David Hopkins's Blog, page 2

MY UNCLE EDWARD AND $12.3 MILLIONS UNITED STATES DOLLARS

couch

Just a few days ago, I received this email:

Dear David Hopkins,

I am Godfrey Lau a legal practitioner and  a personal attorney to (Edward Hopkins.) I regret the manner with which I am giving you this information, but I have no other option. I wish to notify you that My late client (Edward  Hopkins.)  died with his wife and only daughter while on holiday at Louisiana USA in the August 2005 Atlantic hurricane Katrina disaster, passed away and left no one as his next-of-kin. This is also a double edged scenario. It is no tussle as I have been mandated to provide the next of kin to my late client by the bank where he has long ago deposited the funds before the bank declares the funds  non-serviceable.

I am contacting you to assist in claiming my late client's funds because you bear the same last-name with my late client and that will make it very easy to work with you. The deceased had an account valued at about $12.3 Millions United States Dollars. We can make this claim legally without  problems, I am very sure of the success  of this transaction  if you adhere to my instructions.

If you are interested in this operation you should please forward to me your complete names, current home and cell phone numbers and mailing address to enable me furnish you with more details as regards this subject I wait to hear from you.

Best regards,
Godfrey  Lau Principal Partner.

Obviously, I couldn't let an opportunity like this just slip away. Here's the response I emailed to Godfrey Lau:

Dear Godfrey Lau, Principal Partner,

First of all, thank you. Thank you so much for getting in touch. It means a lot to me and my family that you've taken the time to resolve this matter regarding my Uncle Edward. Already, your email has given me much needed closure. I can't help but think that God is truly blessing our family through your caring act. I greatly appreciate it. While I am 100 percent committed to the success of this transaction and adhering to your instructions, I think there are a few things I need to get off my chest about your late client Edward Hopkins. Some of it may be a little unsettling. I apologize in advance — but I feel like in order to move forward, we should talk about the real Edward.

Edward Hopkins was an absolute son of a bitch.

I mean, he was a complete and total raging son of a bitch. I can barely put into words just how much this man has tormented my family with his thoroughly unpleasant son-of-a-bitch qualities. Just when you thought he was an okay guy, nope, the "son of a bitch" true self would return with a vengeance like you've never seen. Son of a bitch. Am I right? (You know what I mean. He was your client, so you had to know.)

Believe me, I am surprised to hear he died. I should probably speak better of the dead, but he was just a son. of. a. bitch. No other way around it. Here I thought he was in prison or homeless somewhere. Imagine my surprise to find out that he died in Louisiana USA during the Atlantic hurricane Katrina disaster, elven years ago! Has it been so long? Not only that, I find out he had a wife and daughter?! Thanks for inviting me to the wedding, asshole. Right? I feel bad for his wife and daughter—not only because they died in that horrible natural disaster but also because they had to live out their ill-fated existence in close proximity to that human disaster, my real uncle, Edward Hopkins.

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he faked his death—but I completely trust you. While he was a grade-A, heaping trash fire of a son of a bitch, only a true low life would use the Atlantic hurricane Katrina disaster to concoct a story about a dead family member. I know you know.

But let me tell you about my relationship with Edward:

1) Edward Hopkins would show up unannounced to my house—and always around dinner time.

He'd usually bring a girlfriend with him. At least, I assume she was a girlfriend. It was a different girl each time, but the girl always wore a tight outfit (usually with some animal print) that showed too much cleavage, and she smelled like cigarettes, urine, and baby powder. It was uncanny; it was horrible. He would never introduce "the friend." They would just sit down on the couch and start watching TV, often Full House. He'd grab a beer or something. Inevitably, we would ask if they wanted to stay for dinner. (I guess we're just kind-hearted, gullible people, right?) He'd say yes. She wouldn't say a word. They'd eat and then leave. And I'm not shitting you, he stained the couch with whatever putrid coat of sweat and grease covered him. To this day, there's a dark outline of where he sat. I should seriously toss that couch.

2) Edward Hopkins was kind of a racist.

He would never say something truly offensive, but he'd hint at some racist bullshit as if he was waiting for you to agree, so he could then plow into the real racist tirade he had prepared. I never took the bait. He'd always say "the blacks" or "the jews," never just "blacks" or "jews." For example: "The blacks had their chance, but I mean, look at Chicago." What does that even mean?!? What a son of a bitch! You see what I'm saying? He would also make up random racist statistics—which you knew weren't real—but if you challenged him on it, he'd throw a tantrum. "You know that two-thirds of the Mexicans don't even like tacos." See? Not full-on racist, but you felt like he was working up to something. After any conversation, you'd have to replay it in your head word-for-word just to make sure you didn't accidentally say something racist without meaning to. You just felt gross afterward. I'll say it: I'm glad he's gone.

