A Year in Reading 2020

 It's time to reflect on my year in books for 2020.  It has become my annual tradition to spotlight my noteable reads for the past year. I think it's a fun way to reflect on the best material I've had the honor of reading instead of making some inaccurate, ever changing and God forbid, controversial ranked list.

I like to present those books that really stood out to me in the past year. I read forty books this year, one less than last year. The following are the books that have left an impact for one reason or another. They are presented in chronological order as I read throughout the year. I hope you will be inspired to check out any on this list that you haven't and discover those you wouldn't have ever considered.

And now, my most notable reads of 2020:

• Florida Man by Mike Baron (2020) Wolfpack Publishing: This one suffered from a lack of direction. Despite the fact that the whole time I was reading this book I never understood the plot, it was still an insane, crazy ride of a read. I decided the plot was the title, the plot is Florida Man and that's good enough and different enough to earn a place on my list.

• The Hanover Block by Gregor Xane (2014) New Dollar Pulp: Look at that cover! If that cover alone doesn't make you want to pick up this book and find out what the hell that thing is all about then perhaps picking up the book and finding out what the hell that thing is all about will make you want to pick up the book to find out what the hell that thing is all about. And, I assure you, that thing on the cover is in the book and the book is full of mystery and intrigue. Its a book about keeping secrets and the biggest secret is that thing on the cover.

• We Don't Talk About Her by Andersen Prunty (2018) Atlatl Press: A story about the grass is always greener expect when it isn't. This one turns, flips, swerves and rolls over, keeping you on your toes. The truest meaning of a page-turner. My only complaint that is was too short. I wanted not to talk about her more, more, more!

• Mud Season by Justin Grimbol (2017) Atlatl Press:  Justin Grimbol has become a perennial fixture on my most notable book of the year lists. This year I read Mud Season, which continues the lovable poetry/prose styling that only Justin can seem to write. Not-so-obvious slices of life told beautifully and whimsically. There's nothing not to love about Justin Grimbol's work. Any of it.

• 
  The Girl Next Door by Jack Ketchum (1989) 47North:  I admit it. I didn't read The Girl Next Door until 2020. I feel like the member of some unfortunate club of people who've experienced this book. And, it is an experience. It felt real, too real. I felt as if by the very act of reading further I was causing the poor girl in this book to go through what she'd been through many times before in many other reader's minds. Scary. Truly, scary.

• 
  The Sea Was Angry by Armand Rosamilia (2020) Severed Press:  The Sea was Angry. The Sea was Pissed. The Sea was Irate. The Sea was Out to Get Us. The Sea was Relentless. Great cover. Wicked concept. Action packed dark thriller. Mindless fun.

• The Ballad of Ricky Risotto by Marc Cavella (2020) Belle Devereaux Publishing :  Marc Cavella came out of left-field for me. A total stranger whom I interviewed on my podcast (with focus on another of his books.) Marc talked about this book which was about to come out so when it was released I picked it up. The Ballad of Ricky Risotto was underpromised and overdelivered. Great, solid story about a fiction wrestling federation that takes place in the late 70s/early 80s right when a certain real wrestling federation was about to explode onto the world stage.

•  F250 by Bud Smith (2014) Piscataway House: I've been orbiting around Bud Smith for quite some time but a different book of his entirely. Then, I heard a glowing review for F250 on a book discussion show and decided I would start here. Bud Smith is a gem. This is what I like to call blue collar fiction. Its a character study of a guy working through life told by a guy who works blue collar jobs and writes on his iPhone about blue collar life.

• Wormwood by Tim Meyer & Chad Lutzke (2020) Thunderstorm Books/Silver Shamrock: You can expect nothing less than excellent story telling from each of these authors. Put them together and you are sure to get something extraordinary. And that is the result with their collaborative effort, Wormwood. Initially released as a limited edition paperback by Thunderstorm Books via Night Worms and subsequently released as ebook and paperback from Silver Shamrock. 
  
  

Honorable mentions for 2020 include: DEAD HIGHWAY by J.C. Walsh, a balls to the wall cosmic horror that crosses Fast and Furious with The Call of Cthulhu. KUMQUAT by Jeff Strand, his stand-out romantic comedy that is (I shit you not) a romantic comedy, no horror here just Jennifer Aniston level fun! There was also BRIDES OF HANOVER BLOCK by Gregor Xane that was just as good as the first book but I didn't want to include two books of the same series on the list. Lastly, DON'T SMELL THE FLOWERS THEY WANT TO STEAL YOUR BONES by Duncan Bradshaw, one of my favorite Bizarro reads of the year that fell just shy of making the most notable list.

This year, I rated four different books at 5 stars. That up from just one in 2019. Overall, it felt like a pretty good year in reading. Great stories are what helped keep our minds off the world outside the pages. I'm already looking forward to reading tons more potentially great books in 2021. Lord knows I have enough on the shelves (physical and digital alike) to keep me reading for many years to come. 

You can check out the complete list of the forty books I read on Goodreads.
You can check out my notable books read from 2019 HERE.

