The Gonzo Wolf

Starving Zoe was the third and final element in my mental breakdown a few years ago. The other causes were the pandemic and January 6th, but Zoe came in waves.

She was review bombed, got me fired from a job, got me kicked off of a music festival…and is somehow available at Barnes & Noble and Walmart.

I knew nothing of Splatterpunk when I signed the contract to write it, so I read Ed Lee’s “Header”. Then, I reread “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” – recreationally – and finished it up with my initial readthrough of “Catcher In The Rye”. I chewed all of that up, and spit out thirty years of divorces, break-ups, alcoholism, and (then) undiagnosed lifelong mental health issues. I spiraled, hit rock bottom, and collapsed.

I was embarrassed of her for years.

In my recovery (chemically, spiritually, and mentally) I have accepted her for what she is; a funeral for a friend. Starving Zoe is my life’s eulogy for when I decided to turn things around. That’s how I’ll look at her from now on. The publisher seems to love her. She went to NY Comic Con this year!

Starving Zoe is a love story told in its purest form; unbridled lunacy. It’s tragedy, triggers, and betrayals. Its reception was so divisive and deranged, it tarnished both my own reputation and view of the indie horror community. Neither of those tarnishing ever recovered.

A lot of the shit they harped on was shit I found to be funny. Why would I want to hang around a bunch of fucko’s who don’t laugh at my jokes? That’s basically it in a nutshell, I guess; at least this year. Perhaps my view will change. On my death bed, a year from now, tomorrow; my prerogative.

As with life, there are no heroes in this story, just whoever you find to be the least villainous. You’ll laugh, you’ll vomit in your mouth a bit, or you’ll regift it to your mother-in-law at Christmas.

I don’t have to preach it up; even the bad reviews spark interest. In the end, this is the book of mine that will get found in a used store after the fall of mankind and spark conversations, or religions. Maybe it will just reinforce the belief that pre-apocalyptic society was full of psychopaths; both writers and readers alike.

I don’t plan on attending any book conferences this year, but I have a few of these on hand in my store. Also, the audiobook is damn good!

Be warned: This ain’t your Pepaw’s paperback…

To most, 1865 was an eye-opening year. The American Civil War was officially over and the soldiers fortunate enough to survive the bloody conflict returned home to collect the pieces of their former lives. To young Arizonan, Robert Jack, the fateful desert homecoming marked the end to all he once knew. Forgiveness is overrated. Death is final. Revenge, however, dances between the fine lines of mortality and eternity. Love always finds a way.

“The most f**ked up love story ever written.”

Their words; not mine.