I hated reading about James Franco’s novel, Actors Anonymous. Not out of envy, but because he’s released it at the same time as Winging It and people are going to look at my book and think, “Oh, yes. Cashing in. A copycat novel.” And it wasn’t like that. Neither I nor Mandrill Press knew anything about Actors Anonymous when we were bringing out Winging It, which is in any case a different kind of book. Yes, Winging It records the life of a Hollywood actor; yes, he leads a debauched life (bedding men as well as women); and, yes, we don’t shrink from describing the things he gets up to and the people—some of them famous—he gets up to them with. But that’s where the similarities end. Winging It is an illustration that “joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.” It’s the story of a man who turns at last to God and finds God waiting. It says that God’s hand is always outstretched towards us—all we have to do is reach out and take it.
So. Not Guilty. Winging It is not a James Franco “Me-Too”.