Who's the Big Wiener? Plus More Peeves!

Let's start this shit off right. With winners.

I know what you're thinking: aren't we all winners, Mark? Tee Hee, no, of course not. Don't be silly. So many out there are, in fact, losers. Oddly enough, I'm writing this while watching The Biggest Loser, and there are several on that show.

But I do gots some winners for you right here. Plural.

First off, the winner of the big prize package festooned with awesomeness is...


Skarrah will receive a signed HAPPY HOUR OF THE DAMNED cover flat, a Shaun of the Dead DVD, an Uglydoll keychain and a test tube of genuine zombie plague swag!

And that was gonna be the end of it, until last week when I got another puffy envelope full of cover flats. A big FAT stack.

So, my wife pulled five more names...


I've got signed cover flats for all you guys, too. Just email me your addresses through the links over on the left, and I'll get the prizes out lickity split.

Now on to the peeves...

I really want to start there because if there's one thing I'm really good at, it's bitching. For instance, I hit my writing stride around 3:00 everyday, don't know why, just do. Unfortunately, that's exactly the time the neighbor kid's obsessive need to skateboard kicks in. And does he ever skateboard. For hours it seems. He's like a savant with that damn thing. So much for strides. There have got to be at least 5 alcoholics on our street, you'd think someone would get pissed off and take care of the little brat once and for all.

As it turns out: Not so much.

I end up going down to Forza, our local espresso place that's not a Starbucks (though we have two of those, but oddly no grocer, that's called priorities), just to get away from Autism-on-Wheels--I need to be five miles away from the kid to get back to work. There's a leather loveseat that sits in a speaker free alcove, and I gets free refills on drip, so it's my office away from my office. Unless, someone is hogging my spot. That sends me to a place of ultimate dwell, and totally throws me off my game. So much so that when I do revisions, it wouldn't at all be unheard of to find passages like this tucked in snug with the zombies...

Move you bastard. What are you doing? It's free wi-fi porn isn't it? Dirty f**ker! Move. Move. Move. Move. Move! "Aaaaah!" Mark screamed.* *Wait a minute, I'm not in this book. What am I doing? Did that f**king guy move?


That's just two of the many pet peeves I live with. Others are: dirty kitchen, phone calls (I hate the phone) and dog poop on the carpet. With so many distraction possibilities, it's a wonder I get anything written.

When I am writing, I do have some needs. Here's some, in list form.

1. Shorts and flip flops (to wear, not to look at and contemplate, or anything weird like that).
2. Coffee before noon, iced tea with Splenda after.
3. Chaz (the yorkshire werewolf) must be snoring somewhere (that's him down there).

He's envious in this shot.

So that's all I got for you people. It seems I give and give and give. What do you want from me? What more can I possibly have to offer?

'Til next week.


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