The Real Memphis Mike (don't settle for imitations)

The Man in the Moon is a fucking jagoff. There, I said it. I can't stand him. Always staring down, judging, smirking, questioning. He's unbearable. And I'll never get away from him. That's the hardest part for me to reckon with. When I was a little kid, he'd stare at me through my bedroom window. He'd cast terrifying shadows on the wall, making sleep almost impossible. I used to pray for cloudy nights. To me, there just wasn't enough air pollution to block his stares. When I reached the age of bodily self-exploration, of course - there he was. Staring through my window at my every move. Watching. Judging. My parents kept making me take down the old newspapers and tin foil I taped to the window to block him out. They thought I was nuts. They took me to a doctor. At first the specialist diagnosed me with scopophobia, an irrational fear of being watched. Further visits narrowed it down to a diagnosis of selenophobia; an irrational fear of the moon. In my mind, ...

I've always got on well with gas station people. I can't really tell you why; maybe it goes back to my teenage years. I would often hang out at the Clark station, shooting the breeze, and smoking Marlboros or for a time, Lucky Strikes.  It probably started when a friend of the family started working there. He was my brothers' age, and sort of a big brother figure in some ways. Through him, I got to know the couple who owned and ran the franchise, and the other employees. Most importantly to me, it was a place I could hang out, smoke cigarettes, and people watch. The steady drip of customers and conversations always held my interest. A gas station is one of those places where, on a long enough timeline, you're going to meet everyone - and I did. Everyone had to stop for gas at some point. This was a time before gas stations began to focus on being convenience stores, although they already were, in a way. They were just more efficient. You could gas up the car, grab smoke...

There are some who believe public transportation is, somehow, beneath them. This is a very American way of thinking. The US has a long, well-documented car culture. The infrastructure is designed to necessitate owning a car. Therefore, owning a car is part of everyday life for most. The nicer the car, the higher the social status - at least that's how it's always been marketed. Most don't realize it's a con, but that's a story for another day. We own two cars. Once upon a time, that would give the impression, to most people, that we are doing well. In reality, it's just necessity.  We live in a relatively quiet suburb of a medium-sized city, by American standards. And yes, we do have public transportation. By global standards, ours isn't great. It's overpriced and limited. Out where we live, I can catch a bus once an hour. The bus is usually relatively clean and there are rarely more than a handful of riders. Most of my neighbors probably feel they'r...

Hotel Oldsmobile. That’s what all of us kids called him. Yeah, kids are cruel. He was just a guy in a really bad spot in life. With our clean-cut all-American upbringings, we treated him the way we’d been taught. We treated him like garbage . He was maybe in his 40s or 50s. White guy. Eyes like a husky. Dirty. Needed a haircut and a shave. He was a short guy - maybe 5'4 - and had the build of a man who had spent a lifetime doing hard labor - the sort a man does because it’s his only option. None of us really knew him. We didn’t know what his story was. None of us were smart enough to even try to make one up. All that we really knew was he was dirty and lived in a rusted-out Oldsmobile. These days, the media uses bullshit terms like “ unhoused ”. Fuck that, the man was homeless. Without that car, he’d have been sleeping on the streets. Our streets. This was the early 1980s. The real boom of homelessness hadn’t kicked in yet - at least not in our little river town. He was our ...

While formatting my first book BODIES , I made a conscious decision NOT to publish an e-book version. I'm sure most think this is crazy. The obvious argument might be that not doing so limits sales numbers. I get that.  I've never owned or used an e-book. To me, that's not how I enjoy reading. Give me a proper book - a paperback, a hardcover, or a glorious old leather-bound tome! That's how I prefer to read. That said, there are other ways and they each are valid.  I heard from a friend this morning, asking if BODIES is available on Kindle. I explained my reasoning for not producing an e-book. I have no reason whatsoever to trust a company with digital inventory. Over the years, I've been screwed left and right on this. Music downloads led to insane piracy of my BACK FROM THE DEAD album. Honestly, the bootleggers sold more copies than we did! While I'm thrilled people enjoy my music, it would have been nice to reap some financial benefit. Amazon screwed me just ...

Where do I start? I am beyond floored that people have requested signed copies of my first book, BODIES . Honestly, I didn't think this was a likelihood, so I never really prepared for it.   Will I sign your copy? HELL YES! I'd be honored to do so!  Here's where it gets tricky... Firstly, allow me to be clear on this. There are NO FREEBIES. Please understand, there's nothing free in this world except for air and aggravation. As an independent author, this means the ol' buck stops with me. If I had unlimited funds, I'd probably just give away copies willy-nilly. But that's just not reality.  Even if I want to give you a free book, it's going to cost me money. Barnes & Noble didn't just print up a few thousand books and say "HERE! Do something with these!" A 'free book' for you will still have to be printed, so both the printing firm and Barnes & Noble will still expect their cut - that's just business. This means I'm...