in a novel, even reassuring way.

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Thank you again for pre-ordering How to Get Into Our House and Where We Keep the Money! (If you haven't had the chance yet, here's a link). 

I hope, when it appears at your doorstep next week, a few of you will pick it up, rip open the packaging, and eagerly thrust your faces into its pages, burying your nose in the book as you breathe in that exquisite, papery scent of restrained narrative ecstasy.

The rest of you can just read it like normal people [*sigh].

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