I had some extra time to fool around on Facebook because my favorite morning gas station is shut down from Covid, and I happened upon an article, basically screenshots of a woman letting a guy down gently, and him blowing his stack. To his credit, he didn’t pull out the slew of words to describe unsavory women that don’t bear repeating here, but he did try to call her twelve times in two minutes.

Let’s pretend for a moment that I needed an excuse to fool around on Facebook early in the morning. Guys have a huge problem with rejection. And I don’t think we’re looking at just a simple case of toxic masculinity warping the mind of a young incel. I mean, I think it’s bigger to the extent that we all have a problem with rejection in our society that’s not in proportion with the basics of rejection.

See, basically, rejection (and acceptance) are a continuum in the process our species has for improving itself. If you do something, or put yourself out there in some way, you may get a blanket acceptance, a blanket rejection, or somewhere in between. You get the blanket acceptance? Great. What you’re doing is working. Keep it up. No real need to improve. Blanket rejection? Damn. But throw it away; it can’t help you. But anything in between, especially on the rejection end, says ‘you’re almost there, you’re close, keep perfecting, keep taking chances, keep taking shots.

I’m a writer. Obviously; you’re here. And I get more rejections than I get acceptances. And it sucks. But after I ice the wound a little with some [BLANK] I get back to the drawing board and take whatever I learned from the rejection, and I tweak the offering, or start something new. And as far as literary rejection goes, rarely do the agents and editors you submit to even write back, and when they do, they simply say ‘it’s not a good fit.’ Remember what I said about rejections that don’t offer you anything? Bingo. Also, don’t be a writer unless you’re familiar with the receiving end of a cat-o-nine-tails.

And the mechanism of rejection is instructive, but once you’re putting acceptance and rejection in the brine of competition, is all turns sour. And every thread in every American flag is competing with every other thread. Capitalism? Rich people competing over money. Democracy? Well-suited people competing for votes. Game shows? Hell, even most literature is based on a loser becoming a winner or vice versa.

So, back to Sir Calls-a-Lot, yes, he is unduly possessive, and he definitely couldn’t take even mild rejection (and it was constructive rejection, by the way.) I think we really undervalue the fact that we’re going to see stuff like this is a society based on competition. The worst insult one can be called in America is ‘loser.’ So when we look at people who have gravitated to the most pungent aspect of the male gender, the gender that designed the underpinnings of a hypercompetitive society, rejection is “losing,” and it ends up getting handled as such.

So my prescription, aside from an exorcism, which I always prescribe, is that we realize, in all areas of life, that rejection doesn’t make one a loser any more than acceptance makes one a winner. You’re either evolving or you’re not, and that’s all acceptance and rejection are for: road markers on life’s journey.

Join me on my podcast, whenever I decide to have one. Also, I have books on this site. Enjoy them as I enjoy your money.

Facebook loves you if you have something to promote. They love you so much that when you provide the link (and if you’re a writer, it’s almost universally Amazon) they throttle your post. Basically this means that the hundred people who see your picture of your cat’s asshole, only ten of them will see you trying to hawk your book.

Now, you can always pay Facebook, and that’s really their point. But Facebook, who sells you that bikini ten days after you already bought it, is looouuusy at promoting your stuff, no matter how much you pay them/ Plus, we all broke out here. Broke, and that’s a Ramen-and-Mrs.-Dash=Healthfood-Eating Fact. So, what do we do?

I don’t write for my health. Writing is stressful, lot of moving parts in an 80,000 word story. And yet, I’m not writing for a mansion either. I mean, making some passive income every month, hell, enough to pay the power bill after taxes, that would be sweet. And I create universes, and I’m not bad at it. Why wouldn’t I want to share that with a few – thousand – people?

So here we are. Here you are, on my website, and hopefully Facebook hasn’t bollocksed me up here. I’m going to treat you to a link to each of my books, and I’m going to try to describe them like I’m a disinterested cab driver showing off his bobblehead collection.

Anno Luce

This was my first book. It’s about the return of Jesus and the end of the world. NOT preachy, or even that religious. Kind of punk rock, slacker, grungy kind of story. I wrote this in between going to Louisiana for Katrina relief. A lot of complicated emotions with this. I published it myself – there wasn’t really going to be an agent or publisher for a book like this. There probably is now, but, you know, bigger fish…

Anno Luce: Anna’s Book

This is a prequel to Anno Luce. Before Jesus. I mean, he was around, just that this story kind of sets that all up. Lots of psychics and abilities, and some scumbags. This was a personal one for me, because I incomporated someone I lost in it. But this had the same publishing issue – no specific market – so I published this one myself. It is good, but it got buried under other stuff I was doing.

The Serpent and the Sun

When I first started writing books, I never believed I’d be able to do it. It was a mystical thing to me. Then I ended up writing three big novels in short order. This is the third. It’s a post-apocalyptic story from an alternate universe where the asteroid Apophis struck Nicaragua. This is a really good story, and I feel strongly that if I hadn’t already published the first two books myself, I would’ve sent this out to agents.

