Done with the lie

I used to say I wasn't a series guy. I didn't really read series, didn't care for them, wouldn't get on board. Well, I can't honestly say that anymore now that I look at my bookshelf.

I still prefer stand-alones, in most cases. I like the added jeopardy. It's always been one of my biggest beefs with a series character – you know they're going to be fine. There's no stakes. My other trepidation is always the ongoing series that started way before I became aware of them. I'm just not going to devote so much of my reading time catching up on, say, Sue Grafton's series starting from A. Not gonna happen. She's a lovely woman and I'm sure she writes like a dream, but I'll never know.

But more and more series have been creeping into my life, mostly series I was able to get in on the ground floor of. Even a few older series have been taking up a lot of my reading time because they're so damn good.

Let's start with a few classics. I've read about half of Chandler, and the novels never did much for me. I love his short stories because you get all the hardboiled patter usually without the mystery/P.I. plot. I discovered a long time ago I'm not much for traditional whodunit mysteries. I like a story that propels forward and the traditional mystery is all about piecing together bits of the past, looking backward, adding up clues which leads to scenes of misdirection, dead ends and all too often the scenes/chapters of hashing out and reminding the reader what is known and not known. Dull, I think.

However, take the Parker novels of Richard Stark (Donald Westlake). These I can get behind. I've read more than a half dozen Parker novels now and I really liked each of them. As a character I like him, the plots are exciting and Westlake is a no nonsense writer. My type of guy. I plan to keep working my way through the Parker canon.

I think Chester Himes is one of the most underrated crime novelists. His Gravedigger Jones and Coffin Ed series are respected by those in the know, but relatively obscure by the general populace. These books are exciting and always surprising. Himes knew how to throw you off the scent while still entertaining the hell out of you. The journey to solving the central case is exciting as hell, even with Coffin Ed and Gravedigger off stage for much of the action, unusual for a mystery novel.

I've done 7 of the Lew Archer series and I think I'm about done with those. Too much dialogue, too much action happens off stage. People are always stumbling in on an already dead body. I like the action, not the mystery. This is why I don't care for Agatha Christie either. I like Ross MacDonald's voice as a writer, I just wish Archer weren't so passive a character.

Most of the series I anticipate new releases in these days are writers I've met and admire. Kelli Stanley has a new book in her Miranda Corbie series coming soon and I'm genuinely excited for it. Imagine that. Me, a series book excites me. I feel the same way about a new Owen Laukkanen entry in his Stevens and Windermere series, though those play less as a series and more like linked standalones. He seemed to fully embrace that he was writing a series with Kill Fee, putting his two main characters much more front and center than in the first two books.

I've praised Steve Hockensmith's Holmes On The Range series before, usually with the backhanded compliment that I shouldn't like these books so much. But, dammit, I do. There are five of those, and that seems about right, though if he writes a sixth, I'll read it.

Trilogies feel good to me. Duane Sweirczynski's Charlie Hardie series was a great rip-snorting trilogy. Frank Zafiro and Jim Wilsky's Ania trilogy is a great trio of modern crime novels. Charlie Huston's Hank Thompson books are a great three and out.

Let's not forget Charlie Huston's Joe Pitt books, too. Rebecca Cantrell's Hannah Vogel books are a great peek into a world I knew little about in pre- and post-war Berlin.

And then there's Hap and Leonard. Joe Lansdale is one of my favorite writers, and my slow doling out of the Hap and Leonard series (not done yet, but close) is a great treat every time one comes up in my TBR pile. Like two old friends, I'm glad to see them again. Perhaps more than any other, these two made me appreciate the value of a good series.

Max Allan Collins' Quarry series is another winner for me. Much like Parker, this flawed and morally questionable character is just plain fun to read about. 

And I've read all the Sailor and Lula books by Barry Gifford, though those are more like branches on a tree than a real continuing series. 

So you can see, I can't say I'm not a series guy any more. I'm sure I'm forgetting some and there are some still on deck I haven't invested enough time in to comment on properly. Then there are series still in their infancy. Johnny Shaw's sequel to Dove Season is out very soon and Plaster City is one of the books I'm most looking forward to this year. Christa Faust dangled in front of me that she is starting research for a new Angel Dare book and that was exciting news. 

But I'm not afraid of them anymore. I still won't be starting anything that is already 15 or 20 books in. That ship has sailed. But my reading has broadened because I'm no longer afraid to say I read series.