SHOCKER Free-4-All

SHOCKER (book 1 of the Shocker Trilogy) is FREE on Kindle eBook now through December 31st, 2020.

SHOCKER is the horror humor story of a prisoner, a religious idol, monsters and mayhem. 

Vito "The Shocker" Shocketti has been locked away in Rahway State Penitentiary for twenty years of his life sentence. In that time not one cellmate has endured being quartered with him for very long. That all changes when a young kid, Manny "Dirty" Sanchez, gets put with The Shocker. 

A star struck Manny begs "The Shocker" to tell him his legendary story of crime and murder. Vito decides to unload on the kid, who becomes more and more engrossed in The Shocker's tales of living life on the edge in the seedy heavy metal club scene in 1980's New Jersey.

Here's what people have said about SHOCKER:

"Oh my gawd!" -a Goodreads reviewer

"Pure, family-friendly fun." -some guy named Nick

"I will rot in purgatory but this story was so hilarious (to me) in all the right ways that telling of murder can be." -an Amazon reviewer

"Cool cover, too bad I don't read." -some dude at a horror convention, he may have been wearing a Phish shirt

Bottom line, pick up Shocker now for free or Baby Jesus will be very disappointed in you.

The Obituaries

I have two new Deaths to announce today.

First, A Death in Toledo, will be released on January 15th, 2021. You can reserve your Kindle Edition copy for only 99 cents now through January 14th. A Death in Toledo is a new book in the world first created in Death Gets a Book. This is not Death Gets a Book Part 2. A Death in Toledo is an all new story featuring all new Grim Reapers. There's vampires, edge lords, goths, punks, old people, Bon Jovi and much more crammed into this new dark horror comedy.

"Lawrence Nurdle fancies himself a Goth Edgelord. His girlfriend isn't impressed. To convince her he's the edgiest guy in Toledo, Ohio he joins a coven of vampires. The vampires kill Lawrence.

Death just wants to enjoy a ballgame. But Death has a job to do and must collect the soul of Lawrence Nurdle. There's just one problem. Death can only collect the souls of the dead and Lawrence is now undead, like the rest of the vampires."

If you enjoyed Death Gets a Book you're going to dig A Death in Toledo. If you've not read Death Gets a Book, no worries, A Death in Toledo stands on its own merit and is accessible for anyone who hasn't yet immersed themselves into my wild world of Grim Reapers.

A Death in Toledo will be available in Kindle eBook and paperback as well as available to subscribers of Kindle Unlimited on January 15th, 2021.

The second Death I need to announce is Death Gets A Book is currently in production to become an audiobook! That's right, I'm taking the plunge into the audiobook world with my first release, Death Gets a Book. I'm excited to get this out to the world. I'm working with a great narrator that is excited to make the world of Death Gets a Book come to life in your head. 

Details on the release of the audiobook version of Death Gets A Book are sparse at the moment. Production is expected to be completed mid-January. As I understand it, there are some delays on Audible's end but I am hoping for a release in February or March if all goes well. Stay tuned for more details as they become available.

That Time I Hung Out With A Rock Star - Ratt Edition

I lived some prime years of my life through the decadent age of hard rock and heavy metal that dominated the music landscape in the 1980's. It was an incredible time. The music was loud, the clothing was loud and the hair went all the way to 11. Anything worth doing was worth overdoing.

I followed those bands with the big hair and the black leather and the flashy guitars like they were a religion. I bought the rock magazines and studied the articles. I tore the glossy photos from the rags and plastered the walls of my bedroom with them. I bought cheap mall knockoff rock star clothing and frequented every local music store dreaming of the day I would be able to afford a sexy looking $700 guitar that would make women melt without even playing a single note.

My dedication to the music, the bands and the scene led me on many great adventures. I frequently sought out the bands when they were in town. I would stalk their tour buses and wait for the opportunity to hang out with anyone from the band.

It worked many, many times and I have these stories to tell. Like this one time when I hung out with the guys from Ratt.

Way back in 1987, Ratt were infesting Mtv with videos for their latest release, Dancing Undercover and they were crisscrossing the nation, invading our privacy on the Dancing Undercover World Tour. I scored a backstage pass to the show when they rolled through town.

There are legendary tales of partying and debauchery from ever 80’s rock band’s back stage area. Motley Crue’s were so infamous, they made a movie out of it. Def Leppard have infamous stories of what went on under their stage-in-the-round. But I can assure you, what I encountered backstage at the Ratt show can not be topped.

Poison opened up the show and they kicked ass. They were definitely on the precipice of being the next great rock band. I was sure they’d be headliners next time I saw them. But when Ratt took the stage, they blew the crowd away. Juan Croucier slithered around the stage as he thumped out some dirty bass lines. Bobby Blotzer made the arena thunder behind his massive drum kit. The twin gun fire of Robin Crosby and Warren DeMartini shook the crowd with their thunderous guitars and Stephen Pearcy screeched like a nest full of rats on vocals.

