Richard Smiraldi is a creative. He’s always been this type even as a child. Teachers, Principals, Coaches, and the like all dubbed him “artist.” But in that happy free to be world he lived in Marlo didn’t fly down on a magic marshmallow and point him into the right direction. The Wizard had no special tricks in his bag for Richard and so upon graduating from The King’s College with a degree in English Literature, Richard found himself in juke joints and jazz joints and blues joint and galleries galleries galleries in between temporary admin boot licking lower than dirt stints. He met the best and the worst, the richest and the poorest. He dined on Ramen noodles and pheasant. He danced the waltz and the long walk home. Yes Richard lived lived lived. Now, secluded in the deep dark suburbs he writes. He talks about Madonna, Frederic Fekkai, and the Forbes 400 as well as those hustlers and street walkers he interviewed during those dark Kerouac days. Richard is a writer. He did not seek this. He was born this. His latest work is Seven Murders In Sussex and as of this writing he’s been compared to Flaubert although we doubt he ever spent a week composing a page in his life. So travel along with Richard Smiraldi, because you will find a friend amongst his writing. He is someone you know, and someone who knows people like you know people and he will make you feel all at once at home with his work. You’ll want to kick off your shoes and help him with dishes after dinner. Read Richard Smiraldi and I’m telling you, you are in for a treat. Today is a very good day to be you!