No longer OOP

I'll admit for a long time I had no idea what OOP meant in reference to books. When I realized it meant Out Of Print I felt like an idiot. Well, now none of my books a have that awkward sounding label. See, nobody noticed but the two novels I wrote with JB Kohl, One Too Many Blows To The Head and the sequel, Borrowed Trouble, had gone out of print. 

We regained the rights from the publisher, who were kind and generous people to work with and we are forever in their debt for giving us a chance to publish those books. But the books had played themselves out after nearly 5 years (!) and 4 years, respectively. So we took them back and now have self-released them for super cheap. The ebook anyway is only .99 now and forever, save an occasional free promo. The print versions are working their way through the system and should be available shortly at $12.99, which was basically the minimum we could set the price. Deal with it.

Also, I included them in the Amazon matchbook program so if you purchased a print copy in the past, you can get the ebook for free.

We really hope these books continue to have a life. We think they're really good and so have most people who've read them, which might not be many but they're dedicated. 

So welcome back to the world of being a book, my two oldest children. And Jen and I are kicking around ideas for a third book. Three seems right, doesn't it? And since we're in charge of Ray and Dean now, why the hell not?

White Hot Pistol still loaded

My novella, White Hot Pistol, is out and about in the world, but with little fanfare. Naturally I think that's a shame because I'm the author. The good news is the people who are reading it are liking it. I submit as evidence, this review which calls it "A fine example of hardboiled modern pulp."

So, if you like a story that, "starts at quite a pace and it doesn't let up for an instant," you should check out this nasty little slice of noir. Book 2 in the Noirville tales will be out before you know it and you don't want to miss out, right?

Want a taste? The first chapter is right here.

Interview with David Oppegaard

David Oppegaard has a new book out, And The Hills Opened Up. It's a wild and weird trip to the old west where outlaws, miners and isfits do battle with the fabled Charred Man. Part horror novel and part western gunslinger this, like all of Oppegaard's work, is a unique book to say the least. 

Curious about where these crazy ideas come from, I asked David a few questions. 

You write cross-genre hybrids. What are your influences for that stuff? You seem to be operating in your own little world.

I read a ton when I was very young and I guess all the genres sort of mashed together in my brain. We had a reading program in my elementary school that gave out prizes for reading Newbery books and reporting on them. I’d show up in the school library almost every morning and give a fresh report to the librarian. I don’t even think I really understood the concept of “genre” until high school.

Do you start with a conventional story and then twist it as you go or do these ideas come fully formed out of some twisted furnace in your brain?

Every book’s a little different, but I suppose I start with an idea for a story that interests me and purposefully twist as I go along. The Suicide Collectors, for example, started as thought experiment-could I come up with a unique apocalypse?  My goal is to never write the same book twice.

And The Hills Opened Up is a little like a campfire tale. Is there any true to life origin for the story?

I love a good campfire tale!  I did base Red Earth on a few copper mining towns in the northern Sierra Madres in southern Wyoming around roughly the same time period. These were remote company towns that revolved on working twelve hours underground a day, drinking, and sleeping. I did a lot of copper mine research for the novel as well.

Why was it important for the story to be set in 1890 instead of today?

I think the past is underserved in horror literature-think how much darker and horrific the world must have appeared to be back in the day. Plus, I love westerns and 1890 fell right on the far edge of the typical “western” time period.

You’ve written about meteors falling to earth, the end of the world or at least The Despair, and now the Charred Man. Why do you want to destroy humanity?

I don’t want destroy it, personally, but I do think it’s doing a pretty good job at destroying itself. It was reported recently that a NASA-funded study stated industrial civilization was headed for an “irreversible collapse”.  I thought the most telling thing to come out of that study was how nobody really gave a damn about it, even the folks who acknowledged it was probably true. The human race seems to lack the ability to truly understand that failure is an option, that we’re not too big to fail. Which, of course, is the downfall of every smug villain in history.

Do you ever feel silly having to state “this is a work of fiction” at the start of your books?

You mean on the copyright page? Yeah, I guess that exists to cover everybody’s ass. I’ve also noticed every novel needs to have “A Novel” marked on the front cover beneath the title. Back in the day people knew a goddamn novel when they saw one.

Behind the curtain question: how have you liked working with a smaller press (Burnt Bridge) on this book? Is And The Hills Opened Up the kind of book a big publisher is just not going to get behind these days?

