I joined and gave Medium a shot since some cool kids I know have done it.

Ended up ranting about Luke Cage and some social issues . Check it here.

It’s a pain in the ass sorting out where and when and how we write. The stories are sort of easy – especially when you’re writing to a specific market – but blogging, essays, random whatever-the-fuckery can be a pain. Overall, it’s all screaming at the crowd from your soapbox for a scrap of attention, right?

But sometimes you need to move the soapbox down the block some.

So I think the more “complex” think pieces will be hoisted onto Medium moving forward. It gives me incentive since the piece can be tossed onto random feeds and get my BS into random hands.

Standard promotion and bloggery will still be here – if that’s something you care about.

Anyway, back to the other stuff…day job…blergh.

Be easy,



Waiting on a delayed plane and a late connecting flight, so hey, I’ve got time.


The very last thing I did before leaving my second Bouchercon was shake Walter Mosely’s hand and thank him for being him.

My hands didn’t quit trembling until I had to pay my cabbie outside Louis Armstrong International.

This year’s Bouchercon – Christ – this was something. Given a little time to decompress and allow my shredded throat to not make noise – a motherfucking feat, I know – I still can’t peg this feeling.

I saw people I hold in high regard be recognized, I shared conversation with wonderful NEW people, and I talked shop in front of a willing audience of friends and strangers then signed pages with my name printed in bold letters on them – while one of my writing heroes sat next to me doing the same and at an obvious greater frequency (thanks, alphabetical order).

I sat on a set of dirty steps on Decatur Street and watched the New Orleans sun get mean while I drank coffee with just the right amount of chicory, walked the streets and shared my last beignet in town with some fella on a corner dressed as Darth Vader and dancing to Gary Glitter music.

I shared one of the better meals of my life as a guest of one of the most gracious and generous hosts I’ve ever seen and took every opportunity to show off pictures of my kids to the interested and equally uninterested.

It’s sappy, but yeah, I’m feeling all the feels right now. To live a life where I never felt like I was in the right place and to have a history where I did everything to belong outside of embracing what made me weird, loud, off-kilter – shit, what an amazing feeling to finally, FINALLY feel like I’m home and I only had to be myself. IT’s pretty fucking heavy.

Now I have to wait another year to pick up where we left off.

Big thanks to Ro Cuzon for the jambalaya and having me over to his beautiful home, to Jon and Ruth Jordan, Judy Bobalik, and Erin Mitchell for putting together an awesome program, and super big thanks to Kate Malmon for being an awesome panel mod!

Slán abhaile, we’ll raise our glasses again very soon.

Bouchercon or Bust…

How the hell is it September?


*gets a thorough explanation on the movement of space/time and human use of defined measurement of said passage of time based on the rotation of the earth and its own rotation around the sun.*

Oh, okay. Never mind.

Got a few cool things coming down the pike and I figure I hold off ACTUAL writing to pretend I’m writing here.


Whatever, not like I have any active deadlines *pokes email inbox*

So, what’s to come?

First and foremost, BOUCHERCON, YO. Excited to see my Crime fic family and get to participate in my first panel. Said panel is a fucking corker check it:


All respect to Mr. Crimespree himself, Jon Jordan, for putting this pic together.

Seriously, these are all fantastic folks (and writers!) I’ve interacted with quite often. To say I’m humbled and excited is putting it lightly. I have a feeling we’re going to put on a fun show and have a wonderful chat.

If you can’t catch me then, I’ll be out and about from Thursday afternoon to Sunday morning. You’ll more than likely find me at the hotel bar like a proper writer. There’s also a good chance I’ll be drunk, but bright side: I am friendly drunk and rarely vomit, so we got that working for all of us.

Speaking of that Thursday night at Bouchercon, be sure to come on down to Cosimo’s in the French Quarter for the 5th Anniversary celebration of Down & Out Books! Very cool reading lineup:

James Ray Tuck
Eric Beetner
G.J. Brown
Jen Conley
Jeffery Hess
Dana King
S.W. Lauden
Gary Phillips
Tom Pitts
Ian Truman
J.L. Abramo
Grant Jerkins
Danny Gardner

You’d be remiss to not join in on what’s going to be a very fun time with excellent writers and wonderful readers hanging around being fucking GLAMOROUS as all get out.

So, after Bouchercon?

I’ve got a piece based on The Replacements’ song, Kiss Me On The Bus coming in an absolutely amazeballs anthology coming from Gutter Books this October, Waiting To Be Forgotten. Much love to Jay Stringer for herding cats and making mountains move to get this together. I’m really proud of this piece and hope folks like it. Otherwise, take great joy in Johnny Shaw’s, Gary’s Got A Boner – it’s amazing.


