Christopher J. Stockwell

I was a homeless teenager, a high school dropout, an alcoholic, an LSD dropper, a mental defective, a punk rocker, and a skateboarder with a genuine amount of squandered talent.

I was also a handsome loser, a charming rogue, a magnetic mess, a fun first date, a socially-conscious miscreant, an interesting paradox, and irresistible to a certain type of girl lookin' for a project.

Now I'm a workers' rights attorney, a pretty-decent husband, a good father, a young grandfather, a disgruntled mortgage payer, an absurd existentialist, and a sarcastic satirist making one more unapologetic stab at immortality.

People compare the gritty nature of my books to Charles Bukowski. Some of my favorite comparisons have actually been to Hubert Selby Jr. and Irvine Welsh's drug-fueled characterizations of working-class addicts. Others find the nihilism of Chuck Palahniuk and Bret Easton Ellis in there. When I look at my books, I mostly see the existentialism of Albert Camus and George Orwell.