HILLS certainly made the rounds at major publishing houses and earned much praise but never sold. My agent believes it was the western part of western-horror, that people aren’t buying much western fiction right now.  My editor at Burnt Bridge was Mark Rapacz, an old buddy of mine from the Hamline University MFA program.  Working with Mark was great and I had a lot of input in the cover, the overall layout, etc. An ideal process, really.

Obviously you eschew the "write what you know" school of advice, or else you have a really interesting life. What's the thing you know now that you wish you'd known when you first started writing?

That’s an interesting question.  Maybe it’s better not to know too much when you’re starting out, because if you’re too self-aware (or truly aware of how hard the writing life is to pursue) you might never set out at all.  I’ve written fourteen novels total and it’s been a constant learning process.  I might tell younger Dave to make sure he’s truly enjoying whatever he’s writing about and to make sure that sense of enjoyment remains a constant guide.

I see a lot of Joe Lansdale in And The Hills Opened Up, and that's high praise from me. Who do you read on a regular basis and who should we be reading more of?

I think folks should just be reading more, period. I visit my library at least once a week a leave with a handful of books. I sort of plow through everything, let it sift through my brain, and hopefully it all makes me a better writer and person. Still, I admit I watch way too much TV.

In the western vein of literature I recently read and highly recommend Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry and The Sisters Brothers by Patrick deWitt. 

---------------------

I can second my love of The Sisters Brothers. Thanks, David, for stopping by. 

I had to

A few weeks ago Steve Hockensmith and I were trading quips on Twitter, as you do. It's common knowledge that Hockensmith is quippier than I and somewhere in the exchange where I threatened to turn to writing for children he suggested some fake titles. Well, they were too good to pass up. When I first read Charlotte's Web Of Deceit, the ideas flowed. And I'm not one to leave a good idea on the side of the road. So I had to.

So blame Mr. Hockensmith (then read all his books, which are all top of the heap excellent) and to Steve, my apologies for dragging your name into this. 

I decided to put the story up here because really, who's going to publish this? Of course, if you want to, just drop me a line. Otherwise, feel free to link to it, copy and paste it, print it out and distribute it to a first grade class. Just give me credit where credit is due, and don't leave out Steve Hockensmith. He ought to suffer the same wrath I do from the legions of fans this book deservedly has.

CHARLOTTE’S WEB OF DECEIT

by Eric Beetner

(For Steve Hockensmith)

From high in the rafters above the pig pen, Charlotte watched as the afternoon crowd of curious onlookers pushed and squeezed against each other for a look at her web.

"Well, folks, that about wraps it up for today," Mr. Zuckerman said. "Wilbur needs his beauty rest."

"He sure is some pig," someone in the crowd said, echoing the words woven into Charlotte’s web.

As the crowd began to disperse the folks waved at Wilbur, some blew kisses, but same as the other days since the first message appeared, nobody thanked Charlotte. They didn't glance upwards to the rafters where she hid, nobody mentioned the skill of the web making, only the words written in silk as if some divine hand had put them there and not the midnight artistry of a skilled weaver. 

The animals in the barnyard all said a goodnight to Wilbur. The sheep and the lambs spoke in a chorus. The goose with her fast talking skronk, “Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight Wilbur.”

Even Templeton the rat paused as he left the trough with an armload of uneaten apple cores and corn cobs. “‘Night Wilbur. Save me some breakfast, will ya?”

“Will do, Templeton,” Wilbur said cheerfully.

But did anyone say goodnight to Charlotte? No.

Below, Wilbur strutted with a newfound pride while overhead Charlotte simmered with her own new feeling – jealousy.

That pig, who wallowed in filth all day long, was seen as some sort of miracle, some great achievement. And for what? Because someone said something nice about him in a web? What did he do to earn their respect and adulation? Nothing.

She was the one. The artist. The inspiration. The savior. She kept the axe from his neck and nobody even knew she existed.

As the sun set the spider rubbed her forelegs together and gave in to the arachnid thoughts playing across her mind. She decided that night to weave a different message.

•••

"Pa, come quick. There's a new message in Wilbur's pen!"

The excitement across the barnyard never seemed to dull with each new message Charlotte spun. As the farmer and his wife gathered at the gate with Lurvy the farmhand and young Fern beside them, they all stared up into the web, still glistening with early morning dew and cast golden by the breaking sun reaching the barn posts.

