Writing Books: Third Wheel As A Debut Novel

Great news! I've set August 21, 2023, as the release date for my debut novel, Third Wheel. It's a coming-of-age story about a boy trying to find his identity by taking chances on random and fragile relationships forged in the early boomtown years of Las Vegas, 1982.

The teenage protagonist Brady Wilks is an outcast as a Midwest transplant, who forges a brotherly bond with an older teenage neighbor, Mick, and his friend, Brett. When Brett unexpectedly moves away, Mick invites a new kid into their pack, squeezing out the last remnants of their childhood in favor of a new world laced with cartel-supplied drugs and the deal of a lifetime. The path brings Brady face to face with the darker side of Las Vegas at a time when cartels, corporations, and the mob were in the midst of a power struggle (even though it is not a mob story).

Sure, the protagonist brushes up against organized crime, but the novel is more about belonging, betrayal, and breaking away from the paths laid before us. The grittier elements serve as a backdrop and something I know a little bit about. While the novel is fictitious, Wilks and I share a few experiences.  

Specifically, I also moved to Las Vegas from the Midwest in the late 70s/early 80s. I also had similar challenges at home and struggled to adapt to life on the fringe of a transient town known for adult entertainment.

Las Vegas as a backdrop

This isn't the Las Vegas that most people think about when they think of Las Vegas, which is why I always felt living here was paradoxical. In 1982, this town was much smaller, maybe 200,000 people, and most of them lived in a California-esque desert suburbia, but with slot machines in their grocery stores and minimal family activities outside of what kids could come up with on their own.

For teens, The Strip and Downtown Las Vegas were more akin to a drive-by experience. We would cruise Downtown Las Vegas and The Strip, stopping only long enough to eat at a buffet, see a show (the few that would let us in), or visit the carnival midway at Circus Circus or Omnimax at Caesars Palace. Sure, sometimes we would see how much we could get away with in the far more famous areas of the city, but mainly we caused our trouble well away from tourists. 

Suffice to say, the famous landmarks and locales are barely blips in this book but still provide the fabric for what life was like in a small town stuffed into a big city envelope. And yes, we all knew who ran it. But mostly, in this book, with the exception of a quick trip to the naked city, casino resorts are only part of the distant skyline, which is mostly how it was when I was growing up too. 

Third Wheel is in production

Behind the scenes, the second proof copy of Third Wheel has been ordered and I am in the process of submitting the manuscript for a few early reviews. Then, after another pass on the proof, we'll format the book for various distributors. 

Currently, Third Wheel preorders are available via Amazon Kindle. But like my first book, 50 States, Third Wheel will be available everywhere books are sold and libraries (as it has a Library of Congress control number). I will also have copies of the book on hand in August, making it easier for readers to purchase a signed copy rather than trying to connect after the purchase. 

There are two ways to read a sneek peak of the first chapter. The first chapter of Third Wheel doubles as a short story in Ten Threads, which is my ten-story companion to 50 States. And, closer to August, I will share a private link to the first chapter via my newsletter. A few months after publication, I'll also share a few additional bits related to Third Wheel in the newsletter, including how to discover its secret music playlist and a reference that grounds it in the 50 States universe. 

That's all the news that's fit to print right now, except I have a new biosite if you prefer to connect with me somewhere else. The only social network not listed on the biosite is Mastadon. I'm still kicking the tires there, much like Gettr and MeWe. Hope to see you around. Good night, good luck, and thanks for taking an interest.

Winning Awards: 50 States Earns Its Fourth Honor

A few weeks ago, 50 States was honored with a 2023 Book Excellence Award. Out of thousands of books entered in this competition, 50 States was selected for its high-quality writing, design, and overall market appeal in the category of short stories. You can find its listing here. 

This isn't the first award 50 States has earned. It won first place for short stories in the Spring 2022 BookFest Awards; first place in the ABR Book Excellence Award for literary fiction, psychological thriller, and short stories; and was named a finalist in the IAN Book Of The Year Awards. 

For me, the honor isn't one of achievement as much as real affirmation. Debut authors tend to read all the reviews. Some are flattering. Some, not so much. And although we all know the score — even the best literary works in history have their 1-star critics — it's nice to see the work resonated with someone, somewhere. And in this case, it's nice to know that the first award wasn't a fluke or happy accident. Lightning might strike twice, but not four times. 

Writing 50 States 

When I first set out to write 50 States, it was never about winning awards. It was a two-year project to teach myself how to write for myself instead of everybody else — something I've done for more than 30 years (and still do today). As a teaching tool, 50 States has been invaluable to me — both in writing the stories and in marketing what most book publishers will tell you is a hard sell. 

Right. A collection of multi-genre short stories isn't on anybody's reading list (until it is). Fortunately, I've found readers anyway — with more than 2,000 copies sold to date (and counting). It's the kind of sales that propels you to push forward and finish work on your debut novel, especially when you are only a few months away — the editing complete, blurb written, and book cover finalized.

Writing a novel is something I would have never been able to do without 50 States and its brisk 10-story companion, Ten Threads. This is doubly true because one of the stories in Ten Threads was the springboard for it, just as 50 States will be the springboard for most, if not all, of my subsequent novels.

Plainly stated, the stories that make up 50 States might stand alone, but there is more to share about each of them. I think about them all the time. What will happen to the Idaho farmer who aches for absolution after a tragedy and is given one more chance at redemption? What about Liam Olsen? Will he ever know what is going on at the nightmarish government biohazard area in Utah he and his girlfriend stumbled into? Do my Maine characters, Billy and Jessica, ever find common ground after spending several years apart in two different worlds, with him never leaving home but her living in New York? Or, more importantly: When, where, or how deeply will all the stories inside 50 States interconnect?