For ninety minutes, Ratt put on one of the most energetic shows I’d ever been to, before or since. I was left as sweaty and spent as the band looked when they took their final bow and retired backstage for the party that was to come.

As most of the crowd of over thirty thousand Ratt fans funneled out of the arena, I went in search of the door to the backstage area. I was a bit tricky. I had to go in the opposite direction everyone else was headed. Eventually, I found my way to the floor level of the arena and flashed by laminated backstage beauty to a few security guards. They ushered me forward to another set of doors deep in the underbelly of the venue.

There I came face to face with the first line of Ratt’s defences. Two burly body guards stood in my path to backstage party glory. I flashed my pass. They didn’t budge. I looked my pass over, had I been sold a fake? I had no way to know. It looked real.

Two girls came up behind me. They wore the tightest, lowest-cut, neon pink and green mini skirts I’d ever seen in my life, before or since. The guards parted ways for them, barely checking their passes. I moved in behind the girls. The guards didn’t stop me.

The world behind the portal to the mythical backstage area gave way to what had to have been the best party in the world happening at that moment. The place was wall to wall hair. Guys and girls alike wore might helmets of hair that cascaded over their shoulders and down their backs almost as far down as their hair was teased up. The pants were tight, the skirts were short, the heels were high and so were most of the people back stage.

Everyone held a cup. There were groups mingling. There was a pent up energy in the air. Everyone was giddy, waiting for the members of Ratt to appear. They were, no doubt, in the showers right now, playing grab ass, guzzing shower beers and partying like naked rock stars. A bevvy of naked beauties were sure to have been sponging the fellas down.

I peeled off from the two girls I followed in. They had no interest in me, they weren’t worth pursuing. Instead, I found a giant tub filled with ice and beer. I plucked a bottle loose of it’s icy chamber, twisted off the cap and took a slug. Life was good.

I paid no mind to what brand of beer I grabbed but, maybe I should have. After a few seconds my head began to swirl. I shouldn’t have been catching a buzz off one pull. I wiped my arm across my eyes and blinked, trying to clear the vertigo. I took a look at the label on the bottle. All it said was, DRINK ME, in black letters on a plain white label.

Curious.

Fuck it. The swirl had me feeling fine if only just a little light headed, so I took another pull. This stuff kicked because the whole room began to spin not long after the second swig. I tattered about, planting my feet, trying to maintain my balance like I was on board a ship in a storm.

People around me began to look at me funny. I smiled at them. They looked funny to me too. They stretched and compressed like they were made of rubber bands. I felt a hand steady me by my elbow.

I said, “Thank you,” without turning my head to look at my would-be hero.

My rescuer whispered in my ear, “come with me.” Another hand was placed at my back.

I did. He led me away from the party. The room spun but I felt grounded by the hand guiding me along by my elbow and gentle push from my back. Like I was being guided along chaotic currents by a small trolling motor.

I was brought to another set of door. Another set of big bodyguards blocked the way. They stretched and shrunk like everyone else at the party. I laughed at them. They parted to the sides and the doors opened. I was shoved inside.

The doors closed behind me.

In front of me was a long banquet table. Ridiculously long, if you ask me. Did you ask me? You shouldn’t ask me, I was drunk. Or drugged. Either way, that table was fucking long.

At the end of the table closest to me, a person sat in a heavy wooden chair. That person had long, luxurious blonde hair. They were tall. I could tell even though they were sitting down.

I moved forward to see who was sitting there.

Another person danced past me from behind. He dipped a shoulder and side stepped, brought his feet together (heel to heel, never crossing them) and dipped his shoulder the other way. He smiled at me like a joker as he passed in this manner. It was Juan Croucier, the bass player.

Juan sidestepped and high stepped to a chair along the long part of the banquet table. I moved to the opposite side of the table Juan sat and chose a seat two down from the tall blonde-haired person. As I sat, I looked to my host. It was Robin Crosby.

Somehow I’d been ushered into a dinner party with some members of Ratt?

“Hello, Mr. Crosby. Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

Robin looked at me steely eyed. He crooked one eye brow and hoisted one of his endless legs up on the chair. He reclined a bit, resting his heel on the seat of the chair. He threw his head back and laughed.

“This isn’t a dinner party! This is a tea party.” He threw his arms to the table for me to notice the banquet that had been laid out.

There were indeed tea cups set at ever seat. There were several trays of cookies, biscuits, pastries and little sandwiches. There were porcelain bowls and pitchers. Robin reached for the lid on one of the bowls near him and lifted it, “sugar?”

“Ahh, no I’m not really a tea guy.” I was disappointed. I came to party with a legendary L.A. rock band and now I was stuck at tea time with the rhythm section.

“Sugar,” Robin repeated. No, demanded.

“I’m good man. Maybe I’ll just go back outside and grab another beer. Sorry for bothering you guys.” I said, getting up to leave.

From behind, I was pushed toward Robin. Stern hands held me down near him and his sugar bowl. I glanced over my shoulder. The drummer, Bobby Blotzer, was manhandling me.

“Sugar.” Robin insisted.