The usual excited chatter was, this morning, replaced by a slack-jawed silence. Mr. Zuckerman broke the quiet first.

"Am I reading that right?"

Wilbur, who couldn't read, let the piggish smile drop from his face as he turned to the rafters where Charlotte hid in the shadows. She was exhausted from the night’s work, but she had to see the reaction first hand. The looks on their faces were as delicious as a horsefly caught in the center of her web.

The animals all joined the Zuckermans, little Fern and Lurvy as they stared up at the new word: TASTY.

•••

They kept it to themselves this time. No crowds came to gawk. Nobody patted Wilbur's rump with its stiff bristly hairs and smell of manure and rotten leftovers from the farmer’s kitchen.

"Maybe it's like a double meaning," Lurvy said. "Tasty means good, right? Maybe it's just a different way of saying good."

This seemed to brighten everyone's mood, or at least clear away the confusion.

"By golly I think you're right," Mr. Zuckerman said.

Charlotte steamed in her hiding spot as the call was put out to let the rubberneckers come. They were told a new message was written in the web and it meant good. In no time at all the word passed through the crowd and gained new meaning. That new car Del got was mighty tasty. The rains brought crops this year that were awful tasty compared with last year. Fern’s new dress looked positively tasty on her.

When evening settled and the humans had gone, Wilbur thanked Charlotte in his usual childlike squeaky voice, a voice Charlotte had begun to despise.

"Gee, thanks Charlotte," Wilbur said. "I sure wish I had your gift of vocabulary. Sometimes you use words I never knew what they truly meant."

"Yes, of course, Wilbur. My pleasure. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm dead tired because of all my hard work on your behalf." Charlotte retreated to her hiding place in the rafters. "Why, it's been two days since I’ve caught so much as a mosquito. These new webs aren't exactly designed for catching dinner you know."

"Gosh, Charlotte, you’re ever so nice to me."

That's all she got. Not an offer to tear down the web so she could eat. He'd rather her starve than stop the flood of well wishers and sycophants coming by to pretend his dung didn't stink. Well, it did. 

That night she knitted a word in silk that no one could misinterpret.

•••

Mr. Zuckerman's slack jaw had an extra quality to it the next morning. A bit of drool forming in the corners of his mouth.

Absently he licked his lips as he stared up at the newly spun word in the morning light. His eyes went from the web down to Wilbur, then back to the web and the word frozen there: BACON.

"What's it say, Charlotte?" Wilbur asked.

"It says bacon."

"And what's that?"

Templeton slithered out from under the slop trough. "You don't know what bacon is?"

Charlotte cut him off before he could continue. "More important than what it means, Wilbur, is the fact that everyone loves bacon."

"Everyone?" Wilbur asked in a hopeful voice.

"Everyone."

Chilled by the spider's calm demeanor, Templeton slid back into hiding, away from Charlottes compound eyes, which seemed to glow a little bit red today.

Talk around the farmyard was hushed that day. The farmer and Lurvy stood to the side and whispered, pointing at Wilbur and then shaking their heads as if they didn't know what to do.

But Charlotte did.

The next morning Charlotte unveiled her masterpiece. Rendered in silk, in 3/4 scale, was a complete outline of a hog with dotted lines (a tricky feat in web silk) marking the different cuts of meat. She'd outlined ham hocks, pork chops, the loins, the belly, the rump. It was a rendering worthy of the finest butcher shop in town.

A meeting was called in the Zuckerman’s house.

The sheep avoided the area of the pig pen all day. The goose kept a squinty eye on Charlotte, half starved yet looking fully satiated.

"Gee, Charlotte," Wilbur said. "Sure is quiet today."

"That's life on a farm, Wilbur. Trust me, things will get very exciting soon. Don't you know what they say about the calm before the storm?"

"Golly you're smart."

And you're dumb, thought Charlotte. Ignorant. Dimwitted. Imbecilic. Moronic. All the juicy words she could weave into her web were delicious on her tongue.

No crowds came that day. No parades, no songs in Wilbur's honor. The silence, to Charlotte, was blissful.

•••

On Easter Sunday the eggs were gathered from the chicken coops and hidden around the yard. Fern and her cousins all shrieked as they ran to find the hidden treasures.