3) Edward Hopkins was a cheapskate.

I'm sure you figured that out, with him always coming by for dinner. But it didn't end there. If you drove with Edward anywhere, he'd always ask if you could help him with gas money. Or he'd pretend like he left his wallet at home whenever we'd go bowling or to the movies. He'd never offer to pay for shit. Imagine my surprise to find out HE'S WORTH $12.3 MILLIONS UNITED STATES DOLLARS!!! Oh my god. I'm sorry, but that money is mine (plus interest) for every time I paid for one of his frito pies that he liked to eat at the bowling alley. He'd then get too drunk to drive home, so he'd crash on our couch, just farting the whole time. In his sleep, farting. Why do I still have that couch?!

A few other things about Edward...

4) Unapologetic porn addiction (more stains on the couch... we'll just leave it at that)

5) Could never hold down a job for more than a month (probably due to his porn addiction)

6) Unhealthy obsession with celebrity gossip surrounding Dave Coulier

7) Would sing along to songs he didn't know all the words to

8) Borrowed my DVD collection of America's Funniest People (seasons 1-3) and never returned them

9) Owns too many cats, doesn't clean up after them

10) Hoarder, obviously

11) Would burn trash in his backyard and I don't think he had a permit to do it

12) Read a lot of Sandra Brown—which is cool, I love Sandra Brown—but when you asked him about it, he pretended like he didn't know what you were talking about. (Bitch, I see your dog-eared copy of Love's Encore. That book is the bomb.)

13) The racist thing. It bears repeating.

14) When we played Monopoly, he'd never buy any real estate, but he'd then throw a fit when you busted his ass on Boardwalk or Park Place.

15) I think he would steal my trash. I don't know what that's about, but I'm fairly certain he did it.

16) Always quoting Dave Coulier like that shit's funny. ("Cut... it... out.") Ugh.

17) Left his chewing tobacco spit cup on the coffee table

18) Scratched his crotch a lot

19) He kept trying to make "fetch" happen. It's not going to happen.

20) I think he was in love with Dave Coulier.

Despite all this, I am glad you contacted me. Thank you for listening to my rant. I really needed that. And I will feel even better once I adhere to your instructions in order to get the $12.3 Millions United States Dollars. As I said before, I am 100 percent committed.

You know, this explains why, back in August 2005, I invited him to my house for a Full House marathon. He said he was going to be there. (I hadn't seen him in a while.) He also said he has some important news to share, but then he never showed up. I thought it was Edward being Edward. But I guess he died in the August 2005 Atlantic hurricane Katrina disaster, just like you said.

It was a shame because I had also invited my friend from Nigeria to the TV watch party (TGIF!). Unfortunately, he wasn't able to make it either. He got arrested a few days earlier. Turns out—and I probably shouldn't tell you this—that he's a prince! Dude is filthy rich. He has about $200 Millions United States Dollars, but it's all tied up in a bank account that he can't access. However, using your lawyer abilities, if you were able to get some of Edward's money, just a portion of it, maybe $2000 United States Dollars, we'd be able to bribe the right people to get that money. My Nigerian friend says he'll split it with us 50/50/50. We'd have to use your money upfront (as a money order or cashier's check sent to my P.O. box) because no one would be able to trace it. Just a thought. Your call. Great opportunity.

I wait to hear from you.

Sincerely your new friend,

David Hopkins United States

P.S. I have a couch that I don't want anymore. You interested?

Hopefully, I hear back from Godfrey Lau soon. If so, I will post an update. Do the right thing, Godfrey. Do the right thing.

A NICE TALK WITH THE DO-DADS

My good friend Jeff Elden (and company) invited me to jump on the Do-Dads podcast. We talked about life, pop culture, family, writing, and inane dinner party conversations. I promise I tried my darnedest to be entertaining and insightful.

"On a very special Do-Dads David Hopkins (Emily Edison, Karma Inc., Short Story of the Month Club, The Wild and Wayward Tales of Tammi True) teaches us how having a good work ethic can make all of our dreams come true." Listen here.