I looked at the bowl. It said “Eat Me” etched by a careful hand on the side. If it was sugar, it was the powdered kind.

Curious.

Robin fished the small serving spoon that sat in the sugar and put it to my nose. Bobby Blotzer gave me an urgent shove toward the spoon. I snorted the sweets being foisted upon me.

My head spun out of control once again. Blotzer dropped me into the chair next to Robin and sat in the seat I sat in originally.

I looked at Robin. He spun round and round but didn’t move anywhere at the same time. My heart thumped hard in my chest. I would have worried that it would explode had I not felt so fucking happy at the same time.

Thunderous laughter erupted from the far end of the table.

I looked that way and saw a giant rat seated at the head of the table. It was a lady rat. I think. If she was a lady, she was an old lady.

The rat lady wore a flowery, old lady dress complete with oversized pearl necklace and earrings. As a proper lady at any banquet should, the old rat lady also wore white silk gloves. I knew she was a rat lady because of the large rat head that sat upon her head. But, below the snout of the rat was the wrinkled face of a human. A human whose face was familiar to me somehow.

“Uncle Milt! Welcome to our lovely tea party.” Robin stood and bowed toward the old rat lady.

Uncle Milt? Oh shit! Milton Berle! This was crazy.

“Who’s coming next? That mad hatter?” I quipped in my state of delirium.

“Not Mad Hatter,” Milton Berle said in a not-very-feminine vocal impression, “the Mad Ratter.”

“He’s quite mad you know.” Robin said from the other end of the table.

Juan Croucier laughed like they were Uncle Milt and Robin Crosby had just told the funniest joke. Was it possible he was this Mad Ratter? He sure acted the part.

Bobby Blotzer grabbed a fine pewter tea kettle from the table like it was a pitcher of ice cold beer. He poured off tea into the cup in front of me until it spilled over and moved along over pouring tea into Robin’s cup, then Juan’s and finally Uncle Miltie the Ratt Queen’s. Then he raised the kettle over his head and poured hot tea into his mouth until it ran over his gaping maw, running down his neck and beaded down over his tour leathers.

“He’s quite mad you know.” Robin said, raising his tea cup up to Bobby as a toast to his madness.

I raised my cup to join in the toast. I noticed the side of the cup said, “DRINK ME.” I did as it instructed. I caught a buzz off the sip I took right away. The table and everyone around it stretched and shrunk and spun round and round in my vision.

Curious.

“We need some entertainment, don’t you think Robin?” Uncle Militie the Ratt Queen asked.

“Oh yes, the Mad Ratter won’t come unless we provide entertainment for the good man.” Robin said with elegance and grace.

There was a loud bang from above. Then another. And another. Then the ceiling above the table cracked and crumbled. A body fell through the hole in the ceiling onto the table. I jumped up and away from the plume of drywall dust, shocked and aghast.

It was Warren DeMartini, the other guitarist from Ratt. He was unharmed from the fall. He landed like he was Tom Cruise in some Mission Impossible movie, crouched down on one knee and his guitar strapped around his neck. Before I could process what had even happened, Warren broke into a wicked guitar solo.

Warren's licks were dizzying. The high squeals and manic scale runs dizzied my head. His solo work was as intoxicating and everything I ate or drank tonight.

Curious.

Robin Crosby stood up and clapped his hands over the honey-sweet licks from Warren DeMartini’s guitars that squealed over amplifiers hidden around the room. Juan, Bobby and Uncle Miltie rose to their feet as well.

They all looked at me. I stood from my chair. My head spun. The beer, the sugar and the Warren DeMartini tabletop solo worked overtime on my buzz. I teetered then I tottered. They all laughed at me. Their faces stretched and shrunk as they laughed.

Curious.

Robin held his arms out to his sides like a preacher at a sermon, “Lades and Gentlemen and Ratt’s of all ages,” DeMartini galloped on his low E string, building anticipation, “the moment we’ve been waiting for all night. I present to you...”

I looked around. Now who the fuck was going to show up at this mad tea party?

“...The Mad Ratter!”

Warren DeMartini windmilled his guitar. It went: Wha! Wha! Wha! Wha!

The room filled with fog like it did when the lights in the arena. The lights in the room dimmed. Strobes of purple, blue, green, red and white filled the room. My head swam, I put a hand on the back of my chair to try to stead myself.

The room stretched and shrunk.

Curious.

A figured materialized through the fog and flashing lights. A shadow at first that sauntered up to the table. The figure, silhouetted by the strobing lights from behind, placed its hands down on the table top, still standing.

Warrant DeMartini finished a bumble bee scale run, letting the final note ring out. The lights turned back on and the strobes cut out.

Before me stood Stephen Pearcy, lead singer of Ratt.

“The Mad Ratter!” Robin Crosby introduced the guest of honor.

Stephen Pearcy said nothing. He just stared me down, gripped the edge of the long banquet table and flipped the motherfucker!

