GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #598: CHOCOLATE

 A lot of you know I'm diabetic. I came to it a little differently than most, though. I don't eat sweets. I don't eat cake or pie. No chocolate. No candy. Nothing. I got to this place because of the sheer massive amount of Coke I drank for most of my life. However much Coke you think that is? You're not even close to half of what I drank in those days.

People always look at me weird when I say I don't like chocolate. It's just not my thing. I'll have it every once in a while, but for the most part I don't care for it.

A while back, while I was still in IOP, one of my fellow addicts said that since he quit drinking he also can't stand chocolate. He asked us if we'd ever heard of something like that. I had heard the opposite, actually. I was warned a couple of times that if I ever quit drinking, I would suddenly become a chocoholic.

Here I am on my 187th day from my last drink, and holy shit. I love chocolate. I have no idea how this happened, but I find myself buying Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (the Big Cups, no less) all the time. I stopped and got a couple of packages on the way home from work today. I also get Snickers with almonds. Also, I get Hershey's with almonds. And every once in a while I'll get a Mr. Goodbar.

Holy shit, this is horrible news for a diabetic like me. I've gone through a lot of my life not eating chocolate. And not even caring for it! I force myself to not indulge myself on most days, but when I have the following day off from work? I can't help myself. On those days that I don't get anything, I miss it. For the love of fuck, it actually bums me out.

I gotta do something about this. At least when I was drinking my blood sugars were low. I didn't really eat much of anything back then, and the booze didn't have sugar in it. Is it possible that quitting drinking made me less healthy?!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #597: A SAD DAY

 It is a sad day indeed. So I've still been working through my reading list, but I've also been packing my things up for my inevitable move. I thought I was being forward thinking when setting books aside that were coming up on my list, but I fucked that up. As a result I had to check those books out from the library (because there's no way in hell I'm unpacking anything at this point).

While doing so, I learned a horrible thing.

The Elmhurst Public Library. Where I toiled for almost ten years of my life. Where I was proud to point out a Chicagoland library that has some of my books in it.

Where my books are no longer in circulation.

That's right, I discovered my books are no longer in my hometown library. A very sad day. Did no one check them out? I wonder if they're in the sale room right now as withdrawn books. I hope so. I'd hate to think that they won't go to a loving home.

Or maybe I'll get lucky. Maybe they'll get donated to the local historical society! I don't think there are many authors from Elmhurst, so maybe they're pieces of history?

Yeah, that's a long stretch. Ah well.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #596: THE PLAN

At the beginning of every year I come up with a plan for my career as an author. What I want to do. What I want to work on. Etc. I thought I'd tanked 2022 in that regard, but over the weekend I took a look at that plan and saw I didn't do half bad.

There were two anthologies I knew I'd be in, so I didn't worry too much about those. There were two other anthologies that were in the works at the time, but I had high faith in them, and sure enough all four came to pass with very little effort from me outside of writing the stories.

I got IT CHANGES A MAN out there, which I'm very glad for. I also got DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN AND OTHER PORNOS YOU CAN'T JERK IT TO published, too. It was originally supposed to be something silly like BRUNI'S BIG BOOK OF SEX, but I'm glad a better title occurred to me.

Also, THE LIFE AND TIMES OF HIERONYMUS ALOYSIS ZIEGE came out just in time for Printers Row, which I was a little worried about. I'd written it specifically for Printers Row, and I had a lot of copies of that one. Too bad we got rained out the second day. I still have copies of that and Shit Poems Number Two, if anyone is interested.

But here's where my plan fucked up. I wanted to get my splatter western, TRAIL OF BLOOD, out there. I even had a cover by Luke Spooner for it, but I ran into a lot of problems and had to delay it.  I have almost everything worked out, and I hope to have it out by February. I also wanted my splatter SF book, EYE CUTTER, out at the end of last year. TRAIL OF BLOOD was supposed to be spring, EYE CUTTER winter. Whoops! Now I expect to have EYE CUTTER out no later than Halloween. If you enjoyed IT CHANGES A MAN, then you'll be glad to see Stork is still around.

But that was my big fuck up of 2022. I missed a few other things on my list. There were stories and other things I wanted to work on but never got around to it. I don't consider that too much of a loss. These were mere suggestions to myself if I somehow found myself with a surplus of time on my hands, which did not happen, by the way.

