Shout!

Never speak to me again.

Beyond The Blue Kite and I’m releasing the string, back to where it all started. Shocktober the 11th passes.

Brush your teeth, then shout. And yet, I would love for you to read my novel in 2022. I’m rocking hard to write a knock-out book. Beautiful work and a memorable, deeply flawed character in The Stoned Theory Of My Own Destruction. It started out as scribbled words on paper as Time Tracks and Artificial Facts, and I destroyed many working titles.

Another feeble shout. It feels much better. A beta reader commented about Ray McFadden. “His interest in music was interesting, and I liked reading about it.” Ray’s story will be available on Amazon, not just a Tumblr of unadulterated wickedness.

Sometimes you put it out there and shout, and still nobody can hear you.

Moby Dick, a popular and enduring novel long before it became a cultural shorthand; Herman Melville’s tale of obsession and the sea carved its place into literary history. Decades later, the name resurfaced in a different form as “Moby Dick,” the thunderous instrumental by Led Zeppelin, where the whale became rhythm, power, and endurance through a different sort of narrative. In both cases, the title came to represent something vast and consuming — one through words and myth, the other through drums, volume, and raw force.

The Stoned Theory is not exactly Moby Dick.