350, work


I’ve written a book with Joseph Simmons (Yes!! That Joesph Simmons.) It’s all very exciting to me.

I will be launching an all or nothing Kickstarter for the book at the end of June. The Kickstarter will be a bare-bones campaign to fund the cost of printing and a slick looking cover. That will be created by Mister Simmons.

Rewards for pledging will look something like this….a live audio reading, printed version signed by the main character of the book, Kindle and PDF versions and fun notes about writing the book with Joseph Simmons.

The title and start of the campaign are still to be determined. So, expect to be bugged a few times the next few weeks.

If you know anything about me, you know that I like foul language, foul humor, and foul woman. You can expect the story to have a similar taste.

To hopefully get you excited (as I am) here is an excerpt from the book along with a cover concept.

This post was edited 01/10/2019

The bastards disabled the jets in my suit before tossing me out the door. Naturally, they kept the life support features activated so I’d be able to watch those little red numbers do their digital countdown. The bomb was floating in front of me. And there they are, counting down in that ominous way digital numbers like to.
I’m having a hard time taking my eyes off the bomb to watch the starship. The bomb is one of those compact thermal-nuclear jobs. You know the kind, right? Big flash, big boom, lots of fire and pain. Doesn’t disintegrate everything, just leaves a sloppy mess. So, if anyone ever passes this little spot of intergalactic real estate, they’ll find my bones and maybe a wallet with my favorite photo of mega-star Tom Cruise.
They pushed me out of the ship pretty hard. I’m watching it float off with the little navigation lights blinking. There, now the engines are powering up. And there go the secondaries, so they’re going straight to a warp jump. Makes sense, why would they want to be here when the nuke goes off?
The ship stretches and blinks out and the deafening silence of space gets a little quieter. I’d say lonely but I have a friend in the bomb. A temporary friend, but I’m not alone.
The ship’s gone and I’m floating in the big empty. One minute inside a starship, the next floating in infinite nothingness. I guess it’s infinite, I don’t know, I’ve never seen the edge of space.
I’m not going to lie to you, there’s something poetic about being left to die in space. The twinkling stars and the Nebula clouds and galaxy formations with the amazing colors. An endless abyss in every direction. I think I should be enjoying it more except I’m really fucking afraid of heights.
Hey! Don’t you judge, even the most macho of manly men, guys like me, and Tom Cruise, we have our hang-ups. Mine just happens to be heights. Heights and when food collects at the bottom of a sink drain. God damn, that grosses me out. You know what I’m talking about? It’s disgusting.
Okay, so, that handsome fella staring back at me in the reflection of my space helmet, the fella with the big smile on his face, is me: CAPTAIN BINGO DISCO.
All right settle down. I know my parents sucked at naming kids or maybe it was the writer wanting his ruggedly handsome, titular main character to have a ridiculous middle name. What you thought Bingo was my first name? Nope, Captain is. I used to think it was Awesome, but Awesome was my grandfather’s name. Awesome Disco. He’s a cool dude you would like him.
Anyway, my name isn’t what’s important here. Well maybe it is considering it’s the title of this book and it’s my name. Actually, I guess it really is important because my name is the title and when you strip everything away, I’m one of the main characters.
Another thing that might be important here is this: why the fuck am I smiling when a bomb is mere seconds from exploding in my face? Who smiles when they’re literally seconds away from dying in a soundless explosion in the middle of nowhere?
Did I not mention why I was out here with a bomb? In the excitement of being thrown out of a perfectly good starship by the balls, I must have forgotten. For you to understand my convoluted story that is probably chock-full of plot holes, we have to go back to the very beginning.

The maternity ward at Space Hooters™ Memorial Hospital was quiet from anxiety. The mother in room seven had been in labor for twenty hours already. Twenty angry hours. Babies in other rooms had been born but never cried because they were afraid of the mother-to-be in room seven. The anger in the air was so thick that even babies fresh out of their mothers knew to be quiet.
Sweet Susie Disco gripped the rails of her bed in the stark white hospital room and gritted her teeth. She was trying to suck her unborn baby back into her uterus as her body was going through the natural ritual of childbirth. The physical pain of being torn apart and the mental pain of actually having to raise the kid with her bastard husband had collided at precisely the wrong time.
Her personal crisis was slowing down the process but wouldn’t hold it off forever. No, like it or not that baby was coming out. Maybe, a little voice in her head said, maybe you should have thought about this when you had your pants down and were bent over that pool table watching el Sexy Robot Mayordomo on the television. It was a good episode, the season finale. You should have really been paying more attention.
“Oh shit! Why did I let this happen?! What the hell did I do in life to deserve this punishment? My family lived in a double-wide starship for Christ sake! I could have had any asshole I wanted!”

To Be Continued…

Very rough cover concept

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