And then I came up with a list of things I'd like to think about for 2023. One of those things I actually got to before the end of 2022. I don't know how that happened, but there you go.

So I came up with my plan for this year. It's not nearly as ambitious as the one for 2022, but here's what it looks like so far, aside from TRAIL OF BLOOD and EYE CUTTER. I want to write another sex book for Kindle only. I have it narrowed down to two ideas. I also want to write another Kindle only splatter SF novella following the adventures of someone we'll meet in EYE CUTTER. I also have an idea for putting together the collection of my Slate stories with a brand new story as an incentive to buy. And then I'm thinking about maybe a chapbook of true life stories of getting drunk and doing crazy shit. It would be a bit more professionally put together than the two volumes of Shit Poems. Those were meant to look more like 'zines than chapbooks. This one would be more along the lines of what that term entails.

I'd originally planned for two other novels, but those will have to be delayed until 2024 for now. So yeah, hopefully this plan works out better than last year's. Also, since 2020 I noticed a horrible trend. With each new year, I should be making more money writing books, yes? That was the case until the Year of the Plague. Understandable, especially since the Plague meant no Printers Row, which is where I make most of my money in one go. Since 2020, though, I've been making less and less each year. This is a horrible situation that absolutely cannot be allowed to continue. So I'll be brainstorming a few things.

Like Patreon, for example. If I did one of those, what kinds of things would you want from me each month? Just putting some feelers out there. Let me know in the comments or on social media or email, etc.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #595: THE SMORGASBORD

 Tomorrow would have been Gramps's 96th birthday. It's hard to believe he's been gone almost seven years. I always used to think that if he died, I would completely lose it. I wouldn't be able to function. And while times have been pretty rough since his passing, and I've gone crazy a couple of times, I didn't completely lose it.

Since I don't do these things on weekends, I thought that this one should be about Gramps. I've told you all about him quite often, so I had to struggle to think of something. Maybe it's not all that glamorous, but here we go.

I remember when I was a kid Gramps had a very strict diet he adhered to. A veritable smorgasbord, if you will, of sandwiches. Every night he would make these towering sandwiches that would make Jughead drool. And he'd eat four or five of these giant things. I have no idea how he did it or even why, but he took great pleasure in his giant sandwiches.

And then after he finished eating he would pour one (1) shot of Jim Beam and take it down. "For digestion," he always told me.

I figured that's what adults did for dinner. Ate a bunch of absurdly big sandwiches and then have one shot of whiskey after. In imitation I would make a sandwich for myself (no more than that, I was still a skinny kid back then) and take one of his shotglasses so I could drink apple juice from it, thinking that when I grew up I'd switch from Mott's to Jim Beam.

I got the Jim Beam part right. A little too right, some might say. But I don't eat all that many sandwiches. Except for at lunch. And never more than one in a sitting.

It's too bad they never had sandwich eating competitions. Gramps would have been a stone cold killer at those.

Happy birthday, Gramps.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #594: A BOY SHOULD HAVE A KNIFE

 

Not too long ago I found my childhood knife, pictured above. I don't remember when Gramps gave it to me, but I'm pretty sure it was in first grade. Maybe third at the latest, but I think first. I remember he showed it to me, and I got excited because I was a child in the 'Eighties, and this is the kind of thing that did it for boys back then. That and Hot Wheels and boobs in horror movies and baseball. He told me that this had been his knife when he was a kid. He said, "A boy should have a knife." And so the boyhood knife was passed down.

I carried that thing with me everywhere. School, Cub Scout meetings, baseball games, you name it. I played in the woods a lot, and a knife could be pretty handy.

My cousin was there that day, and Gramps gave him one, too. It looked a lot different. I know it wasn't brand new, but it looked a lot more recent than the one he gave me. I think I got this one because I was the first grandson. My cousin was the second.

So my cousin's sister gave birth a while ago. I think that means her son is my second cousin. Not sure. I'm not big on categorization, in case you haven't noticed, so I don't really care to find out for sure. I think I have my cousin's knife somewhere, and it occurred to me that maybe my second cousin should have it if I find it. "A boy should have a knife," Gramps said to me.

But then I stopped and thought about all the mischief I got up to with that knife, and then I thought about how much time has passed since then. I'm talking decades. DECADES. The world has moved on. Some think that's a good thing, others a bad thing. I consider it a thing, nothing more. It's as inevitable as Thanos.