Tea cups and kettles crashed to the ground and shattered. Candelabras clattered over and lit the table cloth ablaze. Juan Croucier panicked and ran in circles like a trapped mouse. Robin Crosby sneered as the light of the fire danced against his pupils. Bobby Blotzer danced to music that no longer played.

Stephen Pearcy climbed upon the tables edge and pointed at me. That’s all he did. Just that.

Uncle Miltie, the Ratt Queen. He laughed and laughed and laughed. His face stretched and shrunk. He stopped laughing, looked at me and simply shrugged.

Curious.

That Time I Hung Out With A Rock Star: Ozzy Osbourne Edition

I lived some prime years of my life through the decadent age of hard rock and heavy metal that dominated the music landscape in the 1980's. It was an incredible time. The music was loud, the clothing was loud and the hair went all the way to 11. Anything worth doing was worth overdoing.

I followed those bands with the big hair and the black leather and the flashy guitars like they were a religion. I bought the rock magazines and studied the articles. I tore the glossy photos from the rags and plastered the walls of my bedroom with them. I bought cheap mall knockoff rock star clothing and frequented every local music store dreaming of the day I would be able to afford a sexy looking $700 guitar that would make women melt without even playing a single note.

My dedication to the music, the bands and the scene led me on many great adventures. I frequently sought out the bands when they were in town. I would stalk their tour buses and wait for the opportunity to hang out with anyone from the band.

It worked many, many times and I have these stories to tell. Like this one time when I hung out with Ozzy Osbourne.

The year was 1982 and I was on a very boring trip to San Antonio, Texas. I was with my parents, far too young to be left home on my own. I'd rather have been in Disney World or some other exciting place. Instead I was stuck in the sweltering heat of southern Texas. I was stuck touring historical sites I had no interest in whatsoever. The party was lame.

We went to The Alamo one afternoon, a mandatory tourist stop when you're in San Antonio. The sun was high and bright in the sky. The heat was leeching every ounce of water from my body. I was parched and delusional. I begged my parents to buy me a drink. They scoffed, as they were want to do, and told me I could wait until we got back to the hotel room to get a sip of water from the tap. That's how they rolled.

We followed a tour group through the grounds of The Alamo. The tour guide would stop every few steps and mutter on in a cadence far too cheerful to match the oppressive heat of the day. I quickly lost interest and began scanning the scene for a water fountain or bathroom where I could steal a fleeting sip of cool water to quench my abominable thirst.

As luck would have it, ancient Southwestern forts were short on plumbing and there wasn't a restroom in sight. I began to rummage through the trash cans praying someone may have ditched a can of soda or juice which they may have left a minuscule sip behind. I would have fought back a hive of bees clamoring for the precious nectar if I had to. Still, I came up empty.

The droning of the tour guide continued. My parents and the other adults in the group paid rapt attention. I was offended by their ability to completely ignore the hellish heat that robbed my body of crucial fluids. I spied a path that led off into the shadows of the old fortress. In my delirium, I broke from the group, my wild water-deprived mind reasoning that the dark corridor would lead me to the pool at The Alamo.

To my surprise, I heard water running, as if from a spigot. Though I was now in the shadows and out from under the oppressive pounding of the sun's rays, I thought the heat was making me delirious. Could it be that I'd located actual running water to wet my parched mouth? I followed the sound of the running water.

The sound was coming from the back of the Alamo. I rounded the corner and the shadows gave way to the scorching heat from the sun once again. The light from the sun beamed directly at my eyes, the glare making it difficult to see the source of the running water. I shielded my eyes as best as I could.

I saw a dark shadow. Could it be a fountain that the water was pouring from. I squinted my eyes hard but it did not make the form in the desert any clearer. I approached the form, my tongue like sandpaper, dried like beef jerky in the desert heat.

"Fucking hell!" I heard the shadowy figure curse out loud, the accent was thick British.

When the glare of the sun no longer overtook his form, I almost fell over in shock. The Prince of Darkness stood before me, he wang hanging out of his trousers, squirting a steady stream of urine that he seemed helpless to control.

"Ozzy?" I asked.

Ozzy Osbourne mumbled something in reply. It could have been English or it could've been an ancient form of Latin that not even the most uppity of Latin linguistics professors could have deciphered.

"Ahh, yeah." I said hoping that was the obvious reply to whatever he just said to me.

Ozzy mumbled some more. There was an urgency in what he was trying to say. He gesticulated toward the desert with the hand that wasn't aiming his runaway piece that was still emitting a steady stream of piss. I was able to pick up one clear English word among the jumble, "demon."

Still not sure how to reply I flashed Ozzy the horns, my forefinger and pinky extended up in his direction to form devil horns. It seemed the most metal reply possible to an unclear statement Ozzy had made.

Curiously, Ozzy waved off my horns, looked down at his unabiding weener and then started getting agitated at the desert again in a more hostile flurry of mumbles. Once again, I distinctly heard the word "devil."

I scanned the wide horizon of the desert wasteland beyond the Alamo. There wasn't all that much to see, sand and rocks for the most part. Folks say the dessert is pretty. Everything was brown though, not much color. I thought it looked more dangerous than pretty.