The mood in the barn was quiet different. Sullen, the animals shuffled feet and tried not to lift their noses to the smells coming from the kitchen in the farmhouse. The sweet glaze over the ham, the salty tang in the air of slow roasted meat.

The pig pen stood empty. Above, Charlotte was busy spinning a web. No words, nothing fancy, just a time honored method of gathering food. The circle of life and all that.

She felt the hard glare of eyes below and Charlotte stopped her work to look at the sheep watching her. Templeton stared from the fence post and the goose narrowed her eyes from beyond the pen. 

"Yes?" Charlotte said.

"How could you?" said the sheep.

"How could I what?"

"You sent Wilbur to his death. Now he's supper on the table."

"Wasn't that always to be his fate? Isn't that the fate for all of you?"

A murmur ran through the assembled crowd of animals. The goose stretched her long neck and spoke to Charlotte in an accusing tone. "What kind, what kind of monster are you?"

Charlotte smiled and went back to her web spinning. "Why, a black widow of course."

I'm cheap

Just for fun let's go over how many books of mine, or that I'm included in, you can get for only .99. Ready? Let's go:

Books #1 and #2 of The Year I Died Seven Times
My short story collection, A Bouquet Of Bullets
My cannibals and strippers novella Stripper Pole At The End Of The World
The 2nd of my Fightcard novellas, A Mouth Full Of Blood
The anthology Beat To A Pulp: Hardboiled 2
The original Pulp Ink
The crime and horror (my story is both) anthology Pulp Ink 2
Both of the Off The Record anthologies
The humor anthology Junk
The crazy crime anthology D*CKED

You're welcome.

In other news, I got more copies of Criminal Economics in. We're nearing 100 when this run of limited edition paperback copies will end. So contact me if you want one. $10, plus $3 shipping. Hand numbered and signed.

Or buy all that stuff above for the same price. Up to you. 

Book #2 - moving along

If it's March then Book #2 of The Year I Died Seven Times must be out. And looky there, it is! People seem to be getting hooked on Ridley and his desperate search for the girl of his dreams. Crimespree Magazine sure did love it, and for a crime writer that's kinda like the New York Times giving you a rave.

And now each installment is only .99, for you who thought the extra fifty cents was just too much. Get on board now, the next installment is coming next month. It will all wrap up by November so you have all summer to look forward to more action, more intrigue, more deaths. After that the whole book will be available in one volume, but the print version of each step of the way is still there for the collectors among you.

As long as I'm here talking about good things, another review came across my desk for the little book that lives on – Dig Two Graves. I share it because it feels good for my ego and I've been informed I need to get over the inclination to shy away from praise. This would be a good time to do that, however, since the reviewer makes the absurd assertion that my little book is in the same league as Chandler, Hammett, Cain, Thompson and Hinkson. That hyperbole aside, I love reading when someone really enjoys a book. So, y'know, if you were thinking of doing it and wondering, do authors like that? Yes. Yes, we do.

The myth of the "pantsers"

It is an eternal question among writers: are you an outliner or a pantser?

I outline, and everyone I know who came from screenwriting does the same. I'm not saying it's the "right" way to do it, but it's my way. I have my own quirks, as everyone does. Yes, we're all special little snowflakes. Now that we got that out of the way, I get a little annoyed at the occasional (read as: not everyone does it so calm the fuck down before you get offended at my opinion) but the occasional attitude of the non-outliner, or write-by-the-seat-of-the-pants people. I get the feeling, now and then, that they think this is a more "real" way of writing. Like I use an outline as a crutch. Like I'm stifling my creativity by forcing myself to adhere to a predetermined structure.

Um, no.

So, without endorsing this as the way you should do it, because you should write however the hell you want to, and because I think 99.9% of all writing advice is bullshit and absolutely 100% of all unsolicited writing advice is dangerous, toxic bullshit you should avoid like a glowing meteor that fell in your yard - here's why I think outlining is better.

First: The truth is, at some point, it's all made up out of the ether. We're all "pantsing" it. It's what making up a story is. Whether I do it and then write down those snippets of ideas and form it into a structure and work out plot holes, narrative inconsistencies and character before I start writing chapter headings doesn't mean at some point I was just riffing and making shit up.

I have strange ways of working on my ideas and forming outlines. I like to think about a story for a long time before I formally write it all down, but it's all part of the writing process. I hit on an idea and I roll it around for a while. If it sticks with me I know I'm on to something, and really my only criteria is if it is a book I'd like to read. Well, the only way I'm going to get to read that book is if I write it so . . . off I go. 