I should say at this point that publishing your own books is not ideal. But sending out requests for representation by agents (a.k.a queries) is, for most people, a soul sucking experience, a sea of ‘no,’ if they even get back to you, and if the choice is to kill yourself (as a writer) or go ahead and get your book out there yourself… you do the math. I didn’t want to wait ten years for an agent to say “maybe.”

So, onward and forward.

The Man

This one is a fun little novella. Four stories, four main characters, no names. Again, really just a fun story. A prophet in a Maine seaside town who’s been having nightmares of a future fifty years ahead of where he started. Story starts when the day catches up to his first nightmare – 9/11.

Prattsville

The village of Prattsville, New York was nearly wiped off the map by Hurricane Irene (this is real.) This story is about two weeks in the recovery. It’s fiction, but based off true events. And it’s a novella.

Welcome Back, Jack

This is the first Jack LeClere detective novel I wrote. This one was published by Down and Out Books. I wanted to write a police procedural that was just brutal, and a cop that wasn’t the broken degenerate stereotype I saw in so many cop stories.

Presiding Over the Damned

This is the second in the Jack LeClere detective series. In the aftermath of the first book, a young girl is brutally murdered, and the search for her killer promises to rip open every crack in the city. The city of New Rhodes is a major character in this book.

Miner’s Kill

This is the third, and perhaps final story in the Jack LeClere detective series. This book explores the darker side of privilege and wealth in New Rhodes, and the greater area. Each of these books takes from the ones before it, so I think you’ll be pleased.

Below are short story collections. The first is Dead Man’s Switch, which I put out. Second is Street Whispers, which was put out by All Due Respect Books.

Dead Man’s Switch

Street Whispers

No, this is not a Lordy Jesus post. This isn’t even about God per se, except that God is a character in the latest manuscript I just finished. Was it hard to make God a character? No. It wasn’t hard. It’s never hard to make a character. It’s just really hard to do it well. And I hope I did it well.

I’ve written two manuscripts in six months, which is an absolute record for me. But I didn’t know if I was going to be able to write at all, not books anyway, after my dad died. He was my best friend, and he was also my first beta reader,

Dad wouldn’t pick apart my books. It was a pretty up/down vote, which in his tact meant “It’s good” (down) or “It’s really good” (up.) I really miss that. I really miss him. And I don’t know if the stuff I’m writing now has the same heart as the stuff from when he was alive, but I hope so.

It is not going to be out for a while. In fact, Troy Love Story isn’t going to be out for a while, and this manuscript is two out. But my hope is that I haven’t lost my edge, or that I can pick it up in the edit. And if your parents are still alive, give them a hug. You will miss them.

As it usually does in my little bunker, my latest thought came from a social media post, and the many comment. Really, it was one comment, and the many replies to it. Got me thinking, and reflecting.

The comment was about the lack of inclusion in the writing community, though it could really have applied to any writing community. In this particular case, it was the dearth of black writers. And, of course, someone had to bring up this age old gem:

Do we need to see color? Shouldn’t the best writing come up on its own?

And I have a few problems with this line of thought. On its face, it’s agreeable. The best writing should come up. But even now, in the less inclusive, white male dominated writing community, the best work doesn’t always rise to the top. We severely underestimate how much of any writing community is a popularity contest. Hard work makes a great writer, but the ability to schmooze makes a successful writer.

Art and Fame, a study by Columbia Business School, found that success in the art world was more driven by an artist’s social connections than by any objective measure of creativity. Not that creativity isn’t important, or that a creative misanthrope can’t find success, but social networks are critically important for the success of creatives.

So it isn’t so simple as the cream rises to the top. There’s a social component to this. There are cliques like there are with anything. There are writer’s conventions with the same old panelists, anthologies with the same old contributors, the names everyone knows. Marginalized voices aren’t always kept out because of bigotry, not blatant bigotry. It’s more of a laziness that comes from knowing it’s a problem, but not a problem important enough to make the collective effort to fix.

I am a marginalized voice. I battle a severe mental illness daily. More than one. And I know at least what it’s like to feel “otherness” and have to spend more energy that I should have to to conform to the expectations of a “norm.” I haven’t been able to go enjoy networking at cons because my anxiety wouldn’t let me travel, and tele-presence, which we all adjusted to in a New York minute when we had to, wasn’t seen as worth the investment just to satisfy a small number of outliers like me.

The above paragraph is not a boohoo on me. I’m fine. And I’d like to think I’m a good enough writer to make a meaningful contribution to the zeitgeist. But the more barriers there are to me finding a place in the social network of my fellow writers, the fewer opportunities I will have to contribute my unique experience to the collective unconscious. And the more apathetic the writing world is about actively finding POC, women, LGBTQ+, disabled, and mentally ill writers, the greater our collective loss.

It is a moral imperative to go out and bring marginalized voices into the network of “in the know.” It’s the right thing to do because it is what’s fair to those writers. But there is also a historical imperative to do this. Art, writing and music is the flesh wrapping the bones of history. If it’s not preserved, it will decay. And we need to make sure future generations can see the whole body of our work.