To prove my point, a wind whipped across the sands and the ground trembled. The force of the winds stung my face with loose sand. Ozzy said something that sounded like "ouch" in his version of the Queens parlance. I threw my arm across my eyes to shield them from the sand blast. Ozzy turned his back to the wind, his pee arching across the dessert sands.

The tremors coming from the ground increased to a rumble. I squinted, trying to see what sounded like a tractor trailer speeding in our direction. I spotted something else instead. A dust devil. It looked just like the Tasmanian Devil from the cartoons when he became a whirling dervish of destruction. It was a whirlwind of sand and chaos.

"Ahh, fucking hell! Sharron?!" Ozzy called out.

I didn't know if he was worried about the dust devil spinning towards us or if he was agitated because he couldn't stop peeing. I have to admit, I would be worried if I kept peeing and peeing, too, dust devils be damned.

"C'mere ya fah-king nit!" Ozzy said, like he was egging on a fight with the dust devil.

In reply, the sand storm made straight for Ozzy. I stepped back. Ozzy thrust his hips at the dust devil, his piss flow increasing. I was impressed with the trajectory he was getting. For someone peeing for so long, his flow was increasing in power instead of waning.

The dust devil grew and hummed like an angry bulldozer. I swear, to this day, I saw the face of a wicked demon form in the swirling sands and sneer at Ozzy Osbourne.

As legends go, Ozzy is most famous for biting the head off a bat, live in concert. But he did that in front of tens of thousands of people. For me, the most legendary act Ozzy Osbourne ever performed was just behind the Alamo in San Antonio, Texas when he faced down a demonic dust devil and pissed it to death.

Ozzy's hot, yellow piss stream speared the charging dust devil like a lightsaber through cold steel. The angry growl of the sand storm became a baleful groan and it's guts were wetted by the impressive output from Ozzy's bladder. The piss soaked sands robbed the dust devil of its own body and it diminished to a forgettable swirl of sand on the floor, barely able to do more than twist a stray piece of straw paper around on the ground.

Ozzy Osbourne had saved the Alamo from certain destruction and I was the only one who knew about it.

And do you know what thanks he got? He got a lifetime ban from The Alamo and San Antonio, Texas.

You see, after the dust had settled and the winds had passed, Ozzy's piss stream was still going full flow. He was blinded from the dust the blew in his face during the great dust devil battle. He was disoriented, trying to get his bearings. He faced the Alamo, yelling, "Sharron! Sharron!" desperate for his wife help save him from himself.

All the ruckus drew the attention of The Alamo's security team. When they rounded the bend, the found Ozzy, neck craned back, eyes to the sky, hips thrust forward, pissing on the Alamo like it was a giant urinal.

He was detained and held for arrest by the San Antonio police department. His pants, pissed soaked. I thought it was fucked up what they did to Ozzy. He was a hero that was treated like a criminal. I tried to tell the security guards what happened, but nobody ever believes kids.

I find justice knowing that Ozzy must have pissed all over the back of that police car. I still wonder though, did Ozzy ever stop pissing?

Cover of the Month - Death Gets A Book

Death Gets a Book is up for Cover of the Month right now at AllAuthor.

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Are We Reading Bizarro? (Part 2)

This week, in my ongoing series, "Are We Reading Bizarro?" I've decided to dig a little deeper to see if I could pull the number of people reading Bizarro fiction up. In the first week I used purely anecdotal evidence from my Goodreads feed over the course of a few weeks to surmise that only three of the people I am connected to on Goodreads were reading Bizarro or Bizarro adjacent titles.

Are We Reading Bizarro?

This week I decided to up the ante a little bit. I am still using Goodreads as my measurement but instead of relying solely on what passed through on my news feeds, I dug through my friends list (812 members as of this posting), page by page to see of those reporting the titles they're reading, how many I could count off that were Bizarro or Bizarro adjacent.

The number I wound up at: 5.

Digging In Deeper For The Numbers

An interesting thing happened while I was combing through all twenty eight pages of friends statuses, There were far more than five people who's status reported they were reading a Bizarro or adjacent title. The problem was there were more of those status updates that were year old (roughly in the range of 2013 through 2017.) Obviously, I couldn't count those as people currently reading Bizarro. What I can say is that there are way more of those old statuses reporting reading Bizarro than there are currently.

I can't say that means anything or not. But, it could be an indication that we were reading much more Bizarro years ago looking at those snapshots back over years past than we are now. Again that is purely circumstantial evidence and obviously not concrete. 

I can also say that, after my first blog post in this series, several people stepped up to report that they were currently, recently or intend to soon, read a Bizarro or adjacent title. That is encouraging.

I myself, am about to finish up my first experience with Kurt Vonnegut and I have two Bizarro or adjacent titles up next in my reading queue.  As always, if you're reading Bizarro or adjacent let me know! I know someone reported trouble replying directly to the blog so let me know on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads or wherever we interact!

