I can churn out pulp fiction like no other. I leave 2024 with sixteen titles and 21 awards. But, there is a warning if you are included in one of my books. The last line of my current story was about Jimmy Carter. He died within a month of its release. In another book, I predicted the death of Michael Jackson. He passed soon after. Then there was the dead body stuffed into the left luggage compartment at Melbourne's Spencer St. Station. Two months later, they found a body in the left luggage area of Japan's main railway station. In the same book, I described a headless body found in the Maribyrnong River. Yes, you guessed it. My books have become a "how to" excercise for those with criminal tendencies. I don't mind, as long as they paid for the book.