You know damn well I’ll be trumpeting this bad boy with an Amazon link as soon as I get one

Later this year? Down & Out Books releases my next novella, No Happy Endings. Here’s a little description:

Fantine Park is not the woman her mother was—she’s certainly not the safecracker her mother was either. Hell, she’s not much of anything useful these days. Fresh off her parole term after doing a stint in prison for a poorly thought out casino robbery, Fantine finds herself confronted by an old partner of her mother’s and right back in the thick of it.

Unfortunately, the man dragging her back to the life she left behind, one Aleksei Uryvich, is a complete bully and an idiot—content to believe he can get anything he wants with his brutish nature and the threat of a bullet for Fan’s elderly father, Jae.

The score: semen. Yes, semen. Gallons of it. Particularly, the genetic man-batter from supposed Ivy Leaguers and other elite. The material nets top dollar from Asia and Aleksei is foaming at the mouth at the profit potential.

The plan: there is no plan. Fantine has to get it out of Evensight Storage; a sperm bank situated right by the Battery Park Tunnel in Manhattan. A place barely anyone but a sad sack with an empty sack sees the inside of on a day to day basis.

Fortunately, there’s a storm coming; a potential distraction going by the name of Superstorm Sandy.

That’s not even the kicker. There’s more going on at Evensight than anyone knows. There’s no guarantee anyone involved in this mess is getting out alive, especially when Fantine finds herself face to face with the psychopath known as O Leiteiro—The Milkman—and the massive conspiracy that lies beneath the streets of New York City.

I’ve got a cover for you soon. Love it. Also love Down & Out. Hell, love them so much, they’re releasing my short story anthology, Meat City on Fire and Other Debacles, next year! More on that soon!

In the meantime, the next part of what I’ve deemed A Song of Piss & Vinegar, Blacky Jaguar Against The Cool Clux Cult!!!, is being beta read and is well into its sixth revision. This was a tough nut to crack for many reasons I may talk about closer to release. Needless to say, it’s some of what folks expect after reading The Fury of Blacky Jaguar, but heavily inspired by Walking Tall, Billy Jack, and recent events involving Black Lives Matter and the toxic underbelly of the internet.

Like I said, tough. Hopefully, not many people get pissed off.

That about does it for now. Check out my stories tab above if you’re interested in reading what I have out now. Lot of fun pieces floating around out there.

Be easy,


Long time no rant…

So I finally finished the first draft to BLACKY JAGUAR AGAINST THE COOL CLUX CULT!!!, the follow up to my wildly acknowledged novella, THE FURY OF BLACKY JAGUAR.

Only took about a year to write a fucking novella (among a ton of other projects, thankfully).

This was a tough one. Not because of any fears regarding expectations. I try not to think about how folks take the work once it’s pubbed and read. If they like it, great; if not, there’s not much I can do – them’s the breaks.

So why did this take so long?

Well, I probably chose a pretty terrible time to write a semi-satirical homage to movies like Walking Tall and Billy Jack in the modern American South while 99% of the racial insanity has been going on. It’s a tricky balance. There’s more characters here, more viewpoints, more opportunities to completely fuck things up.

But that’s the goal. Blacky works in juxtaposition with serious subjects. In Fury, we had the sex trade. In this one; social movements, exploiters of said social movements, and what comes when said causes become tainted. It’s slightly heady, but there are plenty of beatings and cursing.

Mind you, this is still a first draft, but I’m happy with it. I’m looking forward to folks meeting Broderick Kimbo, Erica Ramos, and Neil Clancy. They’re interesting characters and all have similar motivations.

Hopefully, I’ll nail the landing.

And hopefully, we’ll have more news about release soon – well, as soon as I mail Ron Earl the goddamn finished manuscript.

Extra also: I’ll hopefully have some more news about my upcoming novella, NO HAPPY ENDINGS, soon too!

Be easy,



I’m angry.

Maybe more than angry. Not sure. There are plenty of folks who have so much more to be angry about. I’m cisgender. I’m straight. Light-skinned. Not a target. I have so little to be angry about, don’t I?

But then I read about Orlando. I read about people who have been hurt and murdered. Think about so many people that are brave every single day. It pains me.

I am so fucking angry.

I’ve always loved that Pride happens around my birthday. Maybe it’s selfish of me. Maybe I correlate it so my personal celebration is just a little grander. Not sure. Still, what matters is Pride matters. My brothers and sisters who are unlike me matter because they are wonderful, beautiful, and plentiful.

My Pride is knowing so many of you who’ve touched my life in so many wonderful ways.

Honestly, this isn’t political or filled with agenda. Not too sure what it is. I just needed to find a way to express my pain and my empathy. A way to let you know I will always be an ally however I can. Even if it means nothing to you. That’s fine. We all mourn in our own ways.

I’m gutted.

I love you all.