Daniel Pinkwater is the author of dozens of popular books for children and young adults, including I Was a Second Grade Werewolf, The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death and Fat Men from Space, and a frequent commentator on NPR’s All Things Considered. I’ve enjoyed his work for about fifteen or twenty years, and have discussed his supremacy as an imparter of divinely inspired wisdom with children and adults, family, friends, and strangers. In short, everybody with any taste whatsoever knows Daniel Pinkwater. He doesn’t exactly need an introduction.

I didn’t exactly mean to interview him. I was encouraged to do so by Jill Pinkwater, who lives happily as a figment of Daniel’s imagination and prefers not to manifest for mere mortals. Synchronicity strikes again. I emailed him my questions on April 20, 2005, and found these answers in my in box the next day. And—imagine—some of his answers weren’t jokes, and he hardly insulted me at all. I feel blessed, as should anyone who has the good fortune to read the following, informative interview.

Monica Friedman: Have you ever had difficulty publishing something that you felt sure was perfect and ready for publication? What did you do?

Daniel Pinkwater: Well, like any writer, I sometimes have had to send work to more than one publisher until it stuck. Most satisfying were the couple of times when an editor accepted something they had rejected before, not remembering they had already seen it.

MF: Have you ever had an idea (or written a story) that you considered too outrageous for publication? Why?

DP: YOUNG ADULT NOVEL was written with the expectation it would be too outrageous for publication. There was an orphan contract when my editor left T.Y. Crowell, and I noted that all the books on their list were nauseous and disgusting “problem novels.” I wrote one too, but a vicious parody of the form. However, they had hired a new editor, who thought it was a wonderful book, and was determined to publish it, despite my warnings. This editor was subsequently fired, but not before leaving me with an orphan contract. So I wrote DEADEND DADA. This one they did refuse to publish. It was later published in the collection YOUNG ADULTS by Tor Books.

MF: When you’re writing, how do you feel?

DP: When I am writing I feel fat.

MF: What routines (if any) do you keep around your writing or artwork?

DP: Every day, I show up at my desk.

MF: What does your workspace look like?

DP: It looks like a sculptor's studio.

MF: You wrote that, to your mind, writing is good training for art and vice versa. How and why do you think they go together?

DP: To my mind, the differences between art, (by which I assume you mean visual art), and writing is that writing employs less expensive materials, and there is less cleanup at the end of the day. Visual art, on the other hand, usually does not require attention to spelling.

MF: What difficulties do you notice in creative collaboration with a loved one? How can they be avoided?

DP: I do not notice any difficulties. It is pure fun and pure joy.

MF: How do you feed your muse?

DP: Today I took her to a fine restaurant for lunch. She had a rare filet mignon.

MF: As a humorist, how do you account for all the cranky people in the world?

DP: A humorist? You think I am a humorist? Are you simple? Are you intoxicated? To think I have wasted 10 minutes I will never see again answering questions from someone who doesn't even understand my very serious artistic creations.

MF: What question do you wish people would ask you? (And how would you respond?)

DP: Would you like this large gift of money in the form of cash, or shall I write you a check. (And I would respond, “Cash, please.“)