Up next for Mr. Frank

It's a weird time to be alive but a great time to get in more reading! Be well and read weird.

Are We Reading Bizarro? (Part 1)

In recent weeks, in the writer/reader circles that I tend to run in on social media platforms, I've witnessed a call to action to return Bizarro Fiction to the prominence (its "relative" prominence) it once enjoyed. Now, there can be no doubt the genre has been experiencing a decline both in readership and in new material released under the genre label.

Are you reading weird?

But I've read several blog posts, status updates and I have even done a podcast interview on the discussion of what can be done to bring attention back to Bizarro Fiction. In the face of a genre in recession, people are starting to take a positive, pro-active approach and bring Bizarro back from the proverbial dead.

All the "Rah! Rah!" is great. It really is. It needs to continue. But, bottom line, until people start picking up Bizarro books, reading them and talking about them, things simple won't change. Which brings me to what I want to accomplish here.

I've been monitoring for a few weeks now, my Goodreads feeds with an eye on one metric in particular. How many people are reporting that they are reading a Bizarro (or Bizarro "adjacent") title? The fact of the matter is that I'm simply not seeing all the "Rah! Rah!" translating into people picking up Bizarro books.

That is, until today, March 18th, 2020. Today I can report to you that in the past 24 hours I have seen reading activity on three Bizarro or Bizarro adjacent titles. Of course, that is by my definition and parameters. I would say there is one, unquestionable Bizarro title and two adjacent titles of the three.

So, is it progress or happenstance? That's why I'm starting this little blog series. It's all just an idea. I'd like to try to report at least once a week if not more. We'll see how this goes. Let's keep in mind this is pretty anecdotal. I am basing this off my own Goodreads feeds and my own definitions of what constitutes a Bizarro or Bizarro adjacent title.

If you're reading Bizarro or adjacent, please, let me know in the comments. Let me know if you're planning on reading something Bizarro soon. Or maybe you're considering a Bizarro title, let me know about that too!

Happy Ready!

Catcoin: A Fictional History of a Cryptocurrency

Catcoin: The Fictional History of a Cryptocurrency

What if someone turned cats into cryptocurrency? That is the premise of the new book, Catcoin: The Fictional History of a Cryptocurrency. It's the story of Bitcoin, but with cats.

One is a cat. One is money. One is Catcoin, a cryptocurrency. Follow the history of an unlikely cat which becomes the primary coin in an economic revolution that will change the world. Catcoin is a globe trotting tale that reveals the history of a new money that changes the way people spend money and disrupts the way banks do business and tips the scales of the balance of power held by world governments. Friendships are forged, lovers are loved and Durian fruit is smashed. Enrich yourself in the history of Catcoin, the world's first feline-based cryptocurrency.

The new novella from Frank J. Edler. It can be described as Action/Adventure, Techno-thriller and Comedy/Humor. A sound investment on Kindle eBook and Paperback. 

Catcoin is Coming

Catcoin: The Fictional History of a Cryptocurrency is the title of my new book. It's new in a great many ways. If you've read anything I've released already you have an idea of my style of writing, my brand. Some call it horror comedy, some call it whimsical urban fantasy, some call it straight up funny. Always with the monster bend. This time, with Catcoin, I'm exploring different territory.

The thread that binds it all together? The comedy. At least, I hope so. Catcoin is more of an adventure comedy. If you can picture a documentary that follows a dollar bill around you can start to wrap your head around what Catcoin in. Now, instead of a paper dollar bill, picture that currency as a drunk Cat from Italy who is turned into a Cryptocurrency (think Bitcoin) and we get to follow that wine guzzling cat as it trots around the globe being spent as a new form of currency the world has yet to see. That's Catcoin in a nutshell.

Catcoin. Premiers 2/28/20 on Kindle eBook.

So, I'm wading into a some uncharted territory with this one. It's definitely, in no way, shape or form, horror. But is is funny. So I'm going to be marketing it toward the action/adventure crowd. The easy money is to call it a thriller. Thrillers are hot right now. But, I think that's a disingenuous. Catcoin, at its core, is an action/adventure thriller. That is for certain and I must pitch it to the readers who appreciate that type of story. I don't believe this will hit in the same way that it hits for those who enjoy Death, Brats or Scatterbrain.

So, if you've picked up my books or not, I am here to tell you that Catcoin is something different. It's still tainted with humor the whole way through (at least, I hope so, humor is objective and that ball is in our court fine reader.) I've left the monsters behind. I've left the speckles of darkness in my wake.

Catcoin in my love letter to Bitcoin and cryptocurrency. I see the dawn of a new era in those things and it was important for me to provide a bit of fictional whimsy to that bright new future. You may see things the Catcoin way or you may not. That's for you to decide, just like we will all decide with things like Bitcoin and Etherium and their ilk.

The world is going crypto. Are you on board?

Pre-Order CatCoin NOW for just 99 cents on Kindle eBook before it assumes it's normal value of $2.99 after February 28th, 2020!