THE IMPORTANCE OF ART AND LITERATURE DURING A TRAGEDY

During a tragedy, I try to stay away from Facebook. Some of my friends (who are wonderful, kind, and intelligent people) just start posting stuff that puts me on edge. Then I try to figure out why I'm on edge, and then I start playing the game Who-I-Most-Agree-With-and-Why, and it really distracts me from the actually tragedy.
Finally, it ends with a blog post. Like this one.

On Friday, Paris was attacked by terrorists. Before that, terrorists also attacked Beirut. Horrible. Terrible. Heartbreaking.

Then, I see people on Facebook complaining that more people are upset about Paris and didn't even know (or care) about Beirut. The implicit judgment: You hypocrite. And some astute people are able to point out tragedies that have taken place all over the world — Peshawar, Qasoor, Karachi, Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, Egypt, Serbia, Croatia, Boko Haram, Darfur, Palestine, and Israel. Let's also not forget the atrocities happening in Central and South America. The implicit judgment: Do your homework, you hypocrite.

It's true. The tragedy in Paris hit me the hardest. Is it because I think French lives are more important than the lives of people elsewhere? Not at all. I want to care about all tragedies in equal measure, but I don't, and I don't think you do either. I think it comes down to how close we are to the tragedy.

I haven't done a lot of international traveling in my life. I've been to Russia, and I've been to Mexico, and that's about it. But I've watched movies by Francois Truffaut. And I adore them. I've seen Jean-Pierre Jeunet's Amelie and A Very Long Engagement several times, not to mention other great French films. I've read Monsieur Jean by Dupuy and Berberian — and countless other French graphic novels. Art and literature put me in closer proximity to that place. Paris, a place I've never visited, feels alive through decades worth of exposure to great French artists.

Why do I care about Iran? I read Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi.
Why do I care about Palestine? I read Palestine by Joe Sacco.
Why do I care about Israel? I read Exit Wounds by Rutu Modan.

Let's not make this about us. You aren't a horrible person because you're fond of the places closest to you. And for someone who hasn't had the means to travel as much as he'd like, the only way I can connect to these places is through art and literature. On some level, my view of England has been shaped by Doctor Who and Harry Potter. Japan? Lots and lots of manga, Kurosawa, and Miyazaki. Just as I'm sure that the world sees New York City as the place where Marvel super heroes live, and Texas will always be the home of westerns and John Wayne.

Instead of telling others how they are supposed to feel about a tragedy, how about sharing with them some of your favorite art and literature from those other countries? The ones we habitually and shamefully skip over. I know there's something I'm missing out on, and you have an opportunity to let me in on the treasures of those other cultures. Then it becomes a real place.

As you might guess, I think the best place to start is with translated works. I'm fond of comic books and graphic novels from other countries. First Second has a good collection. And if you like prose novels, Deep Vellum is doing some great work.

Yes, I realize the issue is bigger and more substantial than "I haven't seen any great movies about Syria recently." Does the U.S. news media do a good job covering international events fairly and in equal measure? Of course not. However, let's save that frustration for where and when it's due. If we want to keep the conversation positive and productive, it starts with introducing people to new places and new people, not by policing how we respond to tragedy.

(For further reading: "Tragedy hipsters" and the #alllivesmatter-ification of grief https://storify.com/JamilesLartey/on-fff)

CAKE AND PROSE: A RECAP

Thank you so much to everyone who showed up for CAKE AND PROSE: A BOOK RELEASE CELEBRATION. The evening offered a beautiful mix of art—literature, theater, and music. The Margo Jones was the perfect venue, and we had the perfect audience: friends, friends of friends, and a few delightful strangers. It was a privilege to hear my stories read by such talented actors, providing a new perspective on something so familiar. Plus, Greg Schroeder. The guy does not disappoint. He's an incredible musician and an all-around badass.
I recorded the event. It's not a professional recording—just me with my trusty Sony digital recorder—but it's all there, every story and every song. Enjoy!

Cake and Prose (1 hour, 37 minutes)

[audio mp3="http://thatdavidhopkins.com/wp-conten...]



This event benefited the Birthday Party Project. All money collected at the door went to support their efforts to bring joy to homeless children through the magic of birthday parties. Last Friday, we raised enough money to provide a party for 75 kids. If you choose to listen to the audio, please consider donating a few dollars.

Below, I've posted my introductions for each segment. I wrote everything out word-for-word, for fear that I'd ramble, but then I'd occasionally go "off script" anyway.