I thought about how different school probably is now. How if a boy carried a knife to school today, he would probably be arrested by noon and on the news by six. It wouldn't matter his intentions. Some things are forbidden now. That's probably a good thing.

So is it psychotic for a boy, who I think is in middle school now, to have a knife like the one pictured above?

(I almost typed junior high, but there is another thing that the sands of time has changed. And I'm not sure if he's in middle school. He probably is. But when I hit the age of 40 it started getting difficult for me to judge a young person's age. College kids look like they should be in middle school to me. High school kids look like they're ten to me. I don't know what it is. I wonder if that's the same way with others my age.)

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #593: IT FINALLY HAPPENED

 Well, I hate to say it, but it finally happened. I gave in to my addiction. I slipped and fell and I still have not gotten back up. I decided to give in entirely because I've discovered that I can't live a single day without my drug.

I'm back on the caffeine.

Wait, what did you think I meant?

Just kidding. No, I'm drinking caffeine again, and it aggravates the shit out of me. I started drinking it again during the holidays because I really needed a pick me up, and there were free energy drinks at work. So why not drink a few of them? Just to get through my shift without constantly yawning. Barely being able to keep my eyes open while on the phone with about a hundred customers a day. Literally.

I found myself graduating back up to the giant cans this week. The ones you could club someone to death with. At least I'm sticking to the ones that don't have sugar in them. For the most part.

Quitting caffeine is going to suck. Again. And again. Why not give in? It's the one addiction no one on the planet has a problem with. You could mainline caffeine 24/7 and no one would talk shit about it. Not unless you got hyperactive. Even then they might let it slide. Besides, getting Caffeine Free Diet Coke, my drink of choice these days, is getting harder and harder. The store never has it in stock anymore. I've had to settle for the Pepsi version, and it's just not all that great.

Ah fuck. Well. Here we go again.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #592: RIP KEVIN CANDELA

 The family wanted some time before anyone talked about this, and I held off on this one out of respect for that. Yesterday morning I learned that my friend, author Kevin Candela, passed away the previous night. I'd heard about some of his medical issues, but I thought he'd beaten it all. He's the kind of guy who didn't want to burden others with his own problems, so it came as a surprise to a lot of us when he passed. I still can't believe he's gone.

I've never met him in real life, but it felt like I had. He was on the other side of IL from me, but we talked often about writing and movies we loved. He was the one and only person on this planet who could talk passionately about Quatermass and the Pit. I love the movie, but he brought it to a whole new level. We liked talking about Whedon shows, but oddly the one that most people think of wasn't one of them. It was usually Agents of SHIELD and, sometimes, Firefly. He loved Miracle Workers, and he was looking forward to the new season. I find it hard to believe that he and I won't talk about it when it comes out.

I've shared a lot of TOCs with author friends, but I shared the most with Kevin. Hands down, no contest. We worked together on the Hunter S. Thompson tribute anthologies we did with Kent Hill. We were also in all four volumes of the Straight to Video anthology series. We did the Bukowski book together. And many others. I always kind of wondered what it would be like if he, Kent and I did another HST book. I don't think we'll ever know. It wouldn't feel right to do it without Kevin.

And he was prolific. I thought *I* wrote a lot. Kevin had so many books to his name, it's ridiculous. I'm told that he was working on his final story on his death bed. That's a dedication to one's craft that I don't think even I could match, and I was writing in my hospital room after getting my toes amputated.

I put him in one of the HST stories once. I didn't tell him about it. I wanted him to find out as he read it for editing purposes. He told me after that I'd gotten him down perfect. I think it made him happier than he'd let on. I hope it did.

Here's the thing that gets me. The week before he passed I thought to myself, hey, I haven't heard from Kevin in a while. I should check on him. I'm not sure what happened. I had my phone on me, so I could have easily sent him a message on Facebook, but I didn't do it. I really wish I had. It would have been nice to hear from him one more time before he left us.

I don't believe in the afterlife, but if it exists, I hope he's there already watching the rest of Miracle Workers. Because it is unthinkable that the afterlife doesn't have complete runs of shows, even if they haven't been finished on the mortal coil yet.

Goodnight, Kevin. I miss you already.