A Year in Reading 2019

Its time to reflect on my year in books for 2019. This is my favorite annual blog post. It has become my annual tradition to spotlight my noteable reads for the past year. I think it's a fun way to reflect on the best material I've had the honor of reading instead of making some inaccurate, ever changing and God forbid, controversial ranked list.

I like to present those books that really stood out to me in the past year. I managed to ready forty one books this year, one more than the previous year. The following are the books that have left an impact for one reason or another. They are presented in chronological order as I read throughout the year. I hope you will be inspired to check out any on this list that you haven't and discover those you wouldn't have ever considered.

And now, my most notable reads of 2019:

• BANG UP: A FILTHY COMEDIC THRILLER by Jeff Strand (2018) Jeff Strand: This book didn't seem to connect with fans of Jeff Strand's more comedic horror books but I loved it for the off-the-wall comedic romp that it was. If I were going to read erotica, it would all have to be like this. A solid 4.75 star effort.

• MY BEST FRIEND'S EXORCISM by Grady Hendrix (2016) Quirk Books: There has been a lot of buzz around Grady Hendrix since Horrorstor and Paperback's From Hell. Instead of starting there, I decided to start with this. If everyone is talking about those other books and this one made my notable reads for 2019 list then I best get cracking on the other's for 2020.

•  IMPOSSIBLE DRIVEWAYS by Justin Grimbol (2018) Atlatl Press: A perennial favorite of mine. Justin Grimbol always delivers with his unique brand of poetry/prose story telling. There is charm and beauty in the uncomfortable truths and honest observations of the poet laureate of the weird and wacky.

• OF FOSTER HOMES AND FLIES by Chad Lutzke (2019) Poltergeist Press:  Last year, Chad Lutzke made my list of notable reads with OUT BEHIND THE BARN, a collaborative effort with John Boden. I wanted to be sure to read a solo effort from Lutzke. OF FOSTER HOMES AND FLIES is, without a doubt, my favorite read of 2019. This is the only 5-star rating I awarded this year. I love that the world is slowly starting to discover this extremely talented horror author. I expect to see more awareness and great effort from him in 2020.

• A CONFEDERACY OF HOT DOGS by Christoph Paul (2017) Clash Books:  I've been meaning to read this one forever. I put it off afraid that it would read as an inside joke. The protagonist, Phil LoPresti is a real person and the character is based on that real person. Hence my apprehension of that turning out as an inside joke. But, I did finally commit to reading it and the result was it was my favorite weird/bizarre read of 2019. I think this will translate well and not come off as an inside joke to those in the know. Its simply fucking funny.

• BITCOIN BILLIONAIRES by Ben Mezrich (2019) Flatiron Books:  Ben Mezrich updates and turns the tables on his notorious book, THE ACCIDENTAL BILLIONAIRES. Where that book left the Winklevoss twins looking like the devil incarnate, BITCOIN BILLIONAIRES recasts them as the brilliant entrepreneurs that they are in real life. I have a love a affair with the story of Bitcoin and this telling of the Winklevoss twins story in cryptocurrency with gorgeous, sexy and Romantic. I've fallen in love with it that much more.

•  JURASSIC FLORIDA by Hunter Shea (2018) Lyrical Underground: Beautiful in its simplicity. This is a giant monster book. That's all. Its a great story wrapped around a giant iguana monster book set in Florida. Hunter Shea keeps it simple stupid (k.i.s.s.) and pulls off a notable read for 2019 in the process. 

• TERROR MANNEQUIN by Douglas Hackle (2019) Douglas Hackle: Douglas Hackle turns in a darker, more horror focused offering for 2019 and the result is TERROR MANNEQUIN. This title wins cover of the year handily. Its also backed up by one weird, twisted story full of macabre crazy. This book feels like its own new thing and others will only follow suit. Read the original, whatever it is!
  
  
   

• POPSICKLE HEART by J. Peter W. (2018) DP Books:  POPSICKLE HEART by J. Peter W. represents the sleeper hit of 2019. A full on, bizarro tale of one clown's struggle against the world. So bizarre, so weird, so artistic and visceral. Great weird writing, it's time everyone found out that J. Peter W. has got the write stuff. Dip your pink little toes into this quiet gem.

Honorable mentions for 2019 include: THE WARRIORS by Sol Yurick, a classic that I finally got around to reading: different but as good as the classic film inspired by the book. PRESTO! by Penn Jillette a different type of diet book. F*CKED UP STORIES: VOL. 1 edited by Ira Rat, a stand out DIY 'zine that wasn't big enough to warrant a mention of the main list but still a standout offering in short form for 2019. And lastly, Tim Meyer's LIMBS a twisted tale that simply fell one slot shy of getting main stage recognition.

2019 was punctuated by the fact that I only rated one book at 5 stars. And yet, I probably awarded the most 4-star reviews in a given year at the same time. Lots of great books but just one super stand out. 2020 promises to have more great reads in store. Weird will rise again and horror is sure to birth new great names. Catch ya in 2021!

You can check out the complete list of the forty books I read on Goodreads.
You can check out my notable books read from 2018 HERE.