But I still think on it. I think before I take notes. Then I write some stuff down, longhand. When it seems like a real story and not something I'm going to get to 20K words and find I've used up my story, then I set down to do a real outline.

Second: Outlines are flexible.

My outlines are fairly sparse. 'He goes to the apartment' may end up as a 3K word chapter. And they are flexible. This myth the pantsers have that outliners sit with a ruler and stick to what they've outlined as if we were German SS troops who must stick to zee outline at all costs! Not how it works. If the story takes a different direction, then great. 

I knew a guy who was working on his first novel and he told me he had about 70 pages of notes and outlines. To me, that's excessive. But again, it's your process, man. Do your thing.


Third: I don't like to rewrite. 

I don't really know anyone who does. A lot of writers will say this is where the "real" writing takes place, but I disagree.

And since I outline, since I don't meander toward a story, I do very little rewriting. I rewrite for polish, for grammar, to fix mistakes in my own inadequate language skills and punctuation bugaboos. 

So if you don't outline, you don't get to complain about how painful your rewrites are and lament on how you had to toss out all of chapter 4 and start again.

Four: since when is planning ahead a bad thing?

I think of it like remodeling a house. If you build the house, paint it, put the carpets in, decorate it and then step back to look and only then say, "Y'know what, that door should be over there." Well, shit, that's a hell of a lot harder to do than making the change from a guest bedroom to a padded sex dungeon when it's all studs and plywood.

I believe in pre-production. You iron out the kinks, you strive for consistency. Then you set down to the building. And it's not like the old Hitchcock thing where he allegedly said the actual shooting of a movie was boring because he had it all thought out beforehand. You might know where the story is going, but isn't the pleasure in writing the words, the sentence structure and finding the perfect way to describe that sound when a fat man falls down the stairs while wearing tap shoes?

Outlines don't stifle creativity. If anything, I think it frees me up to focus on the words because the plot is already sorted out. 

So if you don't outline, keep on keeping on. But don't sneer at the outliners and treat us like we write with training wheels on.

Video chat

The good folks at Bookxy, publishers of my novella White Hot Pistol, sat me and a ton of other authors down for little chats. Here's mine. I give you a little about the book, a few of my desert island reads, and my favorite line in all of noir fiction. Give it a gander, then check out then whole crew (well, half. There is another one just like this) for a roundtable discussion on the future of publishing. (below)

Check out Bookxy's YouTube channel for interviews with each Bookxy author. Good stuff all.

A new way to do it

So I had this book, see . . . and nobody wanted to publish it. Well, really I didn't try very hard. But it was there and just hanging out, waiting patiently in line behind a bunch of others. I wanted to put it out in a manner suiting the very different nature of the book. See, it comes in seven installments. It just sort of worked out that way. Maybe because the book is called The Year I Died Seven Times and the protagonist (not a spoiler alert at all) dies at the end of each section. 
Oh, he's not dead-dead. It's not a zombie novel. He just dies a little bit. Technically. Clinically dead I think they call it. Anyway, I had this book . . .

Well, I pitched the idea to my pal David over at Beat To A Pulp. My idea was to put out each section on the BTAP site and then when they were all there collect them up and put them out as a book. He did me one better. Put each out as it's own little book and let the story build like an old time serial. Or, as it turns out, The Green Mile from Stephen King. I had no idea Green Mile originally came out as short novellas one at a time and added up to a full book. Well, it sounded good to me. Most of all it sounded different.

We went for it. And now here it is.

The plan is this: Over the course of 2014 we will release all seven volumes in the month the story takes place. So, first installment is January. Next one is March. And so on. By the end of the year – November actually, you don't even have to wait a whole year – the book will be released in its entirety and then we'll collect up all the pieces and put them in one volume. But who can wait for that?

Each book will be available as an ebook for the low, low price of 1.49 and then we are also doing a print version as a collectors edition. I'm designing each book cover to work as a set so only when you have all 7 on your shelf do the spines line up and make sense. Those cost more, but like I said, it's a collector's item. 

I'm excited for this book to get out there. It's fun and kinda funny, I think, and along the way you watch as a guy gets his life ruined and ended in outlandish, surprising and painful ways. And he does it all for love. Yep, love kills. Seven times.