Every time I get on this blog, I make an earnest vow that I’m going to post regularly. And if you go back to the last post, December of 2020, and the post before that, sometime in 2018, you’ll know how good my steadfast vows are. Gas station ground beef patties are more dependable than me.

But I do have news. In fact, a lot of news; maybe I should spread it out over a few posts. Not my style, though. First up in the news category, I got a contract from Bronzeville Books to publish Troy Love Story. It’s going to be edited by a writer that I happen to be a fan of, Joe Clifford, and that is just tops. And the publisher, Danny Gardner, was very moved by the manuscript, and after a long phone conversation, I got that feeling so rare to writers, that my work was vindicated.

So I had some time between hearing from Danny and getting the contract. If you aren’t a writer, know that patience is a must because the process can feel like it’s taking forever. So, out of nervous energy, and maybe a tad of the magic mojo that we all get sometimes, I started writing again. And only a few days after I signed the contract for Troy Love Story, I had my next manuscript, which is tentatively called ‘Lithium.’

Lithium is the story about mental illness, family, and homelessness. I hope it is powerful, because I left a lot on the field with it. In fact, I might have to switch over to scifi for the next manuscript just to refresh.

And that’s pretty much what I got going on right now. I’m going to try to post here, you know, with the stuff I don’t feel is pithy enough for Facebook.

My life as a writer, and as a person, is a never-ending swing dance of great intentions, ferocious energy, big plans, and no follow-through. I have this website to keep you abreast of what I’m doing as a writer, and maybe the sporadic nature of posts tells you everything you need to know.

Nevertheless, I’ve got a new book out. In fact, I have two new books out. There will be more to come on them, but I’d like to just show you so that you’re aware.

First book is called December PT11083: A Travelogue for Losing Someone. I lost my father to a tragic, traumatic accident in December of 2019, and, as a way to cope with the loss, I took notes of my grieving process, and the culture and customs of loss. I wish to get it to anyone who it may help, and the ebook is free (the print book is cost.)

The second book I have out is the third in the Jack LeClere series. It’s called “Miner’s Kill.” It’s a story about the top homicide detective in New Rhodes and the investigation into the murder of a high society pillar and the seedy underbelly he called a playground.

There will be more to come, but don’t expect miracles. I write this to “you” knowing that “you” are the void, and I’m catalouging my experiences for a posterity that likely won’t be there. But do text me, won’t you?

I have to admit, friends and neighbors, that I have been snoozing. So let’s catch up. Since I last posted, I had an interview come up in ‘The Big Thrill’ for my book, Presiding Over the Damned, which was officially released in August. In other news, my volunteer work in the Red Cross has kicked into high gear with the devastation of hurricane’s Florence and now Michael. I have also recently taken on the position of Blog Editor at RadioRadioX.com. In fact, my work on their blog is what prompted me to come over and add this to my own blog.

I wish that I could say that I’ve simply been too busy to post on my own site, but that wouldn’t be true. I am a savant when it comes to slacking off and, conversely, giving myself busy work. Truth is, I don’t really know what to tell you all. I mean, I could tell you all about the writing conferences, book readings and events that I don’t go to because they’d be longer than two hours and my tolerance for other people is just shorter than two hours. That’s probably the truest statement ever to grace this space, and if I keep it in here, you’ll know me.

But things do happen. So let me just rattle off some life events, unencumbered by the expectation I have of myself that I have to write about things you actually care about. Cause frankly, that ship is about two hours off shore.

I’ve been deploying volunteers from the Eastern New York region of the Red Cross to disasters. This has been the noticeable ones, like Hurricane Florence and Michael, but we’ve deployed people locally, specialized volunteers to help a local community cope with a tragic vehicle accident that left twenty dead in Schoharie. Bear in mind, I’m not a ground troop. I have a souped-up computer and a phone that gets hot daily. I make calls and swing a mouse and my typing speed varies like the winds in one of those hurricanes. But I’ve learned a lot, some of which is not open to the general public, but if it was, I’d share.

I have accepted a job as the Blog Editor of RadioRadioX.com. I’ll be interviewing musicians and performers, and I hope to use my experience and talent as a writer to come up with some dynamite questions. Interviewing is new for me, and while I’d love to bring it here, I’ll have to see how it turns out. Interviewing writers means reading books, which takes longer than doing research on a local or regional band.

So I’ve explained what’s been happening in my life. I wish it was more fantastic, more spellbinding than deadlines and disaster deployments. Writers rarely have lives as exciting as the ones we write about. And I’m not a master of the mundane. I wish I was. Some writers can stub their toe and write a thousand words with an epilogue. I can’t, and that’s not a superior statement. I want to write that thousand-word story about how grandma cut me off this morning. Because that’s what I do. And if you pop on here and find my diatribe about how the people in my local convenience store can’t make two lines, you’ll know I’m hitting my A-Game.

But hey, carry on. And stop back for new stuff. I may surprise you.