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

Just a big ol' WOW and Thank Ye Kindly! My 1st book (BODIES) is actually selling!  Publicly releasing an original work - whether it be a book, music, film, whatever - is somewhat nerve-racking. A person takes the time to create something - something that means something to them (which doesn't mean it's of any value to anyone else) - and they release it into the wild. I've heard it compared to a parent watching their child go out into the world on their own. I was always lucky, musically. I had enough of a reputation that some folks were, at least, interested in what I recorded. This guaranteed a few sales. In all honesty, some releases sold really well, some not so much. But I made them. They held their own. But a book? From ME? Why would anyone stop to give it even a cursory look? Is it the greatest collection of words ever committed to paper? Probably not. I won't even say it's the best I've ever written. But there are definitely some gems in there that I...

 This is less an excerpt than a stand-alone piece. If you haven't read A VERY TEDDY TUESDAY , I'd suggest it. Otherwise, you'll have no clue who Teddy is, where, and why.  On that note, here we go! Teddy was pretty sure that didn't belong there , but he was no expert on humans or their anatomy, biology, or mating habits. What he was seeing just felt off  to him.  Humans are, as he'd often noticed, an oversized, confusing mess of sights, smells, and sounds. He was pretty sure they didn't hear well either, as he had attempted to greet them on occasion. His goal had been civility, not deep conversation. I mean really, he was pretty sure their overall intelligence was questionable at best. But, trying to be a good neighbor, Teddy had, on occasion, chittered a pleasant greeting upon seeing a familiar human. The response? Nothing. Oh wait, sometimes they screamed. Maybe that was their greeting reserved for special encounters. He'd heard it before in the house. He ...

 My 1st print book now exists. What a strange way to put it. I've always enjoyed writing, even when I was a kid and it wasn't cool . Honestly, I never thought I'd do anything with it. It was just another outlet for all of the ideas banging around in my head. For decades, a lot of these thoughts became songs. Now I've returned to the simplicity of words. I write because I enjoy telling stories - pretty much the same with songwriting. The only difference is that now I don't have to go on a stage or into a recording studio. There I days I miss both, but who knows...maybe one day I'll do it all again. Writers write for different reasons. Some for acclaim or notoriety. Some for profit. Same as with music, painting, sculpting, acting - I think those goals are a matter of seeking validation. But for what? Doing what you enjoy is validation enough. For years I've written this blog. In some ways, it's the perfect medium for me. I do it, it's done, published, ...

My dad was difficult. I can't say we ever had a great relationship, but not for lack of trying. We saw in each other the parts of ourselves we didn't like - or just didn't know how to handle. Contrary to popular myth, dad wasn't a saint. He could be a sonofabitch. His own mother, who loved him dearly, would tell you the same thing. She often just didn't understand him. Sure, he saved a lot of people's lives, and kept many more going well past their sell-by date - but he wasn't a saint. Really, none of us are.  My dad was short-tempered. He could be violent. He was a typical only child and product of his time. He grew up in a very working-class household and strived for what he considered a better life. How that translated to moving to Steubenville, OH I'll never understand.  Actually, I do - but that's a conversation for a different time. As it's Father's Day, allow me to focus on dad's good side. He could never be accused of not being ha...

 I told myself I wouldn't do this. I didn't want to share any part of the new book yet. But - I'm enjoying it too much, and that feels selfish. Lord knows I don't write for any reason other than to share stories, so I edited a few bits down to this little excerpt. You might like it. Might not. Might think WTF?! Might ignore it all together. No matter what you think, or if you even read it at all, I'm enjoying writing it. Those who know me won't be surprised. Yet. - MCM 6/20/26 Mid-afternoon sun spilled through a dirty window, cutting across the living room in long golden beams. Dust drifted lazily through the light. Teddy the cockroach made his way up a dusty work boot. The boot had been there longer than anyone could remember. So had the body beside it. The humans who once occupied the old house were long gone. Their furniture remained. Their toys remained. Their guns remained. Even some of the humans themselves remained, though mostly as bones and geography. T...

I might not be posting much for a while. Allow me to explain... As a writer, I have on occasion had to stop and ask myself, "Good Lord, what have I created?" I'm currently having one of those moments. About 24 hours ago, I started toying with a story idea. It began with the premise of 'any given Tuesday'. Let's face it, outside of politics, Tuesdays are rarely exciting. The Monday blahs are over, the workweek has begun in earnest for most, and the clock is ticking away 'til the weekend. This was all well and good, until I started adding different elements to the thought of 'any given Tuesday'. That's when I let the weirdness in. I would, if I honestly thought I could , give you an idea of the basic story - but I can't. It's weird. It's complex. It's multiple perspectives of singular events. Overall, it's a challenging exercise in determining identity. There. I've made it sound even weirder and undigestible than is necess...