Spoiler.
There will always be a character named Fran in my books, and that character will always die.
As violently as possible, preferably.
This may be a singular wit. I accept this.
I figure by book three, these death sequences will journey beyond gross into disturbing, and by book 10, I will be on some FBI list.
#worthit
This is some bullshit.
Sick all weekend, again, this time with the Ebola. Pretty sure I caught it from a coworker. They know what they did!
This is life kicking me in the teeth after I noted in a previous post that I hadn’t come under the weather often these past months. So much for that.
I finished going through all the final revisions (please, gods, let it be so) to Dead Weight and uploaded the latest version to various bookstores. That should be that. I also received the first draft on the second Sophistication cover. It looks pretty great. I’ll share it here soon. A few more edits to come and then it’ll be complete.
What I haven’t done, however, is written much. I could easily blame work and life, both of which have gone nuclear, but it’s all me. I fell off, hard, and not even my nightly reminders could penetrate the slackassery that consumed me. This, sadly, is part of my process. A couple months of rapid progress followed by as many days of pure dickery. I’m back on now, at least, so here we go.
My bro is turning 50, which is kinda depressing. Also, we’re going to disrupt the market for Booker’s bourbon.
I noted in another post that I always create two covers for my books. One usually tends to lean on traditional illustration, and the other edges into photorealism. For Dead Weight, I thought the photorealistic style worked better, but so far I’m a big fan of Sophistication’s original design. That being true, I’m working with a fantastic artist on something a little more realistic. Nothing to show yet, but here’s some of his previous work:
It’s another night and I should be writing Sophistication. And I am. I jotted down 500 words. Now, however, I’m taking a break because I have the attention span of a hamster and it’s starting to ruin my life.
Sometimes, I check in to see what people are writing about my first book. And by sometimes, I mean daily. Even when readers are critical — and thankfully, this happens infrequently — they oftentimes deliver really good feedback. Honest, undiluted criticism. And their points are usually valid.
Not always. One guy dedicated two paragraphs of his critique to his belief that I misused the word ‘donned’ in the novel. Then it donned on me — he’s a gods-damned idiot. JK. I know the difference, people. He also insisted I misused the word ‘strafed.’ He was, of course, full of shit. I play video games, including lots of first-person shooters, for a living. I’m intimately familiar with strafing. But I digress, as I often do — you know, because I’m usually drunk when I post here.
Tonight, though, I read a review of my book that I loved, and not just because it was praise. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve got no complaints about that. What makes this review so special to me, though, is that the reader clearly understood why I wrote Dead Weight. I love dystopian fiction, but authors always tend to muddy it up with zombies and vampires and characters who seem to possess endless knowledge and superhuman abilities. I wrote Dead Weight because I wanted to throw away those cliches and instead focus on a relative doofus as he struggled with the apocalypse.
Here, now, is a lovely review from someone who appreciated it — and I gotta tell you, this singular feedback means the world.
Dose of reality. I work for a living. I’ve got a wife. Three kids. And a super dumb dog. He eats a lot of shit he shouldn’t — tonight, for instance, someone’s retainer. That bears no significance to this post except to illustrate that he’s a pain in the ass. I also like to play video games, as evidenced by my habitual relationship with them. I’m not making excuses. I’m not. Really, I’m not.
OK, I am.
Aside incoming: did you know that nobody, all the Internet gods included, seems to know where ‘OK’ originated? Or what it stands for? Which is why you can pretty much write it all sorts of acceptable ways. OK? Sure. Okay? Why not? Ok? Don’t do that. It must stand for something. And if it doesn’t, then write ‘okay.’ Either way, ‘Ok’ is for assholes.
Anyway, Resident Evil came out tonight. That’s where this is all leading. I should be playing it — after all, I bought it for PlayStation 4, as any person would — but then I remembered two things. First, I’m scared shitless of this gods-blasted series. Second, I need to write Sophistication, or, you know, I’ll never finish it.
Luckily, I have an ace up my sleeve. I added a repeating calendar event to remind myself that instead of drinking bourbon, playing video games, or both, I should instead do that thing that is not pure fuckery. Please observe evidence below:
There. This will solve everything. As demonstrated by the fact that this post was published at 10:20 p.m.
[Bows.]
It’s out!
That’s a lot of shouting, I know, but I’m excited. And yes, you’re right, I’ve beaten this point to death, so you have my apologies. Indulge me this last time, though: I love this format. I find that I listen to as many books as I read. Probably more, to be honest. It’s just so convenient for a long commute.
Now you can listen to my first book, too. It’s on Audible. (It’ll be on iTunes in a couple days.) It’s almost ten hours long. And best of all, it’s not narrated by me. Seriously, Joshua Nicholson has done a great job narrating, and his take on some the crazies in this book is highly entertaining.
If you’re an audiobook fan, this is a no-brainer. And if you’ve never tried one before, now’s the time to jump in. Your morning commute will fly by.
Welp.
I finally finished it.
Slight spoiler ahead, but I’m proud to announce that I think I’ve written the first death scene in any book that involves projectile vomit traveling between multiple dimensions before it kills someone.
I hope this offers you some small, wonderful glimpse into the serious subject matter that my next novel promises.
Good. Gods.
For two nights, I have struggled to write a scene. This shit never happens, which is why it’s so frustrating.
I enlisted the aid of Booker’s tonight in an effort to nuclear-bomb-detonate any reservations I held onto about being the asshole I need to be in order to get this down right.
And still it came slow, like sap from a tree.
Nearly through it, thank Zeus. But it ain’t over yet.
Books by popular authors receive hundreds, if not thousands of user reviews in no time. You may have noticed, however, that I’m not chasing James Patterson on the Top Charts lists, and that probably won’t change any time soon. So I’ll take my milestones where I can get them.
Below, a screen capture of Dead Weight reviews on the iBooks Store. Full transparency, friends and family account for eight of those reviews, and naturally, none of my besties had anything but praise. (I’m sure half of them used it for kindling, but thanks for your positivity, guys!) Anyway, just as important are the reviews from real customers (AKA, people who aren’t related to me and don’t know me).
51 total reviews so far. 45 of them like or love it. Four of them rank it as somewhat mediocre. And two think it’s a pile of dog shit.
[Shrugs.]
Pretty good. Even if you lose the eight glowing reviews from friends and fam, those are solid numbers. Which, you know, is encouraging.
I always hear from authors that they’re filled with self doubt, and my response is yes, absolutely, one-hundred percent confirmed. We put this stuff out there and we hope somebody will like it as much as we do. But we never really know. And in the dark crevices of our minds, we’re somehow certain everybody’s going to despise every word.
These reviews — at least so far (and there’s that doubt again) — indicate that at least some folks are enjoying Dead Weight. Except, that is, for the single dickhead who gave it a one-star review.
I’m not mad. I swear.
A NOVEL CONCEPT 