They will, eventually. And it all starts with 50 States.

Finding 50 States

50 States was released by Copywrite, Ink. in January 2022, when it broke into the top 100 bestsellers for literary fiction short stories on Amazon for three consecutive months. It has found itself there, on and off, several times, even breaking into the top ten on one occasion. 

As a collection, it's perfect for readers with fifteen minutes or so to read a single story. A few have told me they like to read a few stories from 50 States when they're between novels. It's a good idea, given that so many stories qualify as dark literary fiction, regardless of genre.

You can still find 50 States anywhere books are sold. Ten Threads is a Kindle exclusive. Most sales seem to happen on Amazon, but you can order a copy from Barnes & Noble, Books A Million, or elsewhere. There are even several indie bookstores that have signed copies in stock. I've given them shoutouts here and on Facebook. The audiobook edition can be found on Audible and iTunes. It's read by Emmy-wining narrator Brian Callanan.

Writing Stories: Stranger Than Fiction

There is a childhood punishment that the protagonist of my debut novel describes in my forthcoming debut novel. One of the beta readers didn’t like it. She called it silly, disbelieving it would ever happen.

The irony is that I borrowed it from real life. No, the novel isn’t real life. It’s a work of fiction. But as most writers will tell you, we all draw on real people or events, especially those that leave physical, emotional, or psychological imprints on our lives. 

How else does one write straight, honest prose about human beings? Some of us look backward while writing forward, weaving the past into the present — even if we’re implanting the event on someone we made up, asking ourselves the whole time how the character might respond to it differently than we did. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t.

This is where it can sometimes be tricky as a writer. We borrow bits of this and that from our lives and reshape them into something else for other people to experience until it isn’t our experience anymore, but someone else’s entirely, someone we made up. And this is why I sometimes offer a cautionary whisper to those who might remember actual events before they read my work. It’s not them or me or you or that or what happened, I tell them. Because, well, it isn’t any of that. Except in this case, maybe. 

The childhood punishment I’m talking about really happened, and it happened to me. It was so real, in fact, I spent the better part of my twenties believing I deserved it, coping with it and other psychological abuses as a sort of joke. How bad of a kid was I? I was so bad …

When I finally had my own kids, I stopped telling the joke. It was no longer funny as I realized it was a punishment that I could never prescribe on my kids or any kids, for that matter. There wasn’t any infraction worthy of such a punishment or even the threat of it — which four more children endured while growing up until it became a thing of legend. 

The punishment I’m talking about sounds familiar to most people. It was a room restriction, common enough that The Atlantic wrote about it like a rite of passage among previous generations. Some still argue that “grounding” can be effective. Maybe so. Except for mine, maybe. 

My grounding wasn’t a weekend or week, as some might have experienced. It was a month, with the real caveat being that everything interesting was removed from my room — books, games, papers, pencils, etc. The circumstances didn’t make sense either, as it had very little to do with anything I did but a demonstration of unchecked authority. She had told me there would be consequences, so she had to follow up. 

The consequence for putting one dish out of the dishwater away dirty was a month-long restriction. I didn’t doubt her. Past experiences had always convinced me she meant business. So I did what any preteen would do. I slowly, carefully, and meticulously inspected every dish while putting them away. And I felt true terror when she came in to inspect the work, slowing and randomly looking over glasses and plates and silverware. 

I was so very careful, but it was there anyway. There was a water spot on one of the knives. The declaration of its finding was so fierce that it alone would have taught me a lesson, assuming there was one to teach. But it didn’t stop there, couldn’t stop there. 

The consequence had already been outlined. I would be placed on room restriction for a summer month, only allowed out to use the bathroom and for meals.

I was so angry that it never occurred to me that I couldn’t see the offending water spot, nor could I discern whether it was the knife I had put away or some other that she had plucked from the drawer. What did occur, I learned later in life, is that she had triggered a fight or flight response, and I always tended to be a fighter. 

I made a cavalier proclamation that I didn’t care about her punishment or authority. I would take my punishment like a champ, shut myself off from her wickedness, and read, draw, and play games until my vacation from her ended. Tut tut. Lay it on me. 

That’s when she delivered what amounted to a left hook I never saw coming. She told me I was too smart for my own good, so all those things would be taken out of my room too. I would be left in there with nothing except my bed, clothes, and a window to look out of from the elevated first story of our apartment. It overlooked a pond. 

Sometimes my son and daughter ask me what I did for that month. They are especially perplexed because, nowadays, a cell phone restriction can be more impactful than banishment to a room ever seemed to be. From what I remember, and I blanked a good part of it, I imagined things. 

The protagonist in the novel, on the other hand, never says. He only mentions it as an illustration of circumstance, given the book isn’t about abuse. Any psychological abuse is only a subplot, a mechanism to help people understand the boy in relation to other events in the story. 

Even so, I sometimes hope its presence in the story sparks conversation about it as it did with one of my beta readers. When people hear or talk about abuse, the word conjures images of physical or sexual abuse before emotional abuse or neglect, but those things exist too. And the wholesale destruction of someone’s self-worth carries consequences that take even longer to heal. 

If you know of someone who needs help or if you need help yourself, Childhelp can put you in touch with local resources in your area. Aside from that, let’s have a conversation. Stories help people learn they are not alone, even when they sound stranger than fiction.