my left hand holding up 2 bookmarks, showing both sides of the same design. The front says scifi magic smut survivor memoir / since 2003. The back has a stylized repeating logo design that says desire hope despair. Black ink on brick red.


“This pandemic blows.”

I’ve been saying this as a sign off or greeting in many of my short communications lately.

Well—lemme get to the news part of this: All orders of my short story collection Transitional Times Transitional Body will now come with this handsome bookmark, designed for the new year and 4th printing of the book.

Four printings? Wow sounds like a lot. Mmm. As with Metropolarity’s Style of Attack Report, each print run has numbered somewhere between 125–150 books per, as that is the limit of what I have been able to afford & realistically pay off—promoting, selling, packing, and distributing everything out of my residence. With Metropolarity, we’ve sold over 1000 copies. With my book, about 300 to date. The first zine printing was 50 or 75-count. I forget.

Any time I get myself back into the game of getting material goods made for selling, I start daydreaming about shit like owning and operating a press of some kind. Philly’s own Harriet’s Bookshop was started in part with funding from winning a Leeway award (from what I understand). I too won a Leeway award some years ago at this point, so when I heard that about Harriet’s I was like damn what am I doing? I could INVEST! When I went to pick up my bookmarks from Fireball Press over by Frankford and Lehigh aves, I stared into their lobby space and through the door that opened to their production floor. So much equipment. So much “start-up capital” needed. The self-defeating thoughts flood in.

The pandemic short-circuited my 2020, a year I was to dedicate to completing the goddamn first draft of my long-in-the-making All That’s Left novel. I left my job, I had moved in with my partner to lessen expenses, I was all set. At the end of January 2021, I’m back at my old job, my partner and I broke up but still live together, and maybe I’m halfway there on my draft still. Visions of fatalistic futures have mired my motivation to produce work. It’s been rough. I’m still writing, though. The work will get done. What will the world be like when it’s ready? I’m not sure.

Until then, you are more than welcome to indulge me by purchasing a book for yourself or a loved one.

Tales from the crossroads of desire, hope, and despair. A sci-fi survivor memoir that has no princes, cops, or chosen people, that does not promote the colony or romanticize the empire. The short stories in this freshly expanded collection make apt companions for travelers, underworlders, heartbroken hope seekers, and of course fellow cyborgs.

Hope you are faring well out there. This pandemic blows.