Introduction: It Might Be Worth Something

This is what happens when the Wild Detectives bookstore doesn’t respond to my emails. I inquired about doing a signing there to promote my short story collection, because I love that place. I never heard back from them. So I thought, fine, I’m an independent author. I’ll throw my own party. I asked my friend Brad McEntire for some guidance. Brad is a man of the theater. I greatly admire him for his work with the Audacity Theater Lab and the Dallas Solo Fest. We brought two other talented actors on board, Maryam Baig and Bryan Pitts. Greg Schroeder is also here tonight to perform a few songs. He’s an amazing songwriter, one of my favorite local artists, who tells these incredible stories, peering out through the verses. And then, Sugar Bee Sweets Bakery offered to provide the cake. Next thing you know, we have something bigger than a book signing.

Book signings are weird anyway. I’ve done them before, and I always grimace when someone has me sign a book, then he or she waves it in front of me and say, “Who knows? It might be worth something someday.”

It really is the worst possible thing you can say to someone about a book they wrote. “It might be worth something, someday.”

Because that’s what I’m thinking while I’m writing it: It might be worth something. Just maybe. Someday.

There comes a moment in the creative process where you realize that it is worth something. It’s worth something to you. These stories take on a life of their own, and you have to finish, because there are fictional lives at stake. The stories are yearning to live, to be free. There is life in the good fiction, in good art, and you feel its burden.

The stories we’re sharing tonight are about life yearning to be free, that life is temporary and so it is precious, that choices shape our lives and that indecision is a kind of death. We choose who we love and, at the same time, we find ourselves so compelled to love that it carries the gasp, the hush of inevitability. Tonight, we’re celebrating what’s good in life. Stories, music, cake, and love.

Shopping Mall at the End of the World

I wrote this story for D Magazine. It’s one of my favorite pieces. It’s about apocalypse. A popular subject, one of my favorites. In fact, the novel I’m working on is called, “Wear Chainmail to the Apocalypse.” (Good advice by the way.) The apocalypse refers to a final destruction. The word also means to “uncover” or “reveal.” In a sense, all good stories are apocalyptic—in both senses of the word.

In stories, we condense the world down to a few people.

For instance, in Moby Dick, our whole world is reduced to a small boat on a great sea, the remnants, a small wandering tribe. In the journey, we uncover what it means to be desperate, afraid, and heroic. Great Gatsby is a grand party at the end of the world. Huck Finn is about two people searching for freedom while the society around them descends into madness.

This story is about the apocalypse through the eyes of a mall. I present “Shopping Mall at the End of the World” as read by Brad McEntire.

If You Could Be

Usually, an author attempts to endear himself or herself to an audience. However, I’m going to share one of the worst things I don’t remember doing. Let me explain. I dated a girl briefly when I was in high school. But I can’t remember what year it was. I was definitely old enough to drive, but it couldn’t have been my junior or senior year, because I was dating a girl named Susan at that time. So, maybe my sophomore year? I had a policy of rarely dating girls from my school because I found that girls at other schools had no idea how uncool I was.

This girl who I’m fairly certain was my girlfriend, but I don’t remember her name, we went out on a few dates, and here’s the thing: I don’t remember breaking up with her or her breaking up with me. I think I just stopped calling her, but not as a conscious decision. I literally, and I don’t even know how this is possible, I literally forgot I had a girlfriend. She was pretty. I liked her. We had similar interests, but somehow she disappeared.

How does that happen? Sometimes people slip away. In part, that’s what this story is about. “If You Could Be” as read by Bryan Pitts.

Escaping Venus Texas

This next story actually started as part of a comic book series that never found an artist or a publisher. A few years ago, I counted up what I’ve written in comics. 2,000 pages. Half has been published in some form. Half has never seen light of day. (Symmetry!) This story was in the latter pile. It was a subplot that I decided I could rewrite as a short story. It may be the most intentionally unromantic story ever.

I’ve grown tired of stories where the girl ends up with the guy, and that’s a suitable conclusion to her story. At the same time, I wanted to acknowledge there is something special about a lifelong commitment to another person. So I decided to tell two stories about two women, one who left and one who stayed.

I present “Escaping Venus Texas” as read by Maryam Baig.

Ladies and gentlemen, Greg Schroeder...

All photos by April Hopkins.

   

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PANEL DISCUSSION AT DOWNTOWN DALLAS LIBRARY

I've been invited to participate in a panel discussion next Thursday at the J. Erik Jonsson Central Library in Downtown Dallas. The title of the event is Mean Business: Women in Comics. Heather Lowe, manager of the fine arts division, will be moderating it.
Thursday, April 9, 2015 at 6:30 p.m.
J. Erik Jonsson Central Library
1515 Young St., Dallas, TX 75201
4th Floor Performance Space

The four guests are:
Iris Bechtol, Gallery Director and Adjunct Professor of Art at Eastfield College in Mesquite, TX
Keith Colvin, owner of Keith’s Comics
Taffeta Darling, media personality and host of the webshow “Fangirls”
David Hopkins, writer, graphic novelist and co-host of Fanboy Radio’s “Indie Show”

It's not the first time I've spoken about women's issues in comics. But now, fortunately, I have a moderator and three other people to bounce around ideas. It should be a great discussion. If you're the kind of person who likes to discuss women in comics, welcome! We'll be on the fourth floor.

CAKE AND PROSE: A BOOK RELEASE CELEBRATION

Cake and Prose is a unique presentation of essays, short stories, and music. There will be readings from WE MISS ALL THE GREAT PARTIES, performed by local actors (Brad McEntire, Bryan Pitts, and Maryam Baig), and live music by the talented Greg Schroeder.

Plus, there will be cake. Let's not forget the cake.

The details:

The event will be on Friday, May 1st at the historic Margo Jones Theatre in Fair Park.
Admission is a pay-what-you-can donation to The Birthday Party Project, cash or check accepted. It's a wonderful non-profit that brings joy to homeless children throughout the Dallas area.
Cake generously provided by Sugar Bee Sweets Bakery in Arlington. They have the best cakes in North Texas. Absolutely delicious.
The event starts at 7:30 and will probably last about two hours.
Parking isn't terribly complicated at Fair Park, but you will probably need this webpage to guide you.
Copies of WE MISS ALL THE GREAT PARTIES will be available for sale (both paperback and hardcover).

Facebook event page at:
https://www.facebook.com/events/1390010577987158/
If you can't see the event page, it probably means you need someone to invite you. (Facebook is weird.) Just post a comment or send me an email, I'll add you to the list. Either way, please come. Facebook is not necessary for your attendance or your acceptance in this life.

Why the hoopla?

It took way too long to get this damn short story collection finished. Now I want to celebrate and sign some books. I'm knee-deep working on my novel, with no end in sight, and it's my last hurrah before I have to go back into hiding. And yes, May 1st is also my birthday. But if you think I'm the kind of person to host an event on this scale, just so I can force my friends to listen to my stories, as performed by actors, to drag some musician I greatly admire across north Texas to play some music, then hand out cake, all as a pretense to have a kick-ass birthday party, then you sir (or ma'am) might be on to something.

In truth, I wanted to have this event sooner, but May 1st was available and it kinda fit into the whole theme ("We miss all the great parties"). It was the birthday aspect that made me want to donate all the money raised at the door to The Birthday Party Project. Kennedy and I volunteered for them about two years ago, and ever since I've been enamored by their mission. It's possible, but not confirmed, that the executive director of the organization will say a few words at the beginning. I emailed them about this project a few weeks ago, and they were very excited.

A huge thank you to Brad McEntire for helping me plan everything. As a man of the theatre, he's been an invaluable sounding board and resource to make sure the event will kick ass.

So, let's pack the Margo Jones. It has a capacity for about eighty people. And maybe we could fit a few more in? All are welcome. We can celebrate the good things in life: stories, music, love and compassion, friendship, and cake. Let's not forget the cake.

Any other questions? Feel free to post a comment below.

A FEW THOUGHTS ON MOBY DICK

This weekend, I finished Moby Dick (Or, the Whale). D.H. Lawrence called it "one of the strangest and most wonderful books in the world." And I'd have to agree. It is truly strange, even by today's standards. At first, I liked the book, then I hated it, and then finally I loved it. The book has an odd charm that isn't fully realized until you get to those last chapters.
The premise is absurd: A captain seeks revenge against one particular whale. The intermingled drama and comedy is positively Shakespearean. Certain scenes are terrifying and surreal, such as Captain Ahab's speech after his harpoon glows from the lightning strike. The tension between Starbuck and Ahab is fascinating. Like a classic tragedy, the ending is both inevitable, predictable, and still shocking. And yet, the novel is wrapped in the tedious journalistic details of the whaling industry in the 1800s.

Moby Dick would be an easy novel to abridge. Simply take out all those chapters that go into explaining everything you never wanted to know about the genus and species of whales, the anatomy of whales, how different countries hunt whales, maritime whaling law, the mythic and symbolic role of the color "white," and how whale oil is stored and shipped. However, there's something about these chapters that contribute vitally to the whole.

One of the greatest treasures within Moby Dick is the hidden wisdom--thoughts on life and death, faith and disillusion, love and loss. My favorite passage, which captures all of it in one heartbreaking bundle, might be:

There is no steady unretracing progress in this life; we do not advance through fixed gradations, and at the last one pause: - through infancy's unconscious spell, boyhood's thoughtless faith, adolescence' doubt (the common doom), then scepticism, then disbelief, resting at last in manhood's pondering repose of If. But once gone through, we trace the round again; and are infants, boys, and men, and Ifs eternally. Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more? In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary? Where is the foundling's father hidden? Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, and we must there to learn it.

Which ties beautifully to the very last sentence of the epilogue:

It was the devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan.

Note the connection to the words "retracing" and "orphan," separated by several chapters but absolutely not an accident.

Somewhere in the middle of this novel, I swore I would read Moby Dick only once--and then be done with the stupid thing. Now, I'm a little anxious to return to the beginning and read again. Maybe next year.

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HOW A TV SITCOM TRIGGERED THE DOWNFALL OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION

Last Friday, I spoke at Union, a spiffy coffee house in Dallas that I'm fairly certain is a church in disguise. That's a thing, isn't it? Churches pretending to be coffee houses. This one is more subtle than most. The pastor is a good guy. (He calls himself a "community curator"... what does that even mean?) The place is cool. And Union certainly beats going to Starbucks. If you go, I doubt anyone would start asking you about the sorry-ass-state of your immortal soul. You're safe.
Anyways. Union invited some fellows from D Academy to speak at its Naked Stage series. All of it was to promote the Big D Reads event in April. I was one of the speakers. Most people spoke extemporaneously and did a wonderful job. However, I wanted to prepare a written essay that I could share—a call to arms against anti-intellectualism in America.

D Magazine's Frontburner blog shared my essay. And now, I'm sharing it with you.

I want to discuss a popular TV show my wife and I have been binge-watching on Netflix. It’s the story of a family man, a man of science, a genius who fell in with the wrong crowd. He slowly descends into madness and desperation, lead by his own egotism. With one mishap after another, he becomes a monster. I’m talking, of course, about Friends and its tragic hero, Ross Geller. Read more →

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"WE MISS ALL THE GREAT PARTIES" AVAILABLE ON AMAZON

My short story collection — WE MISS ALL THE GREAT PARTIES — is now available on Amazon, both paperback and Kindle ebook editions. Support the indie author in your life (that would be me).
You'll be surprised. Indie authors look and sound like real authors, except they get a larger percentage of the sales revenue! It's amazing.

Actually, I don't know if this is true. However, I do know that I'm not handing over a percentage of my book's revenue to a publisher to tell a distributor that I'm good enough for them to list my book, and I'm not paying an agent 10% to tell the publisher that I'm good enough for them to read. And I'm not paying a publicist to tell readers that my book is worth their time. I'm just giving a huge chunk to Amazon, and they're selling my book.

Welcome to the outland territories of American literature. I can't promise you I will ever be legit. But I won't stop writing, and rudely shoving it in your face. Thus, we're at an impasse. You will simply have to take a chance on my book. It's scary. It's reckless.

http://amzn.to/1DaYueW

The book contains 10 stories about odd encounters and personal exploration. More specifically:

A young man in search of meaning connects with his dead girlfriend's son. A group of men in Wisconsin start a poetry group while waiting for their favorite bar to be rebuilt. A woman discovers her husband has been hiding a secret. He also wants to rob a bank. A basketball player continually relives the last six seconds of his worst game. An amateur chess player encounters greatness. A girl attempts to leave a small town. But before she goes, she learns the story of one who stayed.

These stories span a variety of genres, technical approaches, and perspectives--one story is a parody, another is written entirely as a series of conversations, one story is a family melodrama, another is a contemplation of pro sports and time travel.

This 10-month project, which turned into a two-year project, represents what I love most about short stories: the opportunity to experiment and play, to expand a condensed world.

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01.29.10 - SPIRITS INTERVIEW

Awhile ago, my friend Kyle Kondas and I met at Uptown Bar to discuss my work in comics. It's part of his SPIRITS video series (click here for more details).


There was a frame/rate issue. The audio is slightly off in a few areas, but all in all, a good interview. I talk